Review: Lynne Ramsay’s Dark Character Study with 'You Were Never Really Here'
This review was originally published on UW Film Club, but has since been reuploaded here with the author’s permission.
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There are few directors like Lynne Ramsay in the business. Since her debut film Ratcatcher in 1999, Ramsay has only made three other films: Morvern Callar in 2002, We Need To Talk About Kevin in 2011, and now You Were Never Really Here in 2018. If you’re like me, the first thing you notice is how far spaced out the films are, and while Ramsay’s filmography is small, it is powerful, each one garnering critical praise and even inspiring a young Barry Jenkins. As such, whenever she releases a film, people should take note. It’s not like she’s making any film. She’s making her film, acting as not only the director, but also the writer and producer. Ramsay only seems concerned with telling worthwhile stories, and You Were Never Really Here is just that: a dark character study that leverages every element to tell a compelling story with rich meaning.
Based on the book of the same name, You Were Never Really Herefollows Joe (Joaquin Phoenix), a former service member who has become a hired gun that saves trafficked girls. Through his experiences at war and in his line of work, he has become ruthless in his methods, but suffers from extreme emotional distress that permeates his life. In his latest job, he is hired to rescue Nina (Ekaternia Samsonov), the daughter of a Congressman who has been kidnapped and forced into sex trafficking. But, while on this job, Joe finds there may be a plot bigger than himself working in the background that pushes him to his mental limits.
The film is very much concerned with who Joe is and how his past torments his mental psyche. Phoenix offers a perfectly subdued performance that depicts a broken man navigating a seedy world who is on the brink of ending it all, but always finding one last thing to live for. The cold, brutal acts of violence serve as outlets for the mental pain he carries, but always pushing him even further towards complete mental degradation. The performance is subtle yet incredibly rich, always holding back until there are moments of intense violence or emotion that utilize Phoenix’s far reaching range. His portrayal allows audiences to always have their finger on Joe, knowing when he’s collected and when he’s suffering, and it is this comprehension that lets us empathize with him and understand the actions he takes.
So much of this film’s potency can be accredited to the incredible work of Ramsay. As mentioned before, she directed, wrote, and produced the feature and there’s a methodical nature that can be felt within nearly every scene. The sense of foreboding demise or mental conflict are not only carried on the back of Phoenix, but also in the techniques Ramsay implements. While there are innumerable “did you see what she did there” moments throughout the film, there is one scene in particular where Joe busts up an apartment used for trafficking, and when it’s all said and done, you are left astounded by the execution of it all. There isn’t a lot of dialog in the film, so much of the story has to be told visually. To convey complex emotions or plot points without words is a hurdle in and of itself, but Ramsay makes it appear effortless, resulting in some masterful work.
And these inner conflicts play out audibly as well. Radiohead artist Jonny Greenwood (who I praised for his Phantom Thread score) is returning to collaborate with Ramsay and brings a frantic score that is loud, unwieldily, and spastic, but in a very good way. Hard hits on string instruments that drop swiftly and out of no where. Irritating out of tune notes that move into momentous beats. And uneven melodies that are on the verge of collapse, but always maintaining a sense of consistency all add to an unsettling experience that effectively conveys the sense of conflict within our central character. Instruments seemingly compete for dominance within songs, which makes sincere moments all the more powerful when they play in perfect harmony. It’s a monumental score that works perfectly at creating the film’s overall tone, while also conveying sentiments that are left unsaid, which is hard to say about most film scores, but characteristic of truly amazing ones. (If you want a sample of what’s at play, I recommend Sandy’s Necklace or The Hunt as exemplary pieces that embrace this synchronized chaos.)
From the opening moments to its incredibly powerful ending, You Were Never Really Here offers an unrelenting look at the trauma from our past and the paths we take to cope with them. While the narrative is quite sinister, it feels holistically essential to the film’s main point; it goes to dark places because the character demands it. We need to see what this world has done to Joe, how he got those scars, and how those physical artifacts translate to mental burdens. The film reenforces our innate human faults that allow our past to haunt us, while also providing a glimmering light at the end of the tunnel where we can move past ourselves and into a brighter future, or as the film likes to put it, a beautiful day.
