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Jaye Davidson and Stephen Rea play a dangerous game of attraction |
Director: Neil Jordan
Cast: Stephen Rea (Fergus), Miranda Richardson (Jude),
Forest Whitaker (Jody), Jaye Davidson (Dil), Adrian Dunbar (Peter Maguire),
Tony Slattery (Deveroux), Jim Broadbent (Col), Ralph Brown (Dave)
The Crying Game is
one of those little movies that could: a small scale British/Irish drama about
human nature and dangerous relationships, which suddenly burst into the world
big, was nominated for five Oscars and won one for its creator, turning him
into a widely respected writer/director.
The film follows Fergus (Stephen Rea), an IRA soldier who,
over a long night, bonds deeply with Jody (Forest Whitaker) a British soldier
his unit are holding hostage with the intent of killing him if their comrades
are not released. When Jody is accidentally killed trying to escape his
execution, and British soldiers wipe out his cell, Fergus escapes to a new life
in London, aiming to track down Jody’s girlfriend Dil (Jaye Davidson) whom Jody
asked him to find. Fergus discovers things about himself and Jody in London he
little anticipated – and also finds that his IRA companions, especially the
dangerous Jude (Miranda Richardson), are not as deceased as he believed.
When it was first released in the UK, The Crying Game was a critical and box-office disaster. This was
linked to its IRA plotline, largely on account of the film’s unwillingness to
stick an unequivocally clear condemnatory label on the IRA. Of course, the film
is not a film about terrorism at all – and whatever it says about the rights
and wrongs of the British presence in Ireland (very little indeed), I think
it’s pretty clear that it shows killing and violence are completely wrong.
However, the film was saved by its huge success in America. There, its subject
matter didn’t provoke the same level of controversy it was re-marketed as the
biggest “twist” film since Psycho.
And ever since then I would say it has stayed in that list
of great “twist” films – up there with The
Usual Suspects, The Sixth Sense,
Planet of the Apes, Fight Club
and of course Psycho, among many
others. Most of its mystique at the time was due to the fact that the twist was
revealed just over halfway through the film and was based around a theme that
has gained far more familiarity to us today. I won’t say what the twist is
(just in case), as seeing it unfold is a pleasant surprise that turns what we
think we know about several of the characters on its head. I’ll simply say that
it is a question of identify and leave it at that.
Identity is appropriate, as that’s what this film is about:
the images we build about ourselves and how we project those to the people
around us. The way our environment, and the people we spend time with, help to
shape the people we are. The sometimes unexpected depths that we discover
within ourselves. The film is dramatically opposed to label altogether: hence
it can present a gunman for the IRA who is a sensitive and kindly soul, whose
relationships with others are based on gentleness (and Fergus is just one of
three characters in the film who turn out to be very different from our initial
perception of them). Many of these reveals are connected to understanding how
love and affection can overlap with feelings of attraction and how we express
these feelings. This is all parts of the film’s fundamentally humanitarian outlook.
The film has a poetic, at times almost dreamlike, quality
about it. There is a lyrical ambience to many of the scenes, with the camera
drifting comfortably through the action. Visions of Jody plague Fergus
throughout, both day-to-day and (tellingly) during a sexual encounter with Dil.
Jody’s image haunts the film, ghost-like, through the many photos of him in
Dil’s flat. Many of the events have a similarly haunting sense of being a few degrees
out of reality. It’s got the sense of a violent bedtime story or fairy tale in
London.
Jordan’s script is outstanding – humane, witty, deeply felt
– and the actors embrace the opportunity to play such multi-levelled, difficult-to-pigeonhole
characters. It’s also brilliantly constructed into three clear acts, each of
which comment upon and deepen the others: we have Fergus and Jody together in
Ireland, a tragic growth of friendship and respect between two men; Fergus and
Dil in London, a sweet and tentative romance built on secrets; and finally the
return of the IRA to London, a destructive thriller. Each act feels like a
natural development and there are no juddering changes of tone, as Jordan keeps
the focus on the characters and their personal stories and feelings.
A large part of the film’s success is linked to Stephen
Rea’s thoughtful and sensitive performance as Fergus, a man who has clearly
stumbled into a life of violence despite his sensitive and rather tender nature
(and our underlying natures guiding our actions is a major theme of the film).
He’s a true lost soul, and his deep (and sudden) friendship with the kidnapped
Jody has an ease about it that reveals depths about his character. His
relationship with Dil has a sweetness to it, while Fergus is engagingly nervous
and tentative of openly expressed love (not to mention that he lies to her –
non-maliciously – from the start, as he knows far more about her than she
realises). It’s a low-key but commanding performance with a real depth of
feeling, and Jordan gives the character a powerful redemptive arc that Rea
plays to the hilt.
There is also terrific work from the rest of the cast. This
is one of only two films Jaye Davidson ever made, and the untrained naturalness
of the acting adds a huge amount to the mystique of the character, as well as
making Dil truly sympathetic and intriguing. Davidson’s short career also
preserved the unique mystery around the character that was so essential to the
film’s success. Forest Whitaker’s English accent is an up-hill battle, but the
actor brings his force-of-nature charisma to the part so completely you
overlook that he isn’t convincing as a Londoner, a solider or a cricketer. What
you do believe is his connection with Fergus, while Whitaker is able to suggest
dark hints throughout that his bond with Fergus is as least part manipulation.
Miranda Richardson has the grandest role as a death-dealing
IRA hitwoman, which she delivers with aplomb, her dark eyed fanatical fury
making her a dangerous antagonist for the film. Jim Broadbent also shines in an
early role as an enigmatic barman, but there is hardly a bum note in the
acting, although Tony Slattery is perhaps a little too broad as Fergus’
worksite boss.
The Crying Game is
a hugely rewarding film to watch, a deep and thoughtful film, packed with
wonderful scenes, great acting and guaranteed to lead to discussion and debate
after it has finished. Yes it’s a film with a famous twist – but it is not a
film defined by that twist. Instead that is only part of the rich tapestry of
the film’s exploration of identity, desire and self-knowledge, in which the
images we are present to others are as difficult to interpret as the images we
present to ourselves.
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