by Frank Calvillo
Last month when I reviewed Terrence Malick’s Knight of Cups, I made some comparisons between that film and the works of author Bret Easton in terms of similar themes and ideologies. Today I find myself once again writing about a film whose tone and motifs echo that of another celebrated author (this time master postmodernist Paul Auster) with the Jake Gyllenhaal dramedy Demolition.
In the film, Gyllenhaal stars as Davis, a well-to-do New York financier who loses his wife Julia (Heather Lind) in a fatal car accident. Everyone, from Davis’s father-in-law/boss Phil (Chris Cooper) to even Davis himself, finds it odd that he is unable to grieve over such an impactful loss. However, a chance encounter with single mother Karen (Naomi Watts) and her teenage son Chris (Judah Lewis), along with a newly-found penchant for the dismantling and destruction of inanimate objects, help Davis finally come to terms with his loss.
Watching Demolition, it became impossible for me to ignore the elements it shares with the aforementioned Auster. The author made his name by exploring the intricacies of human behavior and the role of fate and chance in the everyday world. After being told about his wife’s death, Davis tries to buy a bag of M&Ms from the hospital vending machine. When the machine takes his money but doesn’t give him his candy, Davis begins writing a series of letters in which he talks about his recently-deceased wife, their past life and his current state of being to the vending company’s customer service department. Eventually he is followed by the pot-smoking, slightly fragile Karen, the company’s sole customer service representative, leading to a very interesting and deep relationship between these two complicated people. Auster’s knack for showing how such a seemingly simple reality had the power to transform one’s existence in the blink of an eye is what’s always made him so compulsively readable. Along with the first-person narration, it’s the very same idea of recognizing the extraordinary power in the deceptively ordinary parts of life, which make up the foundation of Demolition’s wonderful screenplay.
Films about grief and mourning the loss of a loved one are never in short supply. Yet with Demolition, it’s the film’s view on the subject, and everything it leads to, which sets it apart from other titles of its sort. This is mainly because Demolition is a film about delayed grief brought on by an extended period of shock. All of this is helped along through a wildly unpredictable reevaluation of a person who thought he knew who he was, but must now face the inevitable question: Who am I really? Julia’s death affords Davis the chance to discover the kind of person he somehow managed to avoid becoming in favor of turning into someone he was never meant to be. Such exploration gives Demolition a definite elevated depth and poignancy which thankfully isn’t hampered by the slight, yet effective humor sprinkled throughout the film.
With Davis, Gyllenhaal once again proves himself as one of the most brave and reliable actors of his generation. Watching him play Davis as a maddeningly contained individual and then gradually transforming him into a wandering soul is a feat that only an actor of his caliber can pull off. Watts likewise is stunning to watch, playing one of the most interesting parts of her career. While Cooper is stymied by the limited conventions of his role, Lewis commands the screen, showing a range that very few young performers have.
Demolition suffers from the occasional indie movie trapping such as obligatory moments at the beach, or an extended montage of Davis dancing throughout the city. There’s also a lack of true probing with regards to Davis’s marriage or a solid resolution when it comes to Karen’s character. Overall though, it cannot be argued that the film offers up one of the most touching and unique takes on both grief and damaged people to come along in quite some time.
