*** (out of ****)
Starring Al Pacino, Robin Williams, Hilary Swank, Maura Tierney, Nicky Katt, and Martin Donovan.
Directed by Christopher Nolan, written by Hilary Seitz, from the screenplay by Erik Skjoldbaerg & Nikolaj Frobenius, music by David Julyan, & edited by Dody Dorn.
2002 R
The original, Norweigan “Insomnia” (1998), directed by Erik Skjoldbaerg, is a stark, existential tale of a detective with a shady past and something newer to hide, chasing a killer in the land of eternal daytime. It walks the line between the particulars of a police procedural and the abstraction of a parable. Beyond the small Norweigan town where the detective makes chase is a white void, where a limitless blanket of snow meets a limitless blanket of sky, as if there is no reality for him besides his guilt and the chase.
To his credit, director Christopher Nolan’s remake of “Insomnia” is not simply the same film with the subtitles removed. A few plot points have been altered slightly, the setting is moved from Norway to Alaska, and the relationship between the detective and his fellow officers is more frank. The two largest changes are the relationship between the detective and the killer, which is now more intimate and almost conspiratorial, and a more visceral, less abstract treatment of the material. In place of Skjolbaerg’s blank, monotonous whiteness are jagged, foreboding glaciers dozens of stories high, capped with the green of majestic pines and the grey-black of cold mud. But Nolan’s visceral approach cuts past the film’s scenery, all the way to its core: his film is more physical than its predecessor, there is more yelling, more swearing, the encounters between police and killer are more raw, and the detective, brilliantly played by Al Pacino, reaches a point of such exhaustion that the audience leaves the theater worn and groggy. Nolan’s “Insomnia” is a story of particular people in a particular place, and is not as interested in being a parable.
Two Los Angeles detectives (Al Pacino and Martin Donovan) are flown to the Alaskan town—or maybe village—of Nightmute to investigate the brutal murder of a teenage girl. The detectives arrive under a cloud, however, involving LAPD’s Internal Affairs, and Donovan appears willing to testify against Pacino. One of the local detectives (Hilary Swank) overlooks this cloud; Pacino’s reputation and sterling, thirty-year record proceed him and she is eager to work at his side. In a cabin in the woods they lay a trap for the killer, but the fog leads to mistaken identity, one man wounded, and one man dead. After the shooting, Pacino tells a wounded officer who, by accident, alerted the killer to the police presence: nothing that happened by the cabin is the fault of anyone besides the killer. But Pacino, for the part he played in the fog, knows this isn’t true.
I’m being vague because there are twists and turns, out in the fog, that I’d be a stinker to reveal. Not long after returning, alone, to his hotel, Pacino discovers that a local writer (Robin Williams) is looking for him. Williams claims to know what really happened to Pacino in the fog, but bringing Williams in for question might reveal his own guilt. Soon, because of a tangled network of mistakes and responsibility, the two men find themselves trying to frame a local teenage boy for the murder. Pacino wavers between his commitment to this plan, but Williams has resolve for both of them, and this becomes the movie’s key relationship. Williams’ performance, with his upper lip tucked almost to invisibility, is low-key and creepy, as a man who doesn’t know whether he wants to be seen as an artistic genius or a lost little boy. He bubbles and shivers and bounces from foot to foot, feeling like a new man for what he has done, or maybe because of what has always been inside of him. Occasionally we need to be reminded what a strong dramatic actor Robin Williams can be, and “Insomnia,” as he effortlessly holds his own alongside one of the best actors of his generation, is just such a reminder. The strength of their performances tempts we to awarding “Insomnia” another half-star, but the almost unnecessary and melodramatic gunbattle at the end holds me back.
The crux of “Insomnia” is the moral weight tied around Pacino’s neck, and his attempts to resolve it are more dramatic than any fistfight. He has spent his life in pursuit of criminals, not for his own personal gain but because he believes the good should check the evil. But now he is unsure of his own guilt or innocence, his own motivations, bringing irony and poignancy to every step of his investigation. For a more selfish, more shallow protagonist, his dilemma would be no dilemma at all and “Insomnia” would not be the intriguing film that it is. “Insomnia” is fascinating because Pacino sticks to the ideals that have kept him afloat as a detective for thirty years, even as they seem to be pushing his own head toward the noose. Williams, who thinks himself blameless no matter what he has done, becomes a demonic mirror for Pacino’s internal conflict. Envy, admiration, and hatred come between them in turns—and all the while, the midnight sun shines on and Pacino lays sleepless with his shame. He has become accustomed to the night and to the big city, where truth can be adjusted or hidden, where we can hide from our faults at least in sleep. But the midnight sun will not let him and, as Williams points out, the truth is bigger than you and me, and cannot be chosen in bits and pieces.
Finished May 25, 2002
Copyright 2002 Friday & Saturday Night