By Dylan Masvidal | Staff Writer
Hurt people hurt people.
That is the crux of Maggie Gyllenhaal’s newest directorial effort, “The Bride!”
On the surface, this idea is primed for reamination. A who’s who of Hollywood’s finest, coupled with a nutty retelling of an established classic, is all the convincing I needed to snag a matinee ticket.
But what Gyllenhaal was going for and what ends up being accomplished is both wildly entertaining and full of head-scratchers.
You can chalk up “The Bride!” as another case of unrealized potential, except some of its glaring flaws are too unique to be reductive.
For example, Jessie Buckley as the titular newlywed Ida is practically going full Gollum, which, ideally, should get no complaints from me. When you make a spiteful Mary Shelley one of those “voices” from beyond the grave, though, the line between eccentric and pretentious gets noticeably thin.
Granted, Buckley is working herself to death to make all this land, and Shelley’s inclusion in the story thankfully loses prominence after the first act.
“The Bride!” does at least meet expectations for the first-half of its runtime.
Christian Bale garners much sympathy as Frank, indulging in his romantic sensibilities while his English accent occasionally slips through the cracks.
Bale’s interplay with Buckley and Annette Bening’s Dr. Euphronious is where Gyllenhaal’s writing is most invigorating, especially with the mad doctor.
Bening is acutely aware of her role in this love story, radiating a kind of gravitas that is absolutely electric. Her presence is sorely missed once Ida and Frank go on the run.
I’d be disingenuous saying Buckley and Bale didn’t make me a believer in their connection, gradually showcasing why they belong together.
Ida has been the victim of a cruel era, never experiencing true unconditional love. Frank has never experienced love to begin with, not a single touch or embrace.
United, the latter becomes comfortable in their own skin while the former lets their guard down.
Musical numbers become dazzling declarations of affection and solidarity, highlighting delicate production design and filmmaking techniques Gyllenhaal passionately employs as if they were a love letter to cinema.
Her use of black-and-white imagery is magnetic, whether it’s to mask Buckley in shadows or signify rebirth through some sort of negative zone.
Dutch angles and rack-focuses are used sparingly but super effectively, and there’s a “Bonnie and Clyde”-inspired montage where a pigeon flies in front of a projector that was nothing less than transformative.
Past this point in “The Bride!” is when I felt a headache coming on, however.
Gyllenhaal’s insistence on making the phrase “brain attack!” stick with the audience almost made me throw up in my mouth.
The sentiment behind the words is admirable, as Ida’s criminal exploits have inspired women around 1930s Chicago to rebel against “the man”, even marking their faces with black ink to resemble her own permanent mark.
Shame the concept, just like many in the film, only ever goes skin-deep.
To meander is to lose interest, and the second-half of “The Bride!” trudges along to its inevitable conclusion with no interest in expanding upon its themes.
You start wondering how much longer is left as you ask yourself, “Isn’t the mob in this movie? Why are Peter Sarsgaard and Penélope Cruz here again?”
After the life-or-death climax, Jeannie Berlin’s character makes a joke that, albeit funny, was the tonal nail in the coffin for my overall enjoyment.
Movies like “The Bride!” are tough to digest because of how much success they find in failure.
Gyllenhaal was on the cusp of something truly special here, and while I’m fairly certain it won’t deter her from swinging big again, the unfair possibility of director jail looms in the background.
In a perfect world, studios would reward imaginative imperfection.
In reality, no one sees a Frankenstein’s monster for what it’s trying to be, just for what it is.
5/10
About Post Author
