The Impossible (2012)

How could anyone survive?

Most of us live in a world of modern conveniences: ipads, mobile phones, wifi, etc…We have the internet in our hands where ever we go. Electricity and running water are ubiquitous. Food is relatively plentiful, and easy to get, for many of us. 24-hour television news and Internet feeds keep us apprised of not only school shootings and political infighting, but also the comings and goings of celebrities, their romantic difficulties, and various wardrobe malfunctions.

Imagine, however, being in a far less-developed foreign country—an island nation lacking almost all of these 21^st- century luxuries. A place where you are essentially lost away from your hotel, have lost your bearings entirely, all the roads have been washed away, and you haven’t even shoes on your feet. In addition to a nearly non-existent infrastructure, add local emergency services (which were marginal at best by western standards, even when operating at their peak) now suffocated by arguably the largest, most devastating natural disaster in recent recorded history to the equation. As if overwhelmed medical services, no transportation, and zero communication capacity weren’t enough, toss in the added difficulty of an almost impenetrable language barrier between you and nearly all the locals. Finally, given all this, you’re trying desperately to locate love ones who’ve gone missing, and might be dead.

This is the backdrop for one of the year’s most intense films, Juan Antonio Bayona’s “The Impossible.”

The picture opens with a family flying to a tropical vacation in Thailand. From the very first shot, a plane traveling over the open ocean, the filmmakers establish the ominous spectre of impending disaster. We know the ocean will soon rise up to inflict unimaginable disaster upon these poor victims. Unfortunately, they don't

Upon arrival at their resort, it would seem that the father (Henry, played by Ewan McGregor), mother (Maria, Naomi Watts) and three young children (Tom Holland, Samual Joslin and Oaklee Pendergast) have discovered paradise. The sun shines brightly from a sapphire sky. The local flora is green and lush. Lizards and butterflies scurry and dance nearby. Brightly colored fruity drinks arrive poolside, while children splash about in the shallow end. The ocean, calm and inviting, provides a peaceful soundtrack. Snorkeling with myriad fish along a coral reef is literally miles away from the troubles of daily life.

When shown to their cottage, the family discovers it has a sumptuous ocean-view, reminding the audience again of what’s inevitably to come. This palpable sense of dread is heightened further when the father gives the boys a red kick-ball. After, they all head down to the water’s edge to play. The carefree family, enjoying their relaxing vacation directly in the path of oncoming catastrophe, has no idea for what they’re in store.

When the tsunami finally arrives, it does so with a power and destruction that are staggering. It begins with slight tremors that cause looks of puzzlement. Then buildings explode. Trees are uprooted. Seaside cottages are obliterated. The entire resort is erased in an instant. Vacationers simply vanish. It seems unlikely anyone will survive.

The visual effects are both convincing, and horrifying. The tsunami isn’t so much an advancing wall of water as it is ocean moved miles inland. It feels the water has decided violently to redraw its borders, engulfing everything in its path. It is everywhere. Where the town once stood, now is a raging river, without banks.

Most of the film, however, isn’t about the actual event, but its result.

Amidst the chaos, Maria and the oldest son Lucas are swept away by the water, like leaves in a strong autumn wind. Separated from the group, and temporarily each other, the pair gasp for air and struggle mightily to stay above water. Maria nearly drowns, and is badly hurt by strewn debris. Despite her injuries, her maternal instinct remains strong, and she manages to locate to her son. The two desperately grasp for whatever stationary objects they can clutch. They gradually make their way to shallower, slower waters, where they discover a young boy, alone, buried beneath the rubble. Barely able to take care of themselves, they now have a young charge. Now what?

It is only after they climb a tall tree that the immeasurable reality of the disaster becomes clear. There is no longer any dry land, merely marshy, reed-filled, ankle-deep swamp, as far as they can see. Maria’s injures are serious, and she’s barely able to keep moving. They’ve no idea what has become of the rest of their family, whether they’re alive or dead, or how to even begin the process of trying to find them. How to being to extricate oneself from such?

It is this bleak realization that gives mood to most of the film.

I won’t spoil the story of what becomes of the family. However, there are several moments of true heroism in the film. Not showy, action-hero displays of courage. Rather, simple people selflessly choosing to help complete strangers, during scenes of thorough devastation and uncertainty.

The film isn’t perfect. After the heart-pounding crescendo of the tsunami’s savage attack, certain moments that follow feel somewhat slow by comparison. That said, I was never bored. Several scenes moved me to tears.

Additionally, I wouldn’t argue with those who claim the film is formulaic. It is.

However, like Rocky and Hoosiers and countless other films, the formula is powerful, and it works. There is genuine suspense, wondering what will happen to the family members. We care about, and root for, them. Watts, in particular, gives a believable and touching performance, in what appear to be torturous working conditions. Her Maria is strong, brave, and sympathetic. 

Does the title describe the power of the water? The loss of life? The odds that anyone might survive? The totality of destruction? A family's struggle to find each other amidst it all? The courage and heroism of individuals in the wake of the disaster? "Impossible" accurately describes all these things.

An aside: the film has received criticism for focusing on one western family, while neglecting to tell the stories of tens of thousands of indigenous Thai people who died in the event. While I understand this rationale, I believe it is wrong. This is the incredible (Impossible!) story of what happened to one family, in one unfathomable event, and how its members coped. It is not an all-encompassing documentation of the tsunami, and the effect of its fallout. That would be a different film, perhaps one more compelling. The Impossible, however is its own, unique, story. Telling this harrowing narrative in no way detracts from, or diminishes, other stories yet to be told.

We Need to Talk About Kevin (2011)

Tilda Swinton tries her hand at parenting

We Need to Talk About Kevin is exactly what an independent film should be: interesting, smart, compelling, original, unpredictable, creative, memorable, effective and unlike any other film in recent memory. The film sets lofty goals in examining a complicated relationship between an unsure mother, and her difficult son. It is punctuated by several instances of ironic, anachronistic, incongruous music. Remarkably, it doesn’t look or feel like a low-budget film. Its storytelling, insight and acting all hit the mark. 

Written and directed by Lynne Ramsay (Morvern Callar), “Kevin” stars Tilda Swinton as Eva, an ambivalent mother struggling to keep her marriage afloat, while enduring the torments of an insolent, abusive young son, Kevin.

The film has several time strands, and is told largely in flashback. Without explanation, we see Eva alternately in an opulent (yet strangely barren) new house with her husband (John C. Reilly) and Kevin, then suddenly a run-down, depressing cupboard-bare starter home. She awakens dead-eyed and alone on the couch in the latter, to discover both the entire front of the house, and her car windshield, splashed in red paint. She drives a canary-yellow Mercedes-Benz station wagon, but is shown taking a menial job at a depressing, bland, lifeless strip-mall travel agency. In these scenes she seems to be alone, without husband or son. Where are they? What happened to them? She has run-ins with people on the street, who seem to know her, but who are inexplicably hostile for no apparent reason. Eva is obviously struggling in the aftermath of something tragic and life-changing, but what?

Later we’re shown Eva and Franklin in their happy, heady days, newly married, enjoying carefree nights on rainy city streets. They are a successful couple, living in a comfortable flat in New York City. She’s a travel writer. While it’s not clear what he does, later in the film one of his children asks if he “took any good pictures today,” (so perhaps a photographer?), though it’s not important to the story.

What is important is Eva’s conflicting emotions about her son. In a locker room filled with other pregnant women, she doesn’t seem to share the joy and excitement witnessed by the other bulging, soon-to-be moms. Shortly after giving birth, we see her in the grips of depression, sitting expressionless on her hospital bed, while Franklin lovingly bounces newborn Kevin on his lap. She tries to do what she imagines are motherly things with Kevin—helping with homework, reading books, playing catch, taking him on walks, mini golf, out to dinner—but they don’t seem to take. Later we see her, miserable, surrounded by a flock of young, pink-tutu-wearing little girls. Whatever bond is supposed to be shared between parent and child, Eva doesn’t have it.

Back to Kevin. What’s with this odd, angry, reclusive, glaring, devious little boy? As an infant, he tests his mother’s patience by crying nearly nonstop—in his stroller, as she bounces him around the house, in his bed, everywhere. After his constant shrieks, Eva finds the jarring sounds of a jackhammer, noisily chewing up a concrete sidewalk, a relief. She takes comfort in the moments when Kevin’s finally asleep, as if they’re a reprieve.

Once a toddler, he’s noticeably slow to both talk, and potty train. He interacts only in belligerent shouted commands and demands, all while staring out menacingly from beneath heavy eyebrows. How can a child this young feel so cold, hateful and intimidating? He bullies his parents, and exhibits compulsive behavior, such as balling up his food, and lining up countless chewed fingernails. Though he’s far too old to, he still wears a diaper around the house. When his mom tries to play ball with him on the floor, he’s not only disinterested, but also outwardly mocking of her efforts. He’s punishing her, for what we don’t know.

Interspersed throughout the film are scenes of Eva staring blankly at herself in mirrors, driving her car through what appears to be a frantic accident scene, exiting a courthouse through a throng of people with an attorney, and visiting Kevin during almost entirely silent visits inside a detention center. The people in Eva’s community clearly regard her with scorn and contempt, mostly keeping their distance, but occasionally lashing out with unexplained anger. Director Ramsay plays cards close to the vest as to why.

As Kevin ages and becomes ever more cruel towards Eva, the boy curiously feigns benevolence and fondness towards his father. Kevin at once tortures Eva with knowing glances, while playing innocent for his dad. This causes Franklin to explain away his son’s periodic episodes as Kevin “just being a little boy, doing little-boy things.” Frankin’s in willful denial, ignoring the dysfunction he’s living through every day. Eva’s sanity is tested by not only her truculent, insolent son, but also her seemingly unawares husband.

Pushed to her absolute limit by Kevin’s insubordinate behavior, Eva eventually lashes out physically once, breaking Kevin’s his arm. Rather than feeling emotionally wounded and physically hurt (as any normal kid would do), Kevin sees his ability to manipulate his mom to such extreme behavior as a victory. Returning from the hospital, Kevin protects his mom by lying to his dad about the cause of his injury. Suddenly he begins using the toilet, rather than his diaper. Has he turned a corner? We soon find out, when he uses the resulting scar to repeatedly blackmail his mom.

Kevin’s brutality, vulgarity and ruthlessness increase with age. By the time he’s a teenager, he’s graduated from simply glaring at and making fun of his mother, to angrily challenging her at every moment. He is confident, cruelly clever, and wise beyond his age. Their family house feels like a war zone, where Eva’s every move is scrutinized, motive judged, and weakness exploited. Kevin’s influence on his family is conspicuous and terrifying. He is truly a parent’s nightmare scenario.

We Need to Talk About Kevin has a momentum similar to Martin Scorsese’s Goodfellas: The characters understand more than they are willing to share with each other, and are all hurtling ever faster towards something ominous, inescapable and ugly.

Ultimately, most is revealed, and we finally understand the incomprehensible ordeal Eva has endured. By film’s end Kevin is nearly 18. His head shaved, looking gaunt and older, he has a brief but important scene where he displays, for the first time, a glimpse of humanity. Does he feel empathy, and possibly even fear and self-doubt? What made him the way he is? Perhaps there is no rational, concrete explanation for why we, or our kids, are the way we are?