Diamond In The Rough

Rating: 5/10 (11 April 2006)

From the moment Natalie Portman emerged, pacing down a London street with supremacy, intention, attitude, I was hooked to Closer. Portman's 'look but don't touch' premise the essence of super nature, the vision of a passing figure, haunting.
Closer is the story of two couples, whose lives intersect when Dan (Law), boyfriend to Alice (Portman) has an affair with photographer Anna (Roberts), married to Larry (Owen).
Director Mike Nichols makes each insight into the couples' relationship seem like an intrusion, laced with an intense voyeurism absent in many current dramatisations. Nichols exploits the shadiness of the characters by hovering, harrowingly intent on flaunting their flaws until, by the end, we can't stand the sight of them. Although Closer tackles relationships not dissimilar from your average soap opera, it tackles the relationships in a fairly unique way. It isn't happy. It isn't melodramatic. It's dark, cold, and feels somewhat taboo in its graphic and direct representation. Everything is laid out on a plate, and fed to you in small but sharp doses.
The main difference in Closer's approach to issues of infidelity is in its socio-realist techniques, led by a hefty amount of swearing and shouting, much more than you would expect to see in a movie of this genre and subject matter. It's clear that this is supposed to give their relationships an authenticity, but for Closer to be realistic, it needs to have characters who can conceivably be regarded as real - it doesn't. All four seem more like robots, programmed to exchange intelligent dialogue that contradicts their personalities and actions. The truth is: nobody is this upfront, and nobody is this transparent.
Owen has the task of dishing out most of the aggression and most of the volume as a jealous and possessive husband. Of all the characters, his is the most showiest, and is used when Nichols particularly wants to hammer home a portion of severity. Owen is at his level best here, as the graphic interrogation he gives his wife seems genuinely emotive from the perspective of a sex-obsessed, power-driven ego. Roberts withstands this barrage, and though she deserves every bit of the tirade, succeeds in unsettling the viewer with her shocked glances, and horrific displeasure, reflecting his irrational tone.
Still, Closer's failure lies in the belief that Owen has any sexual magnetism whatsoever. He is the most blatant, the least attractive, and his character isn't even funny. Law and Roberts are just as sleazy, if a little more foolish. Thankfully, we can return to the incandescent Portman and her lingering prowess. Although her role appears as much of a fleeting visit as the film itself, she is the only one that has a consistent idea about love, allbeit a distinctly immature one.
The film beckons you closer, but it's actually extraordinarily shallow. There's nothing to see. The characters are so close that you can see straight through them. I can accept that life is shallow, what I can't accept is that life is this obvious and this clear-cut. The heart may be 'a fist wrapped in blood', but as much as love hurts, there is no love in Closer.