Tape
(2001)
Although it is essentially an expanded one-act play,
"Tape" is one of the most taunt and claustrophobic psychological
dramas to appear since Tennessee Williams died. Echoing
the playwright and updating the sexual themes he often
employed, the film has that twisted, curving feeling
of one of Williams' most complex stories. On film, "Tape"
might very well be the first film to rival "Who's Afraid
of Virginia Woolf?" for pure fucked-up psychological
perplexity since that film's release in the 60's.
Utilizing one set and three characters, director
Richard Linklater, creates a moody and emotionally violent
hot box of dramatic revelations. Working from a play
by Stephen Belber, who expands his one-act to a full
90-minute film script here, Linklater never once allows
his characters to leave their setting. Or rather, if
they do, he does not follow them. This is quite daring
as many directors may have tried to "open up" the film.
Linklater could have easily employed flashbacks or insisted
on a trip to the convenience store next door or any
number of devices to "change" the film. The fact that
he does not solidifies his overwhelming fortitude as
an indie director. Things like this would be sorrowful
mistakes and Linklater is wise enough to know this and
daring enough to stick by his wisdom.
Linklater, conversely, narrows the film by adding
even more claustrophobia with camera set-up and movement.
Often the handheld will swish between characters as
a heated discussion evolves. The camera placement and
movement here adds new dimensions to the term "taunt."
The acting here is top notch with Ethan Hawke,
Robert Sean Leonard and Uma Thurman each turning in
Oscar worthy performances. Hawke is particularly a standout.
Not only does he have the most dynamic role, but he
also creates a character with it that is one of the
most troubled and frightening "real" people we have
seen on screen in a while. While the trio of characters
all have a history dating back to their high school
days together, it is obvious that much has changed with
them in the ten years since they graduated. Except for
Hawke, of course. His character has not evolved, has
not truly grown. Hawke creates a threatening and psychologically
unstable man whose boundaries threaten to explode at
any moment. It is, quite possibly, Hawke's most daring
work to date.
Leonard, meanwhile, is the more calm and cerebral
of the characters. It is interesting to watch him think
and react to Hawke's far more action oriented character.
Leonard creates a character with a past that is simply
trying to move on with life while Hawke's Vince is clearly
still living at the age of high school mentality. It
is an interesting and important dichotomy. More important
is how they both deal with issues. While Hawke's character
seems to be threatening to spontaneously burst at the
seems, Leonard's is much more internal, as if he might
implode at any moment. In fact, much into the film,
he does.
Thurman, meanwhile, has a far smaller role, arriving
well after half the movie is over, but she is perfection
nonetheless. Her Amy is a seeming innocent tossed into
the mixmaster that is this story. She quickly gains
control and trades punches with her fellow characters
proving herself a force to be reckoned with. Likewise
does Thurman. The actress, who is married to Hawke in
real life, has no trouble here establishing her character
and combining with the other elements of the film. The
dynamic these three actors create is nothing short of
electric.
"Tape" is all dialogue driven. But it's words are
full of emotion and regret and sorrow and fear. At its
heart is a story of innocence betrayed, anger, resentment,
and bitterness that ever so slowly seethes into the
edges of the story. All of this is tied up with a taboo
sexual thread that makes it crackle with energy and
awe. "Tape" may be claustrophobic and verbose but it
is also fascinating. The film is the perfect combination
of consummate acting, tight direction and wonderful
scripting. Like "Woolf," or Williams, the film will
sucker-punch you with its dramatic revelations and plot
twists that repulse and surprise. And like Hitchcock's
"Rope," all of this is done while never seeming to leave
the singular landscape of a single room except to delve
into the human mind.
Note:
No music is used in the film until the end credits
which sport Brenda Lee's "I'm Sorry."
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