DEMOLITION-AMARE E VIVERE

E' il Notturno di Chopin ad introdurre le note del dramma tutto interiore del protagonista. Come una sorta di cattivo presagio - stridente con le bellissime note - che incombe su di lui. Anche se non sembrerebbe. Anche se dà l'idea di aver letteralmente congelato ogni emozione. Anche se dà persino l'impressione di essere passato oltre. Da subito. E di cattivi presagi sul grande schermo proprio l'interprete Jake Gyllenhaal si direbbe avere una certa esperienza. Basta pensare al suo Donnie Darko! Ma quella era tutta un'altra storia e nel frattempo ne è passata di acqua sotto i ponti del suo 'flusso di coscienza' artistica in carriera. A sufficienza perché avesse tutto il tempo per raggiungere di diritto l'olimpo degli dei, guadagnando pari dignità al cospetto delle vecchie guardie, come ad esempio Chris Cooper, che nel lontano 1999 gli aveva fatto da padre nel mitico October Sky e che ora gli

fa da suocero in Demolition, cavalcando note altre della stessa sinfonia, accordata sul burbero paternalismo. Perdonerete il fatto che ignori del tutto il titolo italiano del film (Demolition-Amare e vivere) perché mi suona solo come un inutile ed orribile 'fronzolo'. Oltre a Cooper, tra gli altri, abbiamo nientemeno che Naomi Watts sul campo, ma in Demolition si celebra senz'altro il 'One Man Show' condotto da Jake Gyllenhaal, qui tradotto in Davis Mitchell, uno che ha scelto una strada semplice e redditizia: finanziere nell'azienda del suocero, una moglie carina e fondamentalmente 'una bella persona', impegnata con bambini disabili. In poche battute, e a breve distanza dall'inizio del film, dallo stile marcatamente 'indipendente', scopriamo che tipo è Jake/Davis, uno troppo distratto per accorgersi anche solo di almeno una, tra le mille piccole cose del quotidiano vivere: metti ad esempio il caso del frigo che perde. Una piccola perdita, metaforico presagio di una

perdita ben più grande.

Il regista Jean-Marc Vallée (Dallas Buyers Club e Wild) dal canto suo, filma la metabolizzazione della perdita, tallonando quel processo di demolizione - per usare il termine del titolo - di destrutturazione interiore, innescato dal protagonista in un modo apparentemente surreale e un pò folle. Una regia che scarta completamente dalla narratività lineare per muoversi sulla scacchiera di schegge di vissuto passato che incontrano schegge di vissuto presente, in cui tutto è come prima ma niente lo è. L'estetica, a tratti virtuosistica, di queste improvvise schegge di memoria, è posta al servizio della soggettiva del protagonista che si svela poco a poco in una manciata di lettere di reclamo al gestore di un distributore automatico alimentare dell'ospedale dove è morta sua moglie per un incidente. Un pretesto eccentrico che funziona come processo di auto psicanalisi per il nostro Davis/Gyllenhaal, superbo ballerino sui più azzardati passi di

una danza tutta interiorizzata, fatta eccezione per quella in strada, fantastico specchio di quella destrutturazione mentale a quel punto arrivata all'incirca a metà dell'opera. Ne uscirebbe una parabola un pò stranita e a tratti surreale se non rispondesse al fatto cruciale secondo cui "Per un qualche motivo tutto è diventato una metafora...", per dirla e scriverla come Davis/Gyllenhaal in uno dei suoi prolissi soliloqui epistolari a grappolo raccolti dalla responsabile del servizio clienti Karen Moreno (Naomi Watts). Un'altra disadattata con un figlio adolescente (il Chris del debuttante giovane attore Judah Lewis) in cerca di identità.

“Se non puoi sistemare qualcosa, devi smontare tutto e capire cosa è importante. Solo allora puoi rimettere tutto a posto”. E' l’immagine della demolizione più schietta che da metafora di un universo interiore difettoso, da aggiustare appunto, prende letteralmente corpo sul grande schermo con Gyllenhaal e il suo Davis, improvvisamente colto dall'irresistibile raptus di smontare

pezzo per pezzo ogni cosa, di prestare servizio gratuito, o persino pagare altri per essere ammesso al lavoro, in opere di demolizione edilizia. La meticolosa attenzione per ogni singola parte delle cose ha preso il posto di tanta precedente distrazione e noncuranza. Ora, se al centro campo non ci fosse stato uno come Jake Gyllenhaal, spudoratamente e straordinariamente variegato in questa sorta di destrutturazione fisico-emotiva con il suo Davis, quella che ha preteso attenzione trascinando lo spettatore all'interno delle spire della sua stessa apnea, con tutta probabilità l'annegamento sarebbe stato inevitabile. E per rendere palpabile questa destrutturazione emotiva montaggio e regia hanno rinforzato i già saldi ormeggi facendola propria anche sul piano formale del film, muovendo i remi in un modo tale da seguire la corrente portante della soggettiva del protagonista, in preda al caos, eppure con molto da dire e da dare. Ormeggi rinforzati ad esempio con particolari scorci

di immagine non sempre a fuoco e spesso molto tagliate in campi di vario formato ma quasi sempre strettissimi. Immagini coordinate in un montaggio che sposa rigurgiti di memorie passate e proiezioni di input del momento. E solo dopo aver 'smontato tutto' a lungo in questo desueto percorso di metabolizzazione di una perdita, arriva il momento in cui inizia a spingere l'urgenza di un pò di ordine nel caos interiore di quest'uomo, ancora in sosta sull'idea di quel frigo che perde. Metafora nella metafora, la via d'uscita si apre in quell'iconico giro di giostra restaurata, laddove antico e moderno, passato e presente, provano a riconciliarsi.

AFTER BULKING UP AND SLIMMING DOWN FOR RECENT ROLES, JAKE GYLLENHAAL GIVES HIS BEST PERFORMANCE SINCE 'BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN' AS A MAN WHO REFUSES TO MOURN HIS WIFE'S DEATH.

In order to make sense of his life, a white-collar widower decides he has to tear it all down in “Demolition,” dismantling appliances, smashing furniture and even going so far as to bulldoze his own house in search of a catharsis that never comes. It all could have gone horribly awry, were it not for the top-of-their-game contributions of leading man Jake Gyllenhaal (continuing in recent-streak crazy mode) and director Jean-Marc Vallee (back in early-career “C.R.A.Z.Y.” mode), whose unexpected creative choices across the line salvage a sledgehammer-obvious screenplay that will stop at nothing to provoke a reaction. Though dated to open after the Oscar dust has settled with an April 8 release, Fox Searchlight might rethink that strategy if

reactions to this alternately tough and ingratiating Toronto opener are strong enough.

Featuring the most baldly manipulative first and last five minutes of any movie this year, “Demolition” opens with Wall Street slimeball Davis Mitchell (Gyllenhaal) and his wife, Julia (Heather Lind), bickering in traffic when a car blindsides them mid-thought, jarring both the Mitchells and the audience — an increasingly prevalent and virtually inexcusable tactic whereby any dialogue set in a moving vehicle and shot head-on becomes a chance for directors to catch us off-guard. That very same emotional shock ploy was used twice at Cannes, in “The Sea of Trees” and “Chronic,” and it’s high time we gave this stunt a name, so Variety hereby proposes calling it “a Demolition,” as in, “The couple were driving along, talking about fixing the refrigerator when the director pulled ‘a Demolition,’ and the next thing we know, we’re in the hospital and

the wife is dead.”

Theoretically speaking, an opening like that should put audiences on edge for the rest of the movie, leaving us constantly jumpy about what might come next, and sure enough, though Bryan Sipe’s screenplay is virtually shameless when it comes to beating its metaphors, one could hardly accuse it of being predictable. That’s instantly clear in the way Davis processes his wife’s accident — or rather, how Vallee approaches the critical, tone-setting scenes that immediately follow. Treating Julia like a ghost (the way he did Laura Dern’s dead mom in last year’s “Wild”), the helmer uses jump cuts and poignant dips-to-black to convey the numbness the character feels in place of grieving.

While his father-in-law-cum-boss, Phil (Chris Cooper), stays home wracked with guilt, Davis goes back to work almost immediately. He clearly needs someone to talk to, but rather than turning to anyone familiar, he composes a long, brutally

candid letter to the company responsible for stocking the candy-withholding vending machines in the ER under the pretext of asking a refund. At first, this epistolary therapy seems like little more than a device to get Gyllenhaal’s character talking: The film has a fair amount of exposition to unload, and this is a relatively novel and quirky way to do it. Besides, Davis is obviously suppressing his own reaction to the accident and needs an excuse to get in touch with his feelings.

But these letters play a more substantial role than that, seeing as how Sipe actually follows through on his weird creative choice and invents a woman on the other end of Davis’ letters: Champion Vending Machines customer service rep Karen Moreno (Naomi Watts), who is so moved by the correspondence that she decides to call Davis at 2 in the morning to offer a sympathetic ear — which

is all he ever really needed. Karen is drawn in because she’s never met anyone as honest as Davis, and Davis is happy because he finally has someone who will listen, although befriending Karen comes with the added challenge of dealing with her rebellious long-haired son, Chris (Judah Lewis), who really loves classic rock.

As it happens, so does Vallee, who notoriously deferred his director fees on “C.R.A.Z.Y.” in order to secure the David Bowie and Rolling Stones songs he wanted on that soundtrack, and who pumps up the volume here every chance he gets, blasting everything from Mr. Big’s “Free” to Heart’s “Crazy on You” to help throttle Davis out of his funk — quite literally at one point, as Gyllenhaal dances along to his newly upgraded playlist through the streets of Manhattan. Chris’ character could be a reincarnation of (or at least soul brother to) the gay, music-driven protagonist

of the beloved coming-(out)-of-age pic that put Vallee on the map, and “Demolition” benefits from a comparably cheeky, dramedy-defying approach to material that might have played either flat or overly precious in another director’s hands.

That doesn’t necessarily excuse the fact that Sipe’s script seems to be working overtime to bludgeon us to tears. Just because Davis doesn’t feel anything for his wife’s loss doesn’t mean we won’t either, and it’s hard to watch the red-eyed Cooper without welling up ourselves, especially considering how stoical the actor is in nearly everything else. Ultimately, “Demolition” falls into that category of movie about people who just need to feel something — an increasingly common zeitgeist-channeling genre led by films such as “American Beauty,” in which relatively privileged suburban white people need something to penetrate the numb discontent of their lives.

Coincidentally, Cooper played a catalyzing force in both films. Here, his character tells his

seemingly unfeeling son-in-law, “If you want to fix something, you have to take it apart and put it back together” — advice that Davis opts to take literally, first with his toolbox and later by quitting his cushy nepotistic job and joining a wrecking crew. Here, it’s stepping on a rusty nail at a (de)construction site, in lieu of a windswept plastic bag, that serves as our protagonist’s wake-up call to all that life has to offer, but the message is the same. And yet, Sipe smugly refuses to stop there, throwing a gay bashing, a surprise pregnancy and an eye-rolling and totally out-of-character 11th-hour act of charity into the mix.

And yet, Gyllenhaal grounds Davis’ wildly unraveling psyche, finding both the humor and heart in a man who admits to having spent the past 10 to 12 years incapable of feeling. Considering how far the dedicated actor will go to

transform himself into someone new, famously bulking up (as in “Jarhead” and “Southpaw”) or slimming down (a la “Nightcrawler”) as the role requires, it’s doubly impressive to see him build a character without the crutch of a total physical reinvention — which is to say, that he can show up as the Jake Gyllenhaal fans know and love, and yet still disappear completely behind his own facade.

The actor reveals an almost sociopathic deadness to Davis in the early stretch, an almost Patrick Bateman-level lack of empathy when faced with the genuine grief of those around him (which also happens to be where Sipe’s quippy script works best, landing laughs at seemingly inappropriate moments), though the character gradually opens up in Karen and Chris’ company. If Davis’ “thing,” according to those around him, is an unfiltered and frequently tactless compulsion to speak the truth, then the Morenos serve as the mirrors

who remind him of who he truly is, and Watts is wonderful in a rare supporting part that allows her to reflect her co-star’s soul without having to use sex in the process.

The object here is clearly to rip Davis apart and rebuild him from the pieces, and that’s a job neither he nor Gyllenhaal can pull off alone. It takes Karen’s empathy, Phil’s understanding, Chris’ wild taste in music and the ever-surprising Vallee’s mastery of tone to construct such a well-rounded character, and though “Demolition” very nearly blows it with two badly executed last scenes, the result is the best Gyllenhaal performance since “Brokeback Mountain” and a partially heartless character who manages to work his way into ours.