‘Joe, wake up. It’s a beautiful day…’
Some films are designed to appeal to the largest possible number of people while others attempt to strike a more salient chord but with a more discerning crowd. The latter tends to be more emotionally resonant for those that do buy into whatever that particular film is selling but if you don’t, as with Lost in Translation for me, you are left with a film that leaves you feeling, not only bored, but locked out somehow. On the outside of something that others seem to love but you just can’t. There is absolutely nothing wrong with populist cinema and, as a rule, all my favourite films are about as mainstream as cinema can possibly be, but when something comes out of left field and really grabs you, it can be extra special. You Were Never Really Here achieved that intangible sensation in fleeting glimpses for me, without ever pulling me all the way in.
Joe (Joaquin Phoenix) is a troubled and traumatised veteran who uses his fondness for extreme violence to track down missing children. This puts him on a collision course with Nina (Ekaterina Samsonov), an abducted girl who is also scarred by her experiences.
Whether you enjoy Lynne Ramsay’s powerful movie depends on how keen you are to see numerous close ups of Joaquin Phoenix breathing heavily into the camera whilst sporting a look that says he is about to lift a car over his head and throw it at someone. Luckily, I’m all over that shit, so I mostly loved You Were Never Really Here. Joking aside, the role of Joe is a difficult and nuanced one and it takes someone with more than just brooding intensity to pull it off. Phoenix humanises Joe with hardly any dialogue and only the hint of a backstory. It is a tour de force in the less-is-more philosophy that has defined actors like Jack Nicholson and Robert De Niro. Like those two though, Phoenix is not afraid to go postal if necessary and when called for.
Just as effective as a commanding performance from Phoenix is Ramsay’s direction; violence is always implied and the aftermath revealed rather than relying on anything as gauche as ‘action’. Elsewhere, Johnny Greenwood’s alarming score fits perfectly with the chaotic nature of both the performances and the direction.
You Were Never Really Here is more than just a cross between Drive and Taken. It is a fever dream. It is a nightmare. Most of all, it shines a flickering light on the darkest secrets of our society, never fully illuminating anything but certainly revealing shadows that would prefer to remain in darkness.