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Tarantino once remarked on a melodrama from the 1930s called Backstreet that "tragedy is like another character" in the film. The same could be said- and not withstanding bringing up Tarantino- for Sidney Lumet's best work in years, a melodrama where character is of the utmost concern not simply because of what's at stake with the cast involved. Kelly Masterson doesn't have a masterpiece of a script here (it basically breaks into crazy killer mode by the end in a series of climactic events that only work by the very end, and even there suspension of disbelief is paramount), but her script does convey character before plot, and in a story where the actions surround a heist it's crucial to know who these people are beat by beat. It's bleak as hell, unforgiving as Satan, but also absolutely riveting 90% of the time.
Chalk it up not just because Lumet knows how to handle a non-linear script where we see the day-to-day actions of character to character before during, and mostly after the botched 'mom-&-pop' jewelry store robbery occurs, but because of the formidable cast assembled (which, I might add, is Lumet's specialty). Philip Seymour Hoffman and Ethan Hawke are brothers with their own respective financial f***-ups, and the former approaches the latter on what looks like a fool-proof heist: looting their own mother and father's jewelry store in Westchester. Hawke's Hank involves another shady character though, murders occur, and suddenly it's tragedy on a Greek scale affecting the brothers and their father, played by a perfect Albert Finney. It's the kind of material that most actors love- characters who, like in Dog Day Afternoon, are painfully human, flawed to the bone but only wanting love &/or things to be set right, and have the complete inability to fulfill their wants and needs.
In this case though Hoffman and Hawke are matched splendidly; Hoffman has, until the aforementioned last ten minutes, a super-calm and occasionally joking demeanor that reveals him as the brains of the operation, but then smaller scenes where he breaks down emotionally (i.e. with Finney or the car scene with Tomei) push his talents to the limit; Hawke, meanwhile, is called a loser by his ex-wife and daughter, can't pay any debts at all, and is called a baby by his own father, and he fills the bill of the part in all the ways that matter- he's not quite as flawed as his older brother, but who wants to pick a straw for that title? And Finney, as mentioned, is spot-on all the way through, making his turn in Big Fish look like child's play (the final scenes with him are terrifyingly tragic, his face recoiling in a horror that has built up all through the second half).
Also featuring supporting turns from a finely ditsy and perversely two-timing Marisa Tomei, Bug's Michael Shannon as bad-ass white trash, and Amy Ryan, Brian F. O'Byrne and Rosemary Harris making brief, exact impressions, this is a film with a tremendous lot of skill and heart- but not a forgiving heart- with a story that doubles back on details not for showy plot devices but to make clear every step of a family's perpetual downward spiral. If it's not as mind-blowing as Serpico or Network or the Pawnbroker or 12 Angry Men it comes as close as anything Lumet's done since.


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