Eastern Promises
Eastern Promises, a David Cronenberg film about the Russian mob in
London, manages to accomplish something nearly impossible: it starts with
a completely implausible detail, then weaves its web so carefully that it
traps the viewer inside and makes him forget that he didn't believe the
premise to begin with.
A Russian prostitute, only fourteen years old and gravid with child,
dies in a London hospital. She had been physically abused and was a heroin
addict, but the medicos manage to save a healthy baby from her womb. The
compassionate midwife, who lost a baby of her own, impulsively decided to
steal the dead woman's diary and to find the family of the infant.
So far so good. Maybe it's a bit far-fetched that the girl was carrying
around her diary, but sometimes a plot requires a little jump start, and
we can imagine certain circumstances which might have provoked her to run
away, diary in hand. What we cannot imagine is what happens next. Inside
the girl's diary is a business card from a Russian restaurant. In her
quest for the prostitute's family, the naive midwife takes the diary to
the restaurant, and eventually agrees to let the kindly owner translate it
for her.
Now, I'm no expert on the underworld, but I have heard a thing or two
about forced prostitution, and I know that about the only place that
business card could lead her is to the person or persons who kidnapped the
girl and caused the injuries that killed her. If I were a simple London
midwife from a middle class family, I would not want to have any dealings
with those people, especially since the diary may provide some kind of
evidence against desperate men who would do anything to destroy it and
silence anyone who knew of its contents. The midwife not only allows the
restaurant owner to read the diary, but also tells him her real name and
blabs that her Russian-speaking uncle has read parts of it.
Oh-oh.
It seems to me that anyone in her position would be cautious enough (1)
to get the diary translated by somebody who could not be connected to the
many crimes implied by the prostitute's fate, like a respected professor
of Russian at a local university; (2) not to reveal her own identity to
anyone connected to the dead prostitute; (3) to inform Scotland Yard at
some point, if not from the beginning, then certainly when she knew what
was in the diary. If she employs no other caution, she should at least be
smart enough not to let anyone at the restaurant know who she really is.
The midwife's actions are just too naive and too reckless to be credible.
I can't imagine anyone putting herself into the position that this woman
assumes.
One more detail stretches our credulity to the breaking point. Why did
the mobsters let the child prostitute carry her baby to full term? A
pretty and shapely young girl has great economic value to them, but they
can't get much value out of a mother-to-be in her eighth month.
Furthermore, a baby is living DNA evidence. Since the mother is obviously
underage, the baby's existence is absolute legal proof that somebody
committed statutory rape, even if forced congress cannot be proved, and
the baby's DNA is irrefutable evidence of just who that somebody is. One
has to think that the mobsters would force the girl into an abortion, as
they forced her into everything else.
The gentlemanly restaurateur, needless to say, actually turns out to be
the ruthless local Don Corleonov, as is probably known to everyone in
London except the midwife. I guess most people could figure it out from
the name of the restaurant, The Mob's False Front, and the tattooed,
heavy-set men who are always standing at the doorway with their arms
crossed. If not, then I suppose they'd figure it out from the sign which
offers a "25% mobster discount." The mob boss realizes even before reading
the diary that it must include incriminating information about him and his
family. He also realizes that he must eliminate the uncle who has read it.
At this point, the other two main characters enter the picture. The
restaurateur has a hotheaded and violent son who is also weak and
feckless, making him both Sonny and Fredo Corleone in one body. The son's
lieutenant is hard-nosed, manipulative, diplomatic, soft-spoken and smart.
Although tough as nails, he's even compassionate on occasion. It is
obvious that he, not the mobster's biological son, is the Michael Corleone
of the family. The son and the lieutenant get involved in the mobster's
plan to eliminate the diary and the trail of evidence it creates.
The film succeeds in several ways.
First, the plot has enough surprises that the film could work on that
basis alone. The audience is drawn in by wondering how the midwife and her
family can survive, by curiosity about the mysterious lieutenant, and by
the uncertain identity of the baby's father. Adding even more onions to
the plot stew, director David Cronenberg adds a sub-plot about the battles
between the Russian family and some rival Turks and Chechens. The sub-plot
is not directly related to the plot about the baby, but is absolutely
necessary to establish the relationships among the three main Russian
mobsters, and includes some twists of its own.
Second, the film is rich in details of characterization and atmosphere.
It provides a well-researched look inside the ritualized world of Russian
mobsters, focusing especially on the importance of their tattoos. Within
that context, it also paints its three main characters in great detail and
with complexity. The hothead brother, played by Vincent Cassell, may be
vicious and deplorable, but he also exhibits tenderness for a child and
great love for his lieutenant. In fact, he loves his lieutenant a bit too
much, if you catch my drift. There is a strong indication that his
savagery and his brutal womanizing are overcompensation for a nature which
is inherently not tough enough for the mob. It is the other two mobsters
who lend the film its most sinister and scheming menace. Armin
Mueller-Stahl, as the king, and Viggo Mortensen, as the man who would be
king, are the types of men who keep their counsel, revealing no more of
themselves than is absolutely required. Their games are cerebral, and
their insidious threats are masked by ostensible civility. Unlike the
Cassell character, they do not walk around with a metaphorical flashing
sign which reads "I'm violent," and they are therefore more dangerous to
deal with and more difficult to avoid.
Third, the film offers a taste of Cronenberg shock therapy. These men
do not carry guns. They like their killing to be personal. They kill with
linoleum knives and box cutters, the sorts of weapons that can cause
agonizing fatal injuries but can also be justified to policemen. And they
attack when a man is most vulnerable: in a barber chair, or naked in steam
room. After an unexpected betrayal, Viggo Mortensen has one fight scene in
which he is completely naked and unarmed, fighting against two
fully-dressed, knife-wielding men. The scene is a masterful piece of
cinema because it so powerfully conveys Viggo's vulnerability, gets the
audience rooting for him as an impossible underdog, and demonstrates just
what a tough cookie he is. Imagine Sonny Corleone walking away from the
toll booth incident, and you'll know what I mean. Because the scene is so
graphic and because Viggo is a naked superstar, people will be discussing
the choreography of this fight for years to come, as we still talk today
of the famous nude wrestling match between Oliver Reed and Alan Bates in
Women in Love. In Viggo's struggle, as in the Reed/Bates battle, there is
no homosexuality involved, and I am not one who enjoys navigating the
uncertain currents of subtext, but one simply cannot ignore the subtext
when a naked man is being penetrated with a curved knife, particularly
when that naked man (Viggo) is obviously the real love interest of his
closeted homosexual buddy (Cassell).
There are, in fact, so many interesting things going on in this film
that the audience completely forgets the implausible gimmicks that led the
midwife to the mobsters in the first place. We just have to accept that
premise as we have to accept any fantasy premise like the Matrix. Once
that premise is accepted, the script carries us along and makes us
surrender our initial incredulity, so that we forget it started as a
far-fetched fantasy concept and come to accept it as the grim everyday
reality of the London underworld. That's the magic of good filmmaking.
I have never been a great fan of David Cronenberg. I think his films
are OK, but I don't understand the passion of his most rabid fans. Having
said that, and having duly considered the competitive field, I would
support this film as a Best Picture nominee. (Well, unless there are five
really great films waiting to surprise us in December.) It's a good story
with vivid characters, original insight into an unexplored subculture, and
a tremendous visceral punch. I would also support acting nominations for
Armin Mueller-Stahl in his best role since Shine, and Viggo Mortensen, who
really went the extra mile to create this character. In fact, Viggo did so
much research on Russian tattoos that Cronenberg ended up re-writing the
script to incorporate the tattoos as important elements of plot and
atmosphere.
The film clip is in yesterday's page. Here are some collages of Elisa
Lesowski. (Most of the nudity in the film comes from Viggo.)
