I have a love/hate relationship with Ben Wheatley. Kill List was unnerving and – at times –
bloody terrifying, right up until the ending. Sorry, but if I have to go on
Google to try and work out what the hell happened in the last few minutes, then
the film’s not done its job. With his
follow-up, Sightseers, it depended
how sick and un-PC your sense of humour was. Me, I loved it. A Field in England was little more than
an excuse to show off Laurie Rose’s cinematography skills (a plot would have
helped). Now, here we are with Wheatley’s latest: High-Rise. You might wonder why Wheatley’s new film is adapted from
a J.G. Ballard novel that’s forty years old, but, in the Tory Britain we live
in today, it’s soothsayer, prophet of doom relevant.
Tom Hiddleston (Avengers
Assemble, Only Lovers Left Alive)
is Doctor Robert Laing, who moves into a flash new apartment block. Meeting his
neighbours, he realises that, while everyone pays the same rent, not everyone
is treated equally; the wealthier folk on the higher floors have electricity,
hot water, full access to the facilities whenever they want, while those on the
lower levels are forced to make do with electric at certain times (if the power
comes on at all) and wait around several weeks for any maintenance issues to
get fixed. Tensions mount and it’s not long before anarchy descends, with rape,
murder and pillaging becoming as everyday as putting out the bins.
Wheatley’s long-time cinematographer
Laurie Rose is back behind the lens, and once again he comes up with some
creative, not seen anything like it before imagery: Hiddleston taking out his
frustrations on the walls of his apartment while he paints; it’s both cathartic
and oddly erotic. The aftermath of an orgy, the flat now a dive, bathed in
intense white light, while some of the weary, hungover guests still joylessly
rut away. There’s more than a passing hint of the meticulousness and symmetry
of Stanley Kubrick’s framing; you’re both entranced and repulsed by what you
see, à la A Clockwork Orange or Eyes Wide Shut. Wheatley made the smart
decision of keeping the novel’s seventies setting. The wallpaper, gigantic
sideburns, and vintage cars make High-Rise
unlike anything you will have seen for a good long while.
The trouble is High-Rise’s subtext, it’s not exactly subtle. Thirty minutes in
and you already know who’s in the firing line and where things are going. As
the divide between Britain’s upper and lower class widens, the country is
destined to come crumbling down; The British people are distracted by celebrity
and consumerism, ignorant to the pressing problems going on around them. You
can’t argue with what Ballard was trying to say in his novel (spookily,
released on the eve of Margaret Thatcher becoming prime minister), it’s how
Wheatley and screenwriter Amy Jump force feed you the social commentary, so much
so, you’re wondering what else the film has to offer. The answer? Not a lot
else.
I get that you’re meant to judge the
characters you see onscreen rather than care about them, the issue with High-Rise is that nothing vaguely
thrilling or attention grabbing happens to anyone. Malcolm McDowell’s Alex in A Clockwork Orange was a loathsome,
hideous human being, but you were compelled to watch because his own brutality
was matched by the brutality of the state in trying to make him “better”. Here,
there’s no build-up to the Lord of the
Flies anarchy that ensues, it just happens, and keeps happening, and keeps
happening, and doesn’t go anywhere. Rose’s cinematography and Mark Tildesley’s
production design can only do so much. Without a narrative, without some
significant change in the characters, there’s nothing to keep you watching.
The cast look like they’re
sleepwalking through the film, with virtually nothing to do. I’ve not read
Ballard’s novel, but maybe the point of Hiddleston’s Doctor Laing is that he
sees the tower block rotting from the inside and is indifferent to it all? Whatever
the reason, Hiddleston has little to do acting-wise except be icy, reserved,
and shag his way through the female cast.
Jeremy Irons (The Lion King, Die Hard with
a Vengeance), as the tower block’s architect, Anthony Royal, has some
occasional weighty dialogue to get you thinking (“I wanted this building to be
a crucible for change… Clearly, I missed something”.), but apart from an
impressive plum British accent, and an even more impressive white suit, Irons
plays your typical, authority figure gone mad, Doctor Caligari role.
Luke Evans (The Hobbit, Fast and Furious 6)
is the only cast member given any real acting work, as journalist and
documentary filmmaker Richard Wilder, though his transformation from a morally
dubious, opportunistic, seventies Piers Morgan to embracing the anarchy around
him just seems to happen. He goes off screen one minute and comes back a changed
man.
High-Rise
is
less a film, more a series of chaotic scenes of Britain’s well-to-do killing
and ripping each other’s clothes off. It’s like something you expect to see at the
Tate Modern. There’s no tension, barely any humour, and quickly outstays its
welcome (and at almost two hours, that’s a long
time). If the BAFTAs had an award for style over substance, High-Rise would win it hands down.
2 out of 5
Matt
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