Movie review: Boy A

Immersive psychodrama fascinates long after leaving the theater.

by John P. Meyer

Boy A, director John Crowley's brooding and insightful drama about a young man entering mainstream society after spending the better part of his childhood institutionalized for his involvement in a horrific crime, could easily have been one of those films whose promoters trip all over themselves to declare: "based on real events." (If it were an episode of "Law & Order" it would trumpet: "ripped from the headlines.")

The fact that we are actually surprised to discover that it's a purely fictional construct (based on a novel by Jonathan Trigell) demonstrates that the events depicted are all too plausible.

By events, I refer to the reaction of individuals to the revelation that a person convicted of - in this instance - murder has in fact been living among them unbeknownst for some time. At the same time, the movie demonstrates great skill in depicting the torturous, rapturous and inevitably tragic set of personal circumstances experienced by the person attempting to integrate into this alien environment which - astonishingly to him - appears to be based upon the exercise of free will.

Feelings of euphoria tempered with caution mark the first days of freedom for "Jack Burridge" (Andrew Garfield, delivering a tour-de-force performance simmering with internalized exposition), whose name has been changed so he won't become an immediate pariah. The crime for which he's been serving time (as we gradually come to understand, through flashbacks and TV news snippets) occurred when "Jack" was but a boy, and judging by the media's continued interest ("Under a cloak of secrecy... murderer... released back into society") they are rabid to again don the mantle of moral crusaders. (In other words, they will feed the public what they think it wants, and will pay for.)

A bit of a warning to filmgoers at this point: Boy A takes its time to work its subtle character-defining magic. It's a fully-immersive and sometimes tedious affair, which finds director Crowley at times flaunting his mastery of shadow and light and angle and diagonal (and through-the-window abstracts) as a method of framing the intricacies of personal interaction for us. His cinematography (via Rob Hardy) employs expertly composition, drawing upon framing techniques that will be appreciated by still photographers and portraitists.

The result of this long-winded and nuanced approach to character development will be either a) watchers will fall asleep and/or leave the theater looking for a good car chase, or b) the experience will end up sticking to their ruminative virtual ribs for a long time to come.

Jack's sole initial ally in his attempt to re-integrate is his parole agent/counselor, Terry (Peter Mullan, a talented actor who also writes and directs). Terry sets Jack up in a flat for let, posing as his uncle so the landlady will be none-the-wiser. Soon, Jack is working at a short-haul trucking company, making friends and (after he breaks out of his shyness) going out on dates with a comely administrative assistant named Michelle (Katie Lyons, playing a seasoned veteran of the club dating scene to cool perfection).

All the while, we catch glimpses of Jack's earlier life and the events that led up to the cause of his incarceration. His juvenile delinquent school chum, Philip (Taylor Doherty) is shown to be a pied piper of mayhem who leads Jack (or Eric, as he was known then) malevolently astray. Disturbingly, when Jack encounters an episode of violence in his new life, he dives in with both feet rather than staying out of the fray - indicating that perhaps his rehabilitation has proven less than comprehensive. This incident in the present (along with one other from the past) illustrates the fierce empowering nature of directed violent rage; it's employment is seductive, because it can be so dang effective.

Just when things are going really well for Jack, he and his work partner (Shaun Evans as Chris) encounter a roadway accident that provides a kind of poetic redemption - involving as it does the saving of a schoolgirl's life by means of a sharp implement. This heroic act leads to media coverage, and fame for Boy A can lead to nothing but disaster.

I can't say enough about the performance of Mr. Garfield in this challenging role. He's called upon to appear at once jubilant and terrified, and since Jack's nature is shy and retiring he must display these characteristics with intentional restraint. During the scene in the disco where his new mates are feeding him lagers and egging him on to chat up the birds, we see him being pulled in several directions at once. He's dangerously and uncomfortably hormonal (Jesus, all that girl-flesh!) - the demons in his head are practically clawing to get out, but he can't allow them their freedom.

When Jack finally makes a love connection and ends up in the bed of pleasure (cue soft focus and extreme close-ups), it's no surprise that his whipsawing emotions lead to a bout of impotence.

The ending of the film is almost preordained: we take it for granted that this jig is going bollocks-up at some point; we just can't say when, exactly. There's an ambiguous narrative device inserted into this climactic section that seems contrived when we first encounter it, but in retrospect proves less unsettling and ends up adding a mythical quality to this very personal tale of epic tragedy.

Skillfully done and resonant stuff, this.