The Voices hits Blu-ray, DVD, and Digital HD on April 7th from Lionsgate Home Entertainment
The word you are going to hear most in relation to The Voices is ‘quirky’. Or, I don’t know, maybe the word you’ll hear most is ‘mellifluous’. I’m not in charge of other people’s words. But ‘quirky’ seems like the easy catch-all for the bizarre mix of tones, genres and affectations that comprise this film. Like American Psycho run through a Wes Anderson filter, The Voices is a pitch-black comedy that aims to place you inside the head of a psychopath struggling with his psychopathy.
The psychopath in question is Jerry (Ryan Reynolds) an endlessly chipper fellow who spends his days working at a bathtub factory before going home to the rundown bowling alley he lives at (quuuuuuuuuuirkyyyyyyyy) where he converses with his sweet lummox of a dog, Bosco, and sociopathic monster of a cat, Mr. Whiskers (both voiced by Reynolds). The Voices charts Jerry’s mental state in relation to the three most important women in his life: Fiona (Gemma Arterton), his work crush; Lisa (Anna Kendrick), a co-worker that’s crushing on Jerry; and Dr. Warren (Jacki Weaver), Jerry’s court-appointed psychiatrist who would really, really like Jerry to start taking his medication again.
There’s an accident, bodies start appearing (as they are wont to do in this sort of film) and Jerry’s attempts to extricate himself from the mess only push him deeper into psychosis and the film into bleaker territory.
Director Marjane Satrapi (best known for her graphic novel, Persepolis, and the film adaption of said comic) and screenwriter Michael R. Perry (a bunch of shitty network television, Paranormal Activity 2) are after interesting game here. Within the opening credits, played out over shots of hellish industrial filth while a happy jingle plays, Satrapi is establishing a world of self-consciously bright pastel colors coated over a foundation of grime and shit. The effect is both amusing and off-putting, creating the sense that the entire world of the film is skewed, tilted left of center, and Jerry’s madness is only a tiny facet of a larger, perverted reality. Even in scenes where Jerry isn’t around, and the film isn’t framed through his fractured perceptions, everything is still pitched to a stylized and somewhat stilted level.
At one point, Jerry goes to get sushi, and the sushi joint has an Asian man doing an elaborate Elvis impersonation, complete with song-and-dance number that goes on for quite a while. There is exactly zero reason for any of this to either happen or take up as much time as it does, except that someone thought it would be funny to do something random like that. And probably someone, somewhere, laughed their ass off. Satrapi does not seem concerned with making movies or art that appeal to everyone, or even to most people. She’s got her own voice (see what I did there? Bringing it all home, circular style. I got this, I got this) and I’m sure there are people for whom The Voices will immediately become a favorite.
But while I did like the film and would recommend you at least give it a rental to see if it does stoke your own idiosyncratic fire, it didn’t quite add up for me. The problem is that the whole film is played so arch, when Satrapi decides to drop the artifice and hit you, hit you hard, it feels like cheap manipulation. ‘Manipulative’ isn’t a legitimate criticism (all art is manipulating you. Before you experienced the art you were in one emotional state, and after you were in a different one. Manipulation.) but ‘nakedly manipulative’ is. When Satrapi forces you to wallow in actual pain and drawn-out death, it doesn’t feel like a natural pivot for the film, but like the director is poking you with a stick.
“Here, feel something. Here, feel something. Here, feel something.” It gets old, and it gets old quick.
The cast is certainly game for whatever the script asks them to do, but that’s not a lot, unfortunately. I adore Anna Kendrick as a performer, but she seems lost here, as does Weaver. Gemma Arterton, who usually bores me silly, probably comes out the strongest from the film, ably playing the shifts in Jerry’s perceptions. Without spoiling where the movie goes, Arterton is tasked with performing under severe limitations, but she makes a meal out of it.
Which brings us to Ryan Reynolds. Now, Reynolds gets a world of shit from the Internet thanks to some of his career choices, but I generally like the guy and enjoy whenever he pops up in a movie. And I’m appreciative of the fact that between inevitably doomed stabs at blockbuster stardom (good luck with Deadpool, dude) he seems interested in chasing small, interesting films like this or The Nines or Buried, etc.
But The Voices, even more than a train wreck like Green Lantern, seems to confirm once and for all that Ryan Reynolds is not a leading man. For all of the effort he pours into playing Jerry, he just can’t bring the guy to life. There’s no sense of inner life to Jerry, no sensation that he continues to exist even after the movie cuts away. I don’t know if that’s a byproduct of Reynolds’ performance or that same archness Satrapi uses for the whole movie, but it leaves a flat space at the soul of the film. Instead of being caught up in Jerry’s story, we remain permanently outside, observing instead of experiencing.
Again, The Voices is a movie you should definitely watch, if only to appreciate the very fine technical tricks used to make the dog and cat talk. I’m sure that was absolute misery to shoot, so the least you can do is watch the movie and appreciate it, Kevin, you asshole. What have you done with your life, Kevin? Have you animated a cat to have a person-voice? No? Then shut up.
Sorry about that. Hate that guy.
Anyway, The Voices is a lot of fun and certainly deserves a look. Even though I don’t think I was on this film’s particular wavelength, I really appreciate how whole-hog Satrapi and her cast go for their own individual vision. With so many movies being engineered for mass consumption, it’s always great to see a film that (watch how I do this, watch me bring it all home) has its own voice.
