Surprisingly, it's been almost 7 years since director Lynne Ramsay's last film, the acclaimed psychological drama We Need to Talk About Kevin. That time off hasn't exactly been easy. Conflicts around ill-fated western Jane Got a Gun dominated the news cycle, which caused Ramsay to struggle to get another project made. But the long and arduous wait paid off at last year's Cannes Film Festival, when You Were Never Really Here received rapturous applause and two competition victories for Best Screenplay and Best Actor. Recently arriving in wide release, the director's fourth feature lives up to the hype and then some. To sum it up in a single word, You Were Never Really Here is overwhelming. It's the kind of movie that dares you not to breathe for 90 gripping minutes, strapping you in and dropping you into the deep end of a hellish pool of violence and bloodshed. Even if you think you're prepared for what's to come, Ramsay still has a way of knocking you out with a perfectly-aimed punch to the jaw.
While the marketing has billed You Were Never Really Here as something of an arthouse rendition of Liam Neeson's Taken franchise, that couldn't be further from the case. This is a horror movie masquerading as an action thriller, a nightmare designed to shock and terrify you with its pure intensity. An audio/visual experience so visceral and punishing that many audiences simply won't know how to respond, this is powerful, extraordinary stuff from Ramsay. But beyond its fascinating relationship with gruesome violence and its relentless mixture of frenetic camerawork and unsettling musical cues, this study of mental illness, trauma, and existential dread could not be more surprising in its raw emotional power. Led by the fiercely committed Joaquin Phoenix, who delivers an astounding performance on multiple levels, You Were Never Really Here is an expertly calibrated dose of tragedy and madness that just never lets up. It's as haunting, harrowing, and brutally memorable as you could possibly want it to be.
Joe (Joaquin Phoenix) is a war veteran dealing with the weight of a lifetime of abuse and trauma, from his tumultuous and tragic childhood to the horrors he witnessed during his military service. Now a grizzled and aging man with a knack for brutal efficiency, Joe works as hired muscle to rescue young girls from sex trafficking rings. When he's not killing lowlifes with a hammer, Joe spends much of his time tending to his elderly mother (Judith Roberts) and trying to not to lose himself in the cacophonous hell of modern New York. Joe has a careful working relationship with the man who gives him assignments (John Doman), but he's extremely concerned about anyone learning his exact whereabouts. One day, he's tasked with finding the missing daughter (Ekaterina Samsonov) of State Senator Albert Votto (Alex Mannette). The senator wants Joe to make these men pay, and he does. But what initially seems like a straight-forward job quickly turns into a wide-reaching conspiracy, one that has vast implications for Joe's life.
If you read that synopsis and thought of Taxi Driver, don't worry, you're not alone. Ever since the film's premiere at Cannes, You Were Never Really Here has drawn comparisons to Martin Scorsese's iconic classic. And if we're being honest, it's not hard to see why. While I'm no expert on Taxi Driver (only saw it for the first time fairly recently), there are a number of surface level similarities between the two films. A war veteran with severe PTSD, a young girl in a dangerous situation, the presence of New York politics, sequences of gut-wrenching violence- these are common threads that run through both films. But there's been some debate as to whether or not the two films deserve to be compared on a thematic level, as some believe that they're seemingly telling completely different stories. Travis Bickle and Joe are not the same person, and I don't believe that Lynne Ramsay wants to merely update Scorsese's film for the 21st century. Nonetheless, I do think there's a specific thematic connection between these characters and these stories, even if Ramsay and Scorsese reach completely different narrative conclusions. Essentially, both films are about lost souls attempting to find purpose through violence, searching for meaning with decisive actions that make them feel socially useful.
To be fair, that's a wholly diminutive statement. There's a lot going on in You Were Never Really Here, and it's tempting to reduce the film to a simplistic thematic message. You could say that Ramsay's film is solely about Iraq/Afghanistan PTSD, the ramifications or trauma and abuse, or the insular sense of terror that comes with mental illness, and you'd probably be completely right about any of those things. Each of these topics could form the basis of an essay on this film, and it's a testament to You Were Never Really Here's abstract and surrealistic brilliance that it all feels so perfectly open-ended. Little is explained, not in regards to the exact nature of the plot nor what specific characters are thinking, and the movie is better for it. But while certain elements are open to interpretation, part of the film's confounding appeal is in the specificity of its details, the way it weaves together distinct ideas and an exploration of intense pain in a manner that feels singular and maybe even elusive.
Ramsay (who also wrote the screenplay) has made a film with quite a bit to say, but its execution is so blunt and overwhelming that the entire experience feels almost indescribable. Because beyond its thematic preoccupations and the multitude of possible messages, You Were Never Really Here is a movie that beats you into submission. It's impossible to disconnect yourself from what happens on the screen- this is an experiment in character-based audio/visual tension the likes of which I've never seen before. This was my first taste of Ramsay's particular style, and I was left awestruck by a film that feels so incredibly refined and precise. Ramsay shoots much of the film in close-ups, lingering on the minute details that few directors would bother with. Instead, the close-ups only make the whole thing feel that much more claustrophobic and constrained, leading to a sense of breathless intensity that can be startling at times. She's an expert at knowing exactly when to put us in Joe's terrifying mental orbit and when to pull back, giving us room to breath and process the more gentle moments of the film.
Ramsay also shoots violence in a fascinating way. This is the kind of movie that feels extreme in its depiction of cinematic horrors, but like Roger Ebert once said in regards to Psycho or Halloween (I can't find the quote right now and it's killing me), it's important to consider how much we actually see. So much of the brutality in You Were Never Really Here is completely implied- we see it in grainy security footage or merely witness the gruesome aftermath of what just happened. There are more than enough gory details to make your stomach churn, but Ramsay rarely delivers the kind of brutality one might expect. But that's because this film is never meant to be satisfying in the way that action cinema often tries to be. It offers no traditional heroic moments, only scenes of profound defeat and emotional loss. The most abrupt bits of violence in this film are meant to shock and disturb, and one is so profoundly unnerving and devastating that I don't think I'll ever forget it.
Without Ramsay's guidance behind the camera, it's hard to imagine this film working so extraordinarily well. But Joaquin Phoenix is indispensable, delivering the kind of jaw-dropping performance that is simultaneously enormously sympathetic and downright haunting. If you weren't afraid of Phoenix taking on the Joker before, the very thought of that role will straight-up terrify you after this movie. The first shot of the film finds Phoenix breathing in and out of a tight plastic bag, and that level of physical intensity is sustained throughout. But perhaps most impressive is the way Phoenix externalizes much of Joe's mental state, delivering a nuanced depiction of his crumbling mind. He never oversells it, but there's real devastation in this fearsome killing machine, and Ramsay and Phoenix lean into the tragedy of Joe to excellent results. It helps when you have a film with maybe the most ambitious soundscape in recent memory. The film is driven by Jonny Greenwood's pulse-pounding score, which mixes cool techno vibes with the kind of music designed to give you an anxiety attack. But in addition to Greenwood's mesmerizing score, the harsh sounds of New York's concrete jungle are so shrill and terrifying that it leads to a feeling of utter helplessness. This is astounding technical work on every level.
The more I think about You Were Never Really Here, the more astonished I am by the magnitude of what Lynne Ramsay and Joaquin Phoenix have accomplished here. This is an amazing achievement in internal storytelling, one of the more spectacular depictions of a deteriorating mind that I've ever seen on film. Not a second too long or too short at 90 minutes, Ramsay delivers a forceful, nerve-shredding tale of lifelong trauma that leaves a necessary mark, sending the viewer on a moving journey of immense pain and quiet redemption. The horrors on display here are tremendous, both from the perspective of its emotional tragedy and its grisly violence. There's nothing pleasant about the experience of watching You Were Never Really Here, and yet there's something so profound and unforgettable about Joe's story. Ramsay's film disturbed me and rocked me to my core, but it also touched my emotions in a genuinely surprising way. A major work of filmmaking bravado and compact storytelling, You Were Never Really Here is a special experience. Just be prepared for it to knock you out.
THE FINAL GRADE: A (9.3/10)
Image: IMDb/Amazon
While the marketing has billed You Were Never Really Here as something of an arthouse rendition of Liam Neeson's Taken franchise, that couldn't be further from the case. This is a horror movie masquerading as an action thriller, a nightmare designed to shock and terrify you with its pure intensity. An audio/visual experience so visceral and punishing that many audiences simply won't know how to respond, this is powerful, extraordinary stuff from Ramsay. But beyond its fascinating relationship with gruesome violence and its relentless mixture of frenetic camerawork and unsettling musical cues, this study of mental illness, trauma, and existential dread could not be more surprising in its raw emotional power. Led by the fiercely committed Joaquin Phoenix, who delivers an astounding performance on multiple levels, You Were Never Really Here is an expertly calibrated dose of tragedy and madness that just never lets up. It's as haunting, harrowing, and brutally memorable as you could possibly want it to be.
Joe (Joaquin Phoenix) is a war veteran dealing with the weight of a lifetime of abuse and trauma, from his tumultuous and tragic childhood to the horrors he witnessed during his military service. Now a grizzled and aging man with a knack for brutal efficiency, Joe works as hired muscle to rescue young girls from sex trafficking rings. When he's not killing lowlifes with a hammer, Joe spends much of his time tending to his elderly mother (Judith Roberts) and trying to not to lose himself in the cacophonous hell of modern New York. Joe has a careful working relationship with the man who gives him assignments (John Doman), but he's extremely concerned about anyone learning his exact whereabouts. One day, he's tasked with finding the missing daughter (Ekaterina Samsonov) of State Senator Albert Votto (Alex Mannette). The senator wants Joe to make these men pay, and he does. But what initially seems like a straight-forward job quickly turns into a wide-reaching conspiracy, one that has vast implications for Joe's life.
If you read that synopsis and thought of Taxi Driver, don't worry, you're not alone. Ever since the film's premiere at Cannes, You Were Never Really Here has drawn comparisons to Martin Scorsese's iconic classic. And if we're being honest, it's not hard to see why. While I'm no expert on Taxi Driver (only saw it for the first time fairly recently), there are a number of surface level similarities between the two films. A war veteran with severe PTSD, a young girl in a dangerous situation, the presence of New York politics, sequences of gut-wrenching violence- these are common threads that run through both films. But there's been some debate as to whether or not the two films deserve to be compared on a thematic level, as some believe that they're seemingly telling completely different stories. Travis Bickle and Joe are not the same person, and I don't believe that Lynne Ramsay wants to merely update Scorsese's film for the 21st century. Nonetheless, I do think there's a specific thematic connection between these characters and these stories, even if Ramsay and Scorsese reach completely different narrative conclusions. Essentially, both films are about lost souls attempting to find purpose through violence, searching for meaning with decisive actions that make them feel socially useful.
To be fair, that's a wholly diminutive statement. There's a lot going on in You Were Never Really Here, and it's tempting to reduce the film to a simplistic thematic message. You could say that Ramsay's film is solely about Iraq/Afghanistan PTSD, the ramifications or trauma and abuse, or the insular sense of terror that comes with mental illness, and you'd probably be completely right about any of those things. Each of these topics could form the basis of an essay on this film, and it's a testament to You Were Never Really Here's abstract and surrealistic brilliance that it all feels so perfectly open-ended. Little is explained, not in regards to the exact nature of the plot nor what specific characters are thinking, and the movie is better for it. But while certain elements are open to interpretation, part of the film's confounding appeal is in the specificity of its details, the way it weaves together distinct ideas and an exploration of intense pain in a manner that feels singular and maybe even elusive.
Ramsay (who also wrote the screenplay) has made a film with quite a bit to say, but its execution is so blunt and overwhelming that the entire experience feels almost indescribable. Because beyond its thematic preoccupations and the multitude of possible messages, You Were Never Really Here is a movie that beats you into submission. It's impossible to disconnect yourself from what happens on the screen- this is an experiment in character-based audio/visual tension the likes of which I've never seen before. This was my first taste of Ramsay's particular style, and I was left awestruck by a film that feels so incredibly refined and precise. Ramsay shoots much of the film in close-ups, lingering on the minute details that few directors would bother with. Instead, the close-ups only make the whole thing feel that much more claustrophobic and constrained, leading to a sense of breathless intensity that can be startling at times. She's an expert at knowing exactly when to put us in Joe's terrifying mental orbit and when to pull back, giving us room to breath and process the more gentle moments of the film.
Ramsay also shoots violence in a fascinating way. This is the kind of movie that feels extreme in its depiction of cinematic horrors, but like Roger Ebert once said in regards to Psycho or Halloween (I can't find the quote right now and it's killing me), it's important to consider how much we actually see. So much of the brutality in You Were Never Really Here is completely implied- we see it in grainy security footage or merely witness the gruesome aftermath of what just happened. There are more than enough gory details to make your stomach churn, but Ramsay rarely delivers the kind of brutality one might expect. But that's because this film is never meant to be satisfying in the way that action cinema often tries to be. It offers no traditional heroic moments, only scenes of profound defeat and emotional loss. The most abrupt bits of violence in this film are meant to shock and disturb, and one is so profoundly unnerving and devastating that I don't think I'll ever forget it.
Without Ramsay's guidance behind the camera, it's hard to imagine this film working so extraordinarily well. But Joaquin Phoenix is indispensable, delivering the kind of jaw-dropping performance that is simultaneously enormously sympathetic and downright haunting. If you weren't afraid of Phoenix taking on the Joker before, the very thought of that role will straight-up terrify you after this movie. The first shot of the film finds Phoenix breathing in and out of a tight plastic bag, and that level of physical intensity is sustained throughout. But perhaps most impressive is the way Phoenix externalizes much of Joe's mental state, delivering a nuanced depiction of his crumbling mind. He never oversells it, but there's real devastation in this fearsome killing machine, and Ramsay and Phoenix lean into the tragedy of Joe to excellent results. It helps when you have a film with maybe the most ambitious soundscape in recent memory. The film is driven by Jonny Greenwood's pulse-pounding score, which mixes cool techno vibes with the kind of music designed to give you an anxiety attack. But in addition to Greenwood's mesmerizing score, the harsh sounds of New York's concrete jungle are so shrill and terrifying that it leads to a feeling of utter helplessness. This is astounding technical work on every level.
The more I think about You Were Never Really Here, the more astonished I am by the magnitude of what Lynne Ramsay and Joaquin Phoenix have accomplished here. This is an amazing achievement in internal storytelling, one of the more spectacular depictions of a deteriorating mind that I've ever seen on film. Not a second too long or too short at 90 minutes, Ramsay delivers a forceful, nerve-shredding tale of lifelong trauma that leaves a necessary mark, sending the viewer on a moving journey of immense pain and quiet redemption. The horrors on display here are tremendous, both from the perspective of its emotional tragedy and its grisly violence. There's nothing pleasant about the experience of watching You Were Never Really Here, and yet there's something so profound and unforgettable about Joe's story. Ramsay's film disturbed me and rocked me to my core, but it also touched my emotions in a genuinely surprising way. A major work of filmmaking bravado and compact storytelling, You Were Never Really Here is a special experience. Just be prepared for it to knock you out.
THE FINAL GRADE: A (9.3/10)
Image: IMDb/Amazon
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