Oh No, Not Noir!

I had a movie-going experience yesterday that hasn't happened in many years - people constantly walking out of the cinema all throughout a film. By the end credits, about a third of the audience had left. The movie was Killing Them Softly, a gritty, stylish, outrageous, exceedingly bleak but, for those tuned into its vibe, smart and funny film that was all about the characters being true to themselves, even if that meant them being tiresome and obnoxious, rather than pandering to the audience's entertainment needs. It's set in a tough guy underworld almost entirely populated and ruled by cock-of-the-walk men all looking to accumulate huge amounts of cash and garner alpha male points to impress their colleagues. The dialogue made my ears hum with joy - noir knows only too well that it needs to provide us with snappy lines and cut-glass observations about society amidst the unrelenting noirness as recompense for all the nastiness, human frailty and seediness it throws at us in spades -  and I knew right from the start that I would love it. Others, probably, knew right from the start that they would hate it, and the first disappointed person left just five minutes into the film.

Up on the screen, two young men discussed with brutal frankness how best to survive a spell in prison and the second audience member exited in a hurry. A short time later, when hopeless addict Russell (Ben Mendolsohn), not looking pretty and ensconced in a grotty setting, shot up, a couple jumped to their feet and scurried out, and when the film showed Russell's disjointed POV of his surroundings, two more people left. When the sharp dialogue finally stopped long enough for the first action piece, the non-glamourised violence drove more people out. The next scene to inspire an exodus was a brilliant piece of showing, not telling, or at least I thought so, where a character is allowed to whinge and whine until the audience and the character forced to listen to this self-pity fest are thoroughly sick of the man. I wanted to smack the man around and yell at him to shut up and get a life, and so the filmmaker's desired effect was achieved as far as I'm concerned. After that, people left in dribs and drabs as they reached the end of their respective ropes.

Based on the crime novel Cogan's Trade by George V Higgins, Killing Them Softly is a movie that stirs up the old debate about whether a writer is obliged to create likable characters. Do creators have to slip in a neglected childhood or personal trauma as a quick excuse to explain why a character walks darker paths? Do bad main characters have to ultimately redeem themselves so as to not disturb the audience too much with troublesome moral dilemmas? Do crime works have to imply that their scummy protagonists would rather have a nice job in an office but life won't give them a break rather that upset readers and viewers with the knowledge that killers and swindlers and thugs go about their business as blithely as others go about their legitimate trades?

I can only imagine that the people who left the theatre were expecting more of Roberta Flack's cool vibes and less blood, bullets, exploding craniums and sometimes foul dialogue. Smart, classy hoods humming bluesy tunes as they coolly hustled each other instead of scruffy, obnoxious bottomfeeders cheating, stealing and endlessly making blatantly bad and stupid decisions. Misunderstood boys just trying to survive rather than calculating idiots who actually want to be career crims. Palatable stuff rather than visceral promptings.

Mind you, there were a certain two people in the audience whose departure early on would have been celebrated by those of us in the audience enjoying the film - a couple of lovely, but very very very chatty old ladies in the row behind us. I still find it odd that they, of all the people present, weren't the first to decamp in disgust. Anyway, when it became clear that they weren't going to settle down and cease their continuous commentary, we issued a polite, but firm, request. It was, I quote, "Could you please stop talking all the time."

They shut up instantly. Not a peep did we hear from them after that. When the lights went on, the old ladies stayed put. We were a bit slow moving off - too busy discussing the movie - and it took a few moments before I noticed that the old ladies still hadn't moved. Leaving the cinema would require them to walk down the aisle past us, and it soon became obvious to me that they weren't going to budge until we were gone. They did not want to risk any kind of contact with us. Feeling a tad guilty, I smiled at them, but they looked away and hunkered down. We left. I'm sure the old ladies eventually did too. If not, I hope the cinema attendants are keeping them well fed and watered.

And so it was that we, from the two lovely old ladies' POV, became the true bullying hoods of yesterday's piece.

***Update: I wish now I'd titled this post 'The Ones Who Walk Away From Noir'. It would have been Sooo much better, and given the week's blogging a more linked feel.