So, Kives Out.
This is one odd film.
On the surface, it’s an old-fashioned Whodunnit? reminiscent of Agatha Christie’s works. In this take, we open to find the Patriarch of a WASP-y family of trust fund babies dead, apparently at his own hand. His nurse Marta (Ana de Armas) discovers him, and it seems simple enough.
Oh wait…the guy is famous for writing detective novels, and all his kids and grandkids have a reason to kill him. And someone engaged the services of Benoit Blan (Daniel Craig) to “help” the dimwitted local police.
Let’s not mince words. I hated this Rian Johnson written/directed film for 1 hour and 45 minutes of its runtime, then it completely won me over in the final 25 minutes. No film has ever sparked such a “I want to walk out” vibe then a complete reverse.
Why I hated it
Daniel Craig’s Southern-Fried take on an Agatha Christie detective sports an uncanny-valley accent. He’s obviously doing an impression, but it’s from no discernable region of the South. There’s no “mystery” to the film. You know by minute 20 who the killer is and the next 75 minutes drags on interminably.
There are no likable characters, save for Armas’s Marta, the nursemaid for the 85-year-old patriarch, Harlan (Christopher Plummer). Harlan has 2 living children, the ball-busting neocon Linda (Jamie Lee Curtis), and the hapless Walt (Micahel Shannon) who runs his publishing empire. Said empire, as we find out in the will is worth well north of $60 million.
Along for the ride is the daughter-in-law Joni (Toni Collette), who runs a GOOP-like lifestyle blog/skin care shill/instagram empire by suckling the teat of Harlan’s largess. As they used to say in the obituaries on 97.7 WJSN “A host of grandchildren survive,” most notably Ransom (Chris Evans), the ne’er-do-well scion of Linda and Richard (Don Johnson).
Collete, in particular, is simply hard to look at, a skeletal shadow of her former self. Other peripheral characters are many, and bland stereotypes: The SJW Emo, the Alt-right repressed homosexual, the wilting Betty Draper beauty queen with pearls and outsized cocktail glass. Nobody here gets an arc. They’re just window-dressing.
That’s just the order of battle. Actually watching this cadre of WASP entitlement interact grates. It’s work. Perhaps that was Johnson’s intent, making us feel as defeated and deranged and Harlan did the night of his 85th birthday, right before he (apparently) slit his own throat rather than face the din of another “You’re a Nazi” / “You’re a Snowflake” rant from The Descendants downstairs.
Likewise, the profanity in the movie is neither earned nor welcome. This isn’t Tarantino-level grotesque vulgarity for its own sake, nor is it inventive or memorable. It shows us nothing about the characters.
Why It (Almost) Redeems Itself
Ana de Armas is like Cuban Audrey Hepburn. She’s luminous, vulnerable, honest, and her eyes do 90% of the acting in this film. Unlike most of her body of work to date, she chooses to keep her clothes on in this film. She holds things together by sheer force of will and charisma until the plot actually starts. As stated, that’s a full 105 minutes into the film.
When the plot does start, it’s so jarring it’s like seeing a corpse move. It’s unexpected…again, maybe that’s the point?
For the 25 minutes where there is a plot, Knives Out pulls the trick that your 3rd grade teacher did. It teaches you without you realizing it. When the threads start to weave together with 5 minutes of runtime left, it all clicks into place in your head. Blanc’s thundering finish is part Clue, part Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mocking Bird.
The movie isn’t gorgeous, but it’s shot with plenty of natural light, on-location.
My Thirteen year old daughter really wanted to see this film, capping a month heavy with movies. I regret taking her, but I did enjoy the “What WAS that?” discussion we had on the way out of the cinema.