A darkly funny, exhilarating examination of ego and ambition taken to lethal extremes, Dan Gilroy’s pulse-pounding Nightcrawler is like the seedy journalism it so despises. It’s so determined to be flashy that it races past nuance or originality. It’s media crack; a short, sharp high followed by a feeling of emptiness. 
Jake Gyllenhaal throws himself into the role of Louis Bloom; a ghoulish, shape-shifting sociopath who conceals his maniacal drives under the façade of a relentless go-getter. Initially presented as a literal scavenger for metal (careful you don’t step in the metaphor there), he realises a lucrative future awaits him in lurid LA reporting. As he gleefully films gory traffic accidents and the writhing pain of crime victims, his ambition is matched by the desperation of TV news director Nina (Rene Russo), a woman grasping to save her career in an unforgiving industry.
As a comment on modern journalism, echoes the cynical sentiments of Network and Broadcast News, and nods to the real case of Brazilian television presenter Wallace Souza. However, the film fails to offer new insight into a cut-throat industry and the Hunger Games-style competition between American media outlets. The film is more successful as an American Psycho-style character study, and Gyllenhaal has created a mesmerising if arc-less modern monster.
Gilroy wrote The Bourne Legacy and Two For The Money, and his love of speed and sleaze is brilliantly utilised here. He taps into the soullessness of his setting, filming Louis’ increasingly twisted machinations in a murky darkness, illuminated only by the harsh glare of florescent lights, sirens and probing cameras. If only this slick, sleazy thriller matched its style with substance.