Detachment
Well-acted and angry, didactic drama ultimately flounders under its own unrelenting weight.
The Hot Press Newsdesk, 01 Aug 2012
I genuinely hope Tony Kaye’s Detachment was the result of lessons in art and social experiments from Marina Abramovic. Because if he is, he’s a goddamn genius. By titling a harrowing film “Detachment”, one would imagine that the intention is ironic empathy; the emotional detachment of the characters is so heartbreaking to watch that the audience is moved beyond words. But that, my friends, would be the work of an amateur artist. Kaye’s work is a much more impressive double-bluff; by imbuing his film with so much self-importance and pretension he manages to make the audience feel numb and detached from disillusioned teachers, teenage prostitutes, orphaned children, suicidal teens and even that perennial goldmine of tears, the Alzheimer’s-ridden grandparent. Like I said, goddamn genius.
Having tackled neo-Nazism in American History X and abortion in Lakes Of Fire, Kaye turns his attention to the angry, over-sexualised and under-educated kids of inner city high-schools, and the teachers who despair of them. Adrien Brody plays emotionally-damaged substitute teacher Henry Barthes (a sledgehammer-subtle reference to existentialist poet Roland) who, despite his penchant for self-preservation, becomes embroiled with three lonely women; colleague Sarah (Christina Hendricks), insecure student Meredith, and teenage-hooker-with-a-heart-of-gold Erica.
There is much to be enraged by; the students’ terrifying lack of joy or hope, the political panacea of test scores, or the perpetual fear of inappropriate sexualisation that prevents teachers from comforting sobbing children. But by repeatedly hacking away at the hopelessness of this world, Kaye only succeeds in dulling his own blade. Truly jarring scenes of Henry silently weeping as he watches Erica fellate a man on a bus, or a student threatening to have Sarah gang-raped are undermined by gimmicky cartoon sequences, forced pseudo-philosophical/poetic voiceovers, and repetitive meltdowns by an overdramatic Marica Gay Harden and a wasted Lucy Liu.
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