A Pound of Flesh - and much more not less

Rating: 10/10 (5 February 2006)

This picture wants a piece of all of us and it gets it. It's relentless in what it depicts and I think it's one of those cases when the overall result somehow surpasses the original intent of the filmmakers, however great that intent was. It's an unflattering depiction of our society, a picture of the world which happens to be the point of view of a serial killer. His world is dark, but made so by the so-called human beings infesting it - all the banality, the apathy, the self-interest of our species is on full display here. The city in this film is in a state of perpetual decay; all we seem to see are rotting walls and buildings on the verge of crumbling. But this is just a surface corrosion, a reflection of what really ails all of us, which is the corruption of our souls. The serial killer is just a natural extension of society here. It comes as no surprise that he exists. We've made our hell on Earth and the killer is just one of the elements existing to fall neatly into place in the center of it all.
Under the guise of a police procedural, director Fincher and the screenwriter unveil this grim world for us. This was not a reworked draft which fell into the common pitfalls of a standard chase at the end or a last minute rescue. No, none of that same old Hollywood stuff here. The nasty foreboding probably surfaces around the time we get to know a little about young detective Mills (Pitt) and his pretty wife (Paltrow), through the eyes of hardened veteran detective Somerset (Freeman). It's hinted that the young couple have recently moved into the big city from a more rural area, into the typical squalid apartment lifestyle prevalent in this grimy city. Maybe some alarm bells go off in the back of the audience's mind by this point: we don't think this couple should be in this city. What in the blazes are they really doing in this hellhole? Why didn't they stay where they belonged, close by that high school where they met? Pitt is pretty good as the less experienced cop, not too intelligent but struggling anxiously to be in the big leagues. He does OK, but the film belongs to Freeman, who cannot strike a wrong note as the older weary policeman. This becomes the essential Freeman role, that of a man who perhaps has seen too much in his lifetime, but his keen intelligence cannot allow him to simply give up and throw in the towel, no matter how close he gets to that point. Freeman manages to convey a poetic disposition towards decency and civilization, as with most of his roles, but it's never more effective than here, when the entire world assails him with barbarism and anarchy.
It's little surprise that much of the style of this film was copied over the next few years, including even the unusual credits sequence. The bulk of the film details the serial killer's masterpiece of murder, a pattern following the seven deadly sins. While interesting in itself and grisly in the depiction of murder as an artistic creation, we realize by the climax that it was all simply a preparation for the truly horrific crowning achievement of killer John Doe's final act. It's a shock at the end which still sends shivers down my spine no matter how many times I watch it. Perhaps meant for repeat viewings after the initial shock, the film serves to remind us we live (or just exist) in that chaotic charnel house we usually try not to think about. When all the surface gloss is peeled away and we gaze with unfiltered eyes at the unpleasant truth laid bare before us, we see John Doe smirking at us, holding a box.