Martin McDonagh’s ‘In Bruges’ is the kind of movie that, at first glance, looks mildly appealing, if not outright arresting. Nothing could be more misleading. Its quaint setting, somewhat esoteric billing (Colin Farrell, Brendan Gleeson, Ralph Fiennes), the inability to classify it and explain it in a few words without spoiling the joys of watching it, have all made it an underrated gem. In a way, it works for the movie, giving it this niche appeal that keeps away the riff-raff, the Michael Bay-digging crowd, and ensures it reaches its target audience precisely.
This exclusivity, however, is simply limited to its quality. It deals with themes that are universal, and, should anyone take a crack at it, leaves one gasping with surprise at its ability to affect, its ability to leave a deep imprint upon one’s mind. If one were ask me to describe it in a single word, holding a gun to my head at the same time, it would have to be “insidious.”
The narrative is deceptively simple. As the movie opens, two Irish hit-men are hiding out in the quirkily picturesque Belgian town of Bruges. It’s just as well for them that it’s tourist season in an essentially tourist-y town. We meet Ken (Brendan Gleeson), an ageing, large, bluff, yet jovial man with an old-world sensibility and tastes. And then we meet Ray (Colin Farrell), who is the exact opposite, young, restless, fun-loving, neurotic, alternately morose and buoyant. We see this woefully unlikely pair checking into a hotel where it is discovered, to Ken’s discomfort, Ray’s chagrin and our delight, that they will be sharing a room together. What makes it worse is the fact that they have been forced to hide out in Bruges. For Ray at least, it is tantamount to imprisonment. At this juncture, the basic character differences between Ray and Ken surface. Ken, older, wiser, more cautious, and way more artistically inclined than Ray, wants to soak in the heady medieval culture of the town. For Ray, it is about as interesting as watching a beard grow. He just wants to hang out in the pubs and have a good time. He quibbles, frets, grumbles but tags along with Ken, all the same.
But Ray is the reason behind their predicament. In a smoothly-cut flashback sequence, we see Ray carrying out a job that ends in unspeakable horror. Dazed with the enormity of what he has done, Ray staggers out of London with Ken, and on their boss’s orders escape to Bruges. What Ray cannot escape from is unbearable guilt. Ken does whatever best he can to pull him out of his remorse. The film offers a fascinating portrait of Ray’s enduring guilt punctuated by periods of brief levity: his meeting with the enigmatic, bewitching Chloe (the radiant Clemence Poesy), his jabs at a dwarf (Jordan Prentice), his everyday squabbles with Ken provide him with fleeting moments of mirth.
Despite these, there is very little to break Ray’s fall into the quagmire of suicidal guilt. Meanwhile, their boss Harry (Ralph Fiennes) has another assignment for Ken that involves punishing Ray for his botched job. Ray didn’t just botch the job up, he broke the one cardinal rule Harry, a devoted family man (despite his profession) lives by. The six minute telephonic conversation in which Harry orders Ken to carry out his final job leaves a sledgehammer impact. Harry starts off the conversation with random small talk about Bruges and their holiday before stridently cutting around to the matter of Ray and his punishment. The small talk at the start seems oddly detached from their current situation and may even seem boring, redundant and irrelevant. But in some weird way, reminiscent of Tarantino, it strings together perfectly. I thought Tarantino was inimitable. I have been proved wrong. That is not to say that McDonagh apes Tarantino. Rather, they just happen to share certain traits: dialogue of the kind mentioned above, dialogue so fluent that it does not appear to be written, but shot off by the characters of their own volition; a preoccupation with violence; a macabre sense of humour usually not shared by the characters; a touch of the absurd in situations all too real that lends them a strong sense of paradox. The movie tackles several themes: guilt, redemption, honour, loyalty, afterlife, notions of heaven and hell, divisions based on race and nation, and the resulting absurdity; and, oddly enough, ample ruminations on the mental make-up of dwarves. The camera focuses as intently on a cocaine-crazed conversation about an imminent world war between sides divided by race and ethnicity in a warm, cosy hotel room, as it does on a smouldering verbal duel about vengeance and loyalty and redemption between Harry and Ken in the belfry. It is equally dextrous in capturing Bruges in all its “serendipitous beauty”, to use a borrowed phrase. The cobbled streets, with their roadside bistros; the churches and turrets in all their Gothic glory; the murals with their prophecies and illustrations of doom, damnation, purgatory, tortured souls; the serene, glassy canals, abreast of the winding streets; black, flowing silhouettes gliding through the dim light of the streetlamps through the swirling snow...... it is the quintessential quaint European countryside town.
Carter Burwell’s score is sparse but very, very forbearing, superimposing the darting, higher notes of a piano on the deep sonorous ones, creating a sense of impending doom.
Jordan Prentice is so solemnly idiosyncratic that he brings the house down with even so much a line. His ‘horse tranquiliser’ dialogue with Colin Farrell is simply priceless.
Thekla Reuten playing the pregnant, plucky hotel-owner with blazing eyes leaves us wanting for more. She is not a central character, yet is vital to the story, acting as a gauge (for the audience) for Ray’s contrition and his yearning for redemption. She’s a knockout.
Colin Farrell is a revelation to me. For the longest time I dismissed him as an upstart who made news for everything other than his acting. In the first complete movie that I have seen of his, he has left me spellbound. Playing a neurotic, Lennon-avenging guy with serious respect for the Vietnamese, he is effortlessly goofy, grumpy, hopelessly romantic, while simultaneously betraying his crushing inner turmoil, without meaning to. He is a study in contrasts: a cold-blooded killer at one moment, an oafish clown wooing a beauty at another, a human train-wreck, at yet another.
Brendan Gleeson brings a heavy world-weariness that works wonders for his character of an ageing hit-man who has been through enough. He is the voice of reason to both Ray and Harry, at different junctures, the fulcrum between these two extremes, and, by turns, the channel for, and the levee against, Harry’s limitless rage for Ray. He faces the central conflict the story hinges upon, and we can almost see him being eaten from the inside. It is his large, weathered face and Ralph Fiennes’ incisive, metallic voice that, together, create a magical, unbroken six-minute long symphony of emotions that is a textbook in acting and reacting.
Both Gleeson and Farrell play it with an enchanting Irishness, swinging between extremes of insouciance, casual profanity, deep passions and, above all, defiance.
Ralph Fiennes is one of the few living actors who can scare the living daylights out of anyone just by looking at them (Jack Nicholson,Anthony Hopkins and Cillian Murphy are others). Probably what makes him so effectively sinister are his piercing eyes. He can drain them of humour so completely, that if he were to threaten to eat somebody up, one would almost believe he was capable of carrying out his threat quite literally. Here, he plays a dispenser of vengeance, not revenge, mind you, but vengeance. It is the subtle difference between the two that elevates his character above the trite. He lives and is prepared to die by his code of honour. He plays it with such clenched ferocity and bristling rage that we begin to worry about, no, dread the fates of Ken and Ray from the instant he comes on screen. And yet, the denouement, when it arrives, is shocking, like none other, creating a lacerating impact akin to that of a knife with a jagged edge.
There is no morality involved here, but the all central characters have an ingrained sense of honour. For them, ending a life is not as much a sin as breaking a code of honour. And all of them are ready to face their doom stoically when it comes calling.
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