'Seven' explores murky region between light and shadow
By Dini S. Djalal
JAKARTA (JP): Is violence the preoccupation of late twentieth- century society? Martin Scorcese's Casino, Michael Mann's Heat, John Woo's Broken Arrow, and Robert Rodriguez's Desperado are the most recent expressions of cinematic violence shown in Jakarta, but they follow the hundreds of less substantial action films formulaically churned out by Hollywood and its Asian counterparts.
If visitors from outer space took these American and Asian films shown at Indonesian cinemas as a paradigm of today's culture, they would assume that gun-toting Earthlings prowl every street corner.
Seven, the second feature by Alien 3 director David Fincher, tells the same bleak story. Crime washes over the anonymous urban landscape as often as the incessant rain shutting out the sun. Like Ridley Scott's Blade Runner and Katheryn Bigelow's Strange Days, tales of urban apocalypse are often bathed in dark shadows rather than light.
Seven, with its decaying 1940s-style decor and monochromatic wardrobes, does have the feel of Blade Runner. Color is an anomaly on the set; even the bloodshed takes on darker shades. The central characters -- Brad Pitt as brash detective David Mills, Morgan Freeman as weary and retiring cop William Somerset, and Gwyneth Paltrow as Mill's ethereal wife Tracy -- move like shadows, dressed in hues of black and white.
The thriller plot is also an exercise in polar extremes. Mills and Somerset are unwillingly paired to catch serial killer John Doe. Doe is everyman's conscience armed with both a bible and a sledgehammer, and his crusade for a morally-upright society has led him on a murderous rampage. He literally translates the seven deadly sins and kills his victims with their own vices.
That these cinematic crimes dominated dinner conversations back in the U.S. attests to audience infatuation with methods of murder. Seven's killer interprets death as salvation after precise and prolonged torture: a glutton is forced to eat until he bursts, a sloth is tied to his own bed of blood, a greedy man is made to spare his own flesh onto a balancing scale. The murders themselves are never carried out on screen. Only police photos document the carnage for the gaping crowd.
Even if the stills of the killings were not so graphic, audiences would have left visually awestruck. Seven is simply cinematic art. Its cinematography, with its dim lighting and deep shadows, is like an Edward Hopper painting come to life. Every face is half in shadow, revealing the dark side in every character.
And the life it takes on is as brooding as Hopper's canvases. Director Fincher takes smaller steps, but his imaginative camera work, shot by Darius Khondji, mirrors that of Scorcese. A vast frame is often interspersed with shots taken at unpredictable angles -- from behind, underneath, and above. Fincher splices in new perspectives when least expected, adding another layer to the seemingly black-and-white story.
The camera also moves as emphatically as its subjects. When the human characters panic, so does the camera, reverting to a hand-held, jerky movement.
And when the characters panic, the film takes on an unpredictable edge. Scriptwriter Andrew Kevin Walker's work, however, is deliberate rather than thorough. His character sketches are incomplete and almost humorless. Fortunately, the actors do their best to flesh out their roles.
As the dispirited detective battling his own sense of hope, Freeman -- one of the greatest working actors -- shells his soft heart with a steel exterior. Paltrow -- Pitt's real-life partner and one of her generation's most promising actresses -- only has a few key scenes but her beautifully transparent face leaves a heart-breaking note long after her screen time.
Killer Kevin Spacey -- this year's best supporting Oscar winner for The Usual Suspects -- plays up his last name and presents an articulate madman whose soft-spokenness shields a sadistic nature. Even Pitt is good, swaggering and scratching his head at his own reckless youth -- a recklessness that leads to moral dilemmas.
It is these moral dilemmas which make Seven so riveting. It is easier to judge John Doe as the personification of evil rather than as a twisted product of post-modern society. At one point, Freeman laments, "Doe's not the devil. He's just a human being".
Human failings are the core of Seven's sermon. In today's world, Mills and Somerset cannot fight evil simply with good intentions. Instead they revert to the same corruption which perpetuates the system, digging their graves even deeper. Cultural decay has worn down the city and the choices of its cursed citizens.
When the film creeps towards its unsettling and brave denouement, the characters finally leave their dark, rainy city, and enter the scorching desert. It is here, where every nuance is exposed and the light is so bright it hurts, that dualities are unveiled and human wills tested beyond reason. The clear sky is a mixed blessing, allowing one to see everything, including themselves.
If the rest of Seven is not mesmerizing enough, Morgan Freeman's last words won't dislodge that lump in your throat. Quoting Hemingway, Freeman deadpans, "The world is a fine place and worth fighting for. I agree with the second part". Seven is a heart-wrenching battle of light and shadows, and, like real life before us, offers no easy answers.