***1/2 (out of ****)
Starring Morgan Freeman, Brad Pitt, Gwyneth Paltrow, R. Lee Ermey, Richard Rountree, and John C. McGinley.
Directed by David Fincher and written by Andrew Kevin Walker.
1995 R
“Seven” begins as a police procedural, turns into a moral debate, and ends as a thriller that combines these two faces into one coin. The first act begins promisingly, if predictably, with two cops being assigned to their first case together. One is white and the other is black, one is about to retire, and they have vastly different investigative styles. We might think that they’ll spend the movie making wisecracks and learning to work together. But “Seven” is a much smarter movie than that. Instead of the cops not getting along simply to give them something to talk about, their basic grinding point comes mostly from their different views on the plight of modern man.
The young, idealist cop—who has seen too many movies, swears too much, wears a leather jacket, and refers to himself in the company of his wife as Serpico—believes that people are either good or evil (or insane), and that it is the responsibility of the good to root out the evil. The older cop, who is about to retire, believes that absolute tolerance and indifference have become the great religion of the urban world, that “not caring” has become a way of life. His retirement is not just a gimmick, but is the culmination of his philosophy. His character, not the plot, has driven him to retirement. The differences between these two men are not just contrivances of lazy writing; they really are two sides to a moral question they debate throughout the course of the film. The deck may be stacked in the older cop’s favor—the city in which they work is a masterpiece of gloom—but the younger cop seems all the more courageous for maintaining his beliefs in the face of so much nastiness. And in the final act, when they begin to understand the motives of the killer they have been chasing, they realize that he, too, has addressed the same moral enigma that they have, and has made his answer.
The murders being investigated by Lieutenant William Somerset (Morgan Freeman) and Detective David Mills (Brad Pitt) are driving the film’s advertising, and on first viewing they may seem to be what “Seven” is all about. They are not the movie’s crux, and they are not what will make “Seven” so memorable. Another film, probably directed by Ridley Scott, will one day give us murders that are more complex, more disgusting, and more ingenious. What makes the crimes in “Seven” so effective is the motivation behind the killer and the proficiency with which director David Fincher displays the killings. Each murder is based on one of the Seven Deadly Sins: lust, avarice, sloth, vengeance, envy, gluttony, and adultery (they’re easy to remember because they spell Las Vega; I guess part of the seduction of evil is that the Four Cardinal Virtues of moderation, prudence, justice, and courage don’t seem to spell anything, virtuous or otherwise). The detectives find an enormous fat man forced to eat himself to death, they find a runway model forced to choose death or disfigurement, they find—well, I suppose I should stop now, except to mention that the killer’s motivation is not to commit evil, but, in a very twisted way, to set a moral lesson. These murders are ghastly and are not for all audiences, but Fincher’s genius is that he shows us the aftermath, then lets his detectives speculate on what happened, then lets that speculation stew in our minds more horribly than showing it to us on screen ever would. Hearing about someone being tortured for twelve hours is somehow more frightening than seeing it. You’ll know what I mean by the end of the movie.
But I’ve made “Seven” sound too much like an ethical treatise. It is also a film of great technique, in which the photography and the direction create a city of constant rain, of bottomless shadows, of rust and grime and mold. Director Fincher could have pumped up his style unnecessarily and made “Seven” a hyperactive music video, like his more confused “Fight Club,” but his restraint saves the day, and he gives us his best film to date. There is a foot chase within the course of the movie, but it is totally of the movie; it is not a fight for its own sake, but one in which the cops chase the killer through apartments where people would rather watch TV than care, through empty shells of buildings where dreams died, across traffic where drivers are more upset that they are being inconvenienced than worried if these men are hurt. The elements of the police procedural are handled well, showing us long stretches of the detectives waiting for the killer to make his next move, waiting while fingerprints are analyzed, waiting while they fill out forms and reports, waiting, waiting, waiting, helpless while they dread the lives their inaction is costing.
Holding “Seven” together are many solid performances, including Brad Pitt as the younger detective, who cracks jokes that aren’t funny and acts tough because he thinks he’s supposed to, and Gwyneth Paltrow as his jovial, but oddly wounded wife. R. Lee Ermey is the police captain, who is actually a part of the investigation instead of simply yelling at the officers, taking away their badges, etc, and John C. McGinley brings tense energy and personality to his smaller role as a SWAT team leader. I would not dare to reveal who plays the killer, only that it is, in a way, inevitable. The key and best performance comes from Morgan Freeman, who inhabits the role of Lieutenant Somerset so perfectly, so completely. I tried to imagine other great actors playing the role—De Niro, Pacino, etc.—but none of them would have gotten the subtle notes of restraint and internal resolve that Freeman achieves so perfectly, and when he finally does become upset, we feel that hell must be upon us. In his apartment, we hear sirens and other sounds of the city, and he hopes to no longer hear them when he moves to the country, but we know he will. Here is a performance on par with the one he gave in “Driving Miss Daisy,” but completely different.
“Seven” may be too much for some stomachs, but that it showcases great technique in the writing, photography, and direction, and elicits a great performance from Morgan Freeman, is undeniable. Most of all, it is a rare thing: a murder mystery that examines morality instead of just blasting bad guys and showing guts.
Copyright 2002 Friday & Saturday Night