Jake Gyllenhaal, perhaps known most for his role as Donnie Darko, the troubled teen with futuristic visions of destiny, may never truly escape that pigeon-hole. As Louis Bloom, he siphons similar traits of Donnie to bring us a character with the same intensity and psychological uneasiness. The main difference is that Donnie becomes a symbol of sympathetic teen angst amidst a growing world of discontentment and detachment. Louis' motive is purely out of survival, a man driven to succeed at any cost by his instinctive desire for rising above the average and middling.
It has been reported that Gyllenhaal lost 20 lbs and did extensive daily workouts to perfect the gaunt, eerie gaze he utilizes, drawing our eyes to his as we watch him survey his surroundings and react. This is an opportunist who seemingly has no conscience as to his actions, which is obviously the message of the movie; a message that is, regrettably, nothing new to this most cynical and knowledgeable of ages.
Writer/director Dan Gilroy seems to have attempted to stay loyal to the family modus operandi, that is to build quickly and quietly to an effective climax intended to challenge preconceived notions and foster thorough questioning of our understanding. His brother, Tony, did this to great effect in Michael Clayton, a similar story about a man driven to fight for survival, only in this case it was out a sense of moral righteousness. Louis' determination to succeed seems to stem from a desire to cement himself not only as a winner and accomplished businessman but also for fame and recognition from the larger community. This makes it rather apparent why Gilroy set the story in Los Angeles; not only for its endless supply of criminal activity but also its cult of narcissism and self-promotion.
Alas, Gilroy never seems to drive to the heart of this matter, or at least drive into an area which we haven't already been exposed. There is a great deal of time devoted to Louis' interaction with the ruthless and desperate TV producer (Rene Russo) who lives by the ratings, which means she wants more graphic violence and less journalistic emphasis. She is, however, a pale imitation of Faye Dunaway's great performance in Network, who was far more ambitious and had more of an impact on the men in her life than Russo does.
Additionally weak is the handling of violent crimes and accident scenes. Sequence after sequence point out how newscasters and news outlets want the story which sells above all else, which in this case consists of more violent and upsetting information. Even for a huge metropolis like LA, the amount of serious crimes within this narrative is very unsettling (although Louis uses the falling crime rate as a bargaining chip for his increasingly intense coverage of these scenarios). Yet, Gilroy sweeps all this aside in order to emphasize his righteous message. Instead, we get a gratuitously extended violent sequence that stretches plausibility and simply confirms our beliefs about these characters instead of evolving them.
There is a great deal of dark comedy attempted in this story. Indeed, the audience seems to laugh right along with Gyllenhaal's bizarre and creepy intensity which also happens to be border-line parodist acting. Yet, how much does Gilroy intend to be comedic and how much is intended to be dogmatic? Whichever the case, the end result remains the same. How terrible it is that television news praises ratings and showmanship over honest and straightforward reporting? David Simon gave us this same message in a much more effective manner in The Wire (ironically, the weakest of all five seasons). Couldn't Gilroy, with the expansive potential of cinema, have at least delved into slightly darker, more provocative territory? As it stands, Nightcrawler remains a less-than-powerful expose on a subject with much more potentiality in this digital era, an angle Gilroy mysteriously neglects.
It has been reported that Gyllenhaal lost 20 lbs and did extensive daily workouts to perfect the gaunt, eerie gaze he utilizes, drawing our eyes to his as we watch him survey his surroundings and react. This is an opportunist who seemingly has no conscience as to his actions, which is obviously the message of the movie; a message that is, regrettably, nothing new to this most cynical and knowledgeable of ages.
Writer/director Dan Gilroy seems to have attempted to stay loyal to the family modus operandi, that is to build quickly and quietly to an effective climax intended to challenge preconceived notions and foster thorough questioning of our understanding. His brother, Tony, did this to great effect in Michael Clayton, a similar story about a man driven to fight for survival, only in this case it was out a sense of moral righteousness. Louis' determination to succeed seems to stem from a desire to cement himself not only as a winner and accomplished businessman but also for fame and recognition from the larger community. This makes it rather apparent why Gilroy set the story in Los Angeles; not only for its endless supply of criminal activity but also its cult of narcissism and self-promotion.
Alas, Gilroy never seems to drive to the heart of this matter, or at least drive into an area which we haven't already been exposed. There is a great deal of time devoted to Louis' interaction with the ruthless and desperate TV producer (Rene Russo) who lives by the ratings, which means she wants more graphic violence and less journalistic emphasis. She is, however, a pale imitation of Faye Dunaway's great performance in Network, who was far more ambitious and had more of an impact on the men in her life than Russo does.
Additionally weak is the handling of violent crimes and accident scenes. Sequence after sequence point out how newscasters and news outlets want the story which sells above all else, which in this case consists of more violent and upsetting information. Even for a huge metropolis like LA, the amount of serious crimes within this narrative is very unsettling (although Louis uses the falling crime rate as a bargaining chip for his increasingly intense coverage of these scenarios). Yet, Gilroy sweeps all this aside in order to emphasize his righteous message. Instead, we get a gratuitously extended violent sequence that stretches plausibility and simply confirms our beliefs about these characters instead of evolving them.
There is a great deal of dark comedy attempted in this story. Indeed, the audience seems to laugh right along with Gyllenhaal's bizarre and creepy intensity which also happens to be border-line parodist acting. Yet, how much does Gilroy intend to be comedic and how much is intended to be dogmatic? Whichever the case, the end result remains the same. How terrible it is that television news praises ratings and showmanship over honest and straightforward reporting? David Simon gave us this same message in a much more effective manner in The Wire (ironically, the weakest of all five seasons). Couldn't Gilroy, with the expansive potential of cinema, have at least delved into slightly darker, more provocative territory? As it stands, Nightcrawler remains a less-than-powerful expose on a subject with much more potentiality in this digital era, an angle Gilroy mysteriously neglects.