Review of Destroyer (2018) by Bertaut1 — 01 Feb 2019

A superb central performance elevates a quotidian plot.

Written by Phil Hay and Matt Manfredi, and directed by Karyn Kusama, Destroyer is an unashamedly pulpy genre piece, confrontationally ugly and unapologetically nihilistic. Essentially the story of a damaged cop determined to settle one last score, what Destroyer brings to the table is that the archetypal "he" of such narratives is here a "she", with Kusama relying heavily on Nicole Kidman's performance to do most of the heavy lifting. Although the film has the tendency to approach every scene with an air of self-seriousness that can become grating, there are undeniably individual moments of great brilliance here.

LAPD homicide detective Erin Bell (Kidman) is burnt out. Following her efforts to find Silas (Toby Kebbell), the former leader of a bank robbery crew, the film tells the parallel story of Bell trying to raise her daughter, Shelby (Jade Pettyjohn). Revealing via a series of flashbacks that 17 years prior, Bell and then partner, Chris (Sebastian Stan), were given an undercover assignment to bust Silas and his crew. Posing as a couple, they infiltrated the group, but fell in love for real, with subsequent events resulting in the broken person Bell has become.

Although Kusama doesn't explicitly foreground it, gender politics are an important aspect of the film. Much has been made of Kidman's physical transformation, although both Kusama and Kidman have argued that her appearance is not what the film is about, nor should it be critics' focus. Still though, we're not quite at a point where a woman altering her appearance for a role is unremarkable, and like Charlize Theron in Monster (2003), Kidman's commitment to the part must be applauded. She commits to Bell as an unlikable, violent, and psychologically ruined character, which in and of itself challenges conventional notions of what a female lead should be. Embittered and irredeemable, Bell is the type of person usually played by a man, and it's to the film's credit that it resists the urge to soften her, with Kidman's performance haunting, disturbing, and heartbreaking all at once. The flashback structure is also important here, as Kidman plays Bell very differently in these scenes - her hair is more kempt, her skin smoother (via some subtle de-ageing VFX), her eyes don't droop, her gait is more upright, she smiles a couple of times, her voice is more authoritative. A stark contrast to the woman we initially meet.

Of course, she's also a mother, and like so many male archetypes, she has not been there for her child. This compels the audience to ask questions regarding how men and women are perceived on screen - is a woman neglecting a child more forgivable than a man doing so, or less; do we simply expect women to automatically be good mothers in ways we never consider in relation to men as fathers? What do our presuppositions about motherhood on screen say about us?

Aesthetically, Kusama's LA is deeply cynical and owes a sizable debt to Michael Mann. A place of dried out waterways, burnt grass, a glaring sun, endless concrete, pollution, corruption, betrayal, graffiti, and indiscriminate violence the city is shot by Cinematographer Julie Kirkwood in washed-out anaemic hues, with lots of sun spots and lens flares (although she uses a more saturated palette in the flashbacks).

Of course, there are problems. For the most part, the screenplay is unoriginal and without the power of Kidman's performance, this would have been a straight-to-disk. The script also seems to be teasing the audience with the promise of a big reveal that will transpose Bell's story into something more esoteric. The first season of True Detective employed this technique as well, but when the show pulled the trigger, the reveal was worth the wait. In Destroyer, it's hard to be certain if there even was a reveal. The script is aiming for profundity, but it's nowhere near as smart as it thinks it is. Along these lines, Kusama makes some very strange directorial choices, such as shooting a group of skateboarders in chiaroscuro and extreme slow-motion, not once, but twice. What exactly is their significance? Why does Kusama shoot them as if they are offering some kind of life-altering revelation? Are they supposed to act as a chorus? Are they a metaphor for something?

Destroyer is an average story elevated by the commitment of its lead and some laudable aesthetic work. It's a cynical and humourless film noir aspiring to something more substantial, but never really attaining it. However, its unflinching depiction of devastating emotional trauma, presenting Bell as an open wound, slowly bleeding out, is brilliantly handled. The complete inverse of films which depict characters responding to tragedy with humour, optimism, and determination, Destroyer is brutally nihilistic, giving us a character whose obsession is both keeping her alive and killing her.