*** (out of ****)
Starring Jack Nicholson, Robin Wright-Penn, Aaron Eckhart, Sam Shepherd, Venessa Redgrave, Helen Mirren, Patricia Clarkson, Mickey Rourke, and Benicio Del Toro.
Directed by Sean Penn & written by Jerzy Kromolowski and Mary Olson-Kromolowski, from the novel by Friedrich Durrenmatt
2001
124 min R
The body of a little girl is found in the snow, murdered, and an eyewitness puts a mentally handicapped man at the scene. The man is arrested and charged, the evidence points to him, as well as past convictions of statutory rape, and then he shoots himself while in custody, apparently out of guilt. The case appears to be closed, but not for Detective Jerry Black (Jack Nicholson), who is forced into a mysterious oath by the bereaved girl’s parents to find the killer, or sacrifice his soul.
Jerry is not convinced that the dead man (Benicio Del Toro) is the culprit. Neither are we. For one thing, his confession is eerily contrived out of him by another detective, played by Aaron Eckhart (who was himself so delightfully sinister in “In the Company of Men”). Nicholson is not even convinced Del Toro is competent enough to understand to what he is confessing. Then Nicholson digs deeper and discovers similar crimes committed while Del Toro was in prison. Not surprisingly, his department is not interested in his theories.
This alone could be the set-up for a conventional whodunit thriller. We can tell from Sean Penn’s style of direction in showing us the facts and conveying menace that he could quite easily have directed “The Pledge” as such. But “The Pledge” decides to tell a different story: yes, we follow Nicholson as he tries to link the previous crimes to this most recent one, and yes, we get many elements of a good police procedural. But early on we realize “The Pledge” is more about the detective than the crime, and is more a character examination than a thriller, in which Nicholson is given two hours to amply develop his character, and a hefty supporting cast are given a few minutes each to do the same.
The body is found during Jerry’s retirement party; past that evening, he is no longer a real police officer. He has no family and does not seem to have any friends outside of the force. To him there is only crime and fishing. He is calm and methodical, but as his investigation continues, and as his obsession grows, he begins to fray, first around the edges, and then deeper and deeper. He smokes more and more, as only Jack Nicholson can, with giant plumes and clouds enveloping him and coming out in all directions. He gets excitable when he’s frustrated, and his words run together and he forgets names. His single-mindedness leads him to even buying a gas station near where he thinks his suspect might live.
Nicholson is the center of the film. His performance is strong, solid, restrained, with few outbursts, of a man set in his course, with few words to waste along the way. But he is not the impolite, overly impassioned and impatient supercop so common in many films and television programs; he is deliberate and polite and sympathetic with those he interviews. We can see that he may have been impatient as a youth, but middle age has taught him good pacing. Sadly, though, we can see that old age is eating away at him. When he befriends a waitress near his gas station, we understand why she puts her faith in someone so firm and moral. His performance is a delicate balancing act between driven and leisurely, between obsessed and gentle. A lesser actor who turned in the same performance would be nominated for an Oscar.
The supporting cast is uniformly excellent. Every character is given a chance to breathe and a scene to make his or her own. Robin Wright-Penn—who long ago chose interesting roles even when she had the chance to become an eyecandy leading lady—is endearing as the waitress, and has some of Jerry’s solidness. Aaron Eckhart, as Jerry’s replacement, brings so much vigor and personality to his performance that we forget his role is the archetype of the ambitious, arrest-driven upstart cop. Some day I will cry a little tear when Eckhart starts playing traditional leading men and hides his natural, enormous talent for playing, well, ass holes. Academy-award winner Benicio Del Toro creates sympathy and disgust for his downtrodden, incompetent rapist in the space of about six minutes.
Nicholson’s interview with a psychiatrist played by Helen Mirren is perhaps the best scene in the movie. She examines his evidence with only half-interest and is more worried about the man interviewing her than about the phantom he is chasing. Another stand-out includes the scene in which a boy on a damaged snowmobile wanders silently toward evil, first in an open field, then into the trees. There is no speaking in this episode and the chubby boy’s reserve puts to shame the loud child actors from so many other films. To say how this scene connects with the rest of the film would ruin its impact.
Director Penn sets each scene so deliberately and so deeply that “The Pledge” may seem a bit too even-paced for some viewers. In places we seem to be watching a series of perfectly-modulated, self-contained scenes—in which gifted actors like Del Toro and Vanessa Redgrave give us an entire life in a matter of moments—as opposed to a single narrative. But “The Pledge” is a strong showing from a maturing director. To Penn’s credit is the sense of menace throughout the film. I would not dream of revealing how the movie ends, or whether Nicholson’s theory is correct or not, only that the malevolence that originates in that first scene on the ice never disappears completely, only hibernates from time to time.
Copyright 2002 Friday & Saturday Night