Having never seen the Tony-award winning God of Carnage, from which Roman Polanski’s new film Carnage is adapted, I can’t make any comparisons on whether or not the transition is smooth or accurate. What is certain is that Carnage is shot much like a play with subtle camera movement and a constant attention to the cast of actors. With the exception of a few tracking shots that follow Penelope Longstreet (Jodie Foster) from the living room to the bathroom to check on Alan and Nancy Cowan (Christoph Waltz and Kate Winslet) at various times, the camera stays on the entire cast, which only adds to the tension created by the film. In a sense, the audience being unable to leave behind any of the characters for more than a moment disallows a break from each one’s undulating, grating, and often volatile personality. In a sense, we comprise the fourth wall, and, many times, if we could, we would certainly part to allow Alan to leave on his cell phone, Nancy to vomit elsewhere, Penelope write her statement or her husband Michael (John C. Reilly) to talk to his mother in private. At the same time, we’d certainly welcome them back.
Carnage begins on the West side of Manhattan at the Hudson River. A group of young boys meander and slowly approach the camera while staying far enough away to mask the vibe of the crew. There is no audio but the introductory music, so the audience is quite taken aback when one of the boys, Zack, hits another boy, Ethan, in the face with a stick. In Zack’s defense, he wasn’t allowed to join “Ethan’s gang,” it was only one swing and Ethan – though he lost two teeth – remains standing, conscious, and, he called Zack “a snitch.”
Here, Zack and Ethan are left behind, pushed to the background and, aside from various unacknowledged photographs, become figments of the film that just happened to impel a meeting between their respective parents, Alan and Nancy and Michael and Penelope. As we meet the Cowans, they are in the Longstreet’s apartment, and all four are drawing up a statement on the boys altercation, each side nitpicking on the choice of words, most notably the difference between “armed,” which becomes “carrying” because “armed” suggests intent whereas “carrying” suggests more a weapon of convenience. And, this play on semantics and precision is where the next seventy-eight minutes reside, and I’m okay with it.
The couples play nice, feigning understanding and friendliness, but soon turn on each other, first wife on wife and husband on husband, then wife on opposite husband, and finally wife on respective husband that the acrimony coursing through the Cronos-scented living room (it’s to cover the smell of vomit – and apple pear cobbler) is almost as visible as the cigar smoke.
In truth, the conflicts and arguments are predictable, as is the overall examination of the illusory nature of “control” and the fragility of our own existence and relevance really. However, Polanski is aware of this and seems to use Carnage as an exercise is creating frustration and tension, never to the point of leaving – there is enough intelligent comic relief to keep a viewer glued to the various dynamics – but enough to make one squirm and gape at the inanity of the adults, who like their children squabble about social stations (instead of gangs, they wax about jobs) and assault each other (instead of sticks, they use words and destroy possessions – intentionally or on purpose depends on whether you want to take a Freudian approach to the conflicts).
Polanski also seems aware that this trick would only last so long, and appropriately, the film and its dialog move with alacrity. The uncomfortable silences feel like forever, but that’s only because the rest of the film is at a machine-gun pace, with each character talking over the other, double-talking, back-peddling, and preaching – at times – to make them important to the conversation. The seventy-nine minutes of Carnage is a perfect length in that it riles the audience enough without inflicting boredom and closes with the only resolution necessary: between the boys, who are once again gathered at the Hudson River, this time sans stick, but still without sound.
The real strength of this film is the cast, which should come as no surprise. Waltz, Winslet, Reilly, and Foster are all accomplished performers, and they stay true to form here as well. There are a number of screams and shouts in Carnage, but they’re necessary and stem from the same frustration the audience has been experiencing. With its pithy dialog and meta-commentary, Carnage ran the risk of becoming an over-acted, exaggerated film about morals, ethics, and philosophy. Instead, each character is flawed and filled with various emotions. Each one is sympathetic, endearing, aloof, condescending, hurtful, and frightened, qualities that require a superb cast, and Carnage certainly has that going for it.
