Review: Trance (2013)

Cast: James McAvoy, Vincent Cassel, Rosario Dawson
Director: Danny Boyle
Country: UK
Genre: Crime | Drama | Thriller
Official Trailer: Here

Editor’s Notes: Trance opens in limited release on April 5th. If you’ve already seen the film we’d love to hear your thoughts on it, or if you’re looking forward to seeing it this weekend, please tell us in the comments section below or in our new Next Projection Forums.

Already subjected ad nauseum to the same post-Inception scrutiny as befalls any modern thriller daring to deal with the concept of consciousness—despite its roots in a script penned some two decades prior—Danny Boyle’s Trance similarly channels its investigation of reality and perception through a good old fashioned movie heist. A considerable change of pace from the director’s last work, 2010’s 127 Hours, it’s driven by the paired conceits of amnesia and hypnotherapy as desperate thieves are driven to unorthodox means to jog the memory of their art auctioneer inside man when a knock to the head leaves him clueless as to where he’s stashed their enormously valuable quarry.

Such are its twists and turns that the film, spinning ever more recklessly as it rockets toward its third act, is as a child too gleefully entertained by its own motion to notice the balance of the world slowly begin to sway, the once-horizontal horizon tip over as the simple act of staying upright becomes impossible to handle.

Taking the term psychological thriller to wholly literal levels, Trance unfolds on mental planes innumerable as dream and fantasy interweave under the charismatic command of Rosario Dawson’s alluring therapist. Perhaps the most mysterious vertex of a psychosexual triangle also boasting the considerable talents of James McAvoy and Vincent Cassel, Dawson’s impenetrable air of mystery chairs an initially intriguing power play that, in the throes of Joe Ahearne and John Hodge’s committedly convoluted screenplay, rapidly spirals out of all control. Such are its twists and turns that the film, spinning ever more recklessly as it rockets toward its third act, is as a child too gleefully entertained by its own motion to notice the balance of the world slowly begin to sway, the once-horizontal horizon tip over as the simple act of staying upright becomes impossible to handle. Itself, in essence, unduly entranced by the self-assurance of its plot machinations, Trance trips to the floor with little more than an unsteady arm to break its hubristic fall.

Never quite so clever as it seems determined to prove itself, Ahearne and Hodge’s script gets so tied up in the detail of its plot that it often forgets to lend much attention to its characters. There’s a scene, relatively early in the film, where Dawson’s character sits pensively on her bed; gorgeously framed, basked in orange light, it’s a wonderful shot, but one so devoid of defining detail that it resembles nothing more than an actress in a hotel room. Such is the nature of so much of the movie, Boyle doing his all with skewed framing and punchy editing to make visually appealing what is narratively staid. It’s the mark of a great director to elevate mediocre work far beyond its erstwhile station; as the wide variance of his career has aptly evidenced, Boyle has an unfettered ability to transcend scripting limitations in the relentless creativity of his aesthetic. He directs here like there’s no tomorrow, lending his pacing an apocalyptic fervour that’s positively dazzling, often to the point that the narrative issues whizz by too fast to be totally considered.

Every frame—whether by accentuated saturation, distorted framing, even simply the careful caution of slight camera movement—ushers the meandering narrative into the realms of ocular oomph, aiding Boyle immeasurably in his determined efforts to mask the lacking story with an unending flurry of aesthetic appeasement.

Such is Boyle’s devotion to the visual enrichment of the material, in fact, that his directorial choices often overload the eyes, his variously refractive and reflective shots—though lending weight to the same thematic concerns the script struggles to serve—stacked so many aloft that they begin to grow wearisome. If there’s a hero to be heralded here it’s Anthony Dod Mantle, the de facto king of digital cinematography and Boyle’s regular collaborator—with the brief exception of Millions—since 28 Days Later in 2002. Astonishingly assured, he might not have the sternness to dissuade Boyle from his visual excess, but he at least meets it with his own superlative craftsmanship. Every frame—whether by accentuated saturation, distorted framing, even simply the careful caution of slight camera movement—ushers the meandering narrative into the realms of ocular oomph, aiding Boyle immeasurably in his determined efforts to mask the lacking story with an unending flurry of aesthetic appeasement.

Such is the stunning strangeness of the immense disparity between the technical calibre of Trance and its flailing storytelling that it’s easy to be distracted from the reality that it is—for all its many failings—devilishly entertaining to the last. Boyle has retained a certain squirmish sensibility since the days of Shallow Grave and Trainspotting that he effectively indulges in here, maintaining the stakes at appreciably gruesome level. It’s a resounding endorsement of the intensely cinematic nature of his filmmaking that a script so fraught with issues—it simply does not stand up to scrutiny—can at all be fashioned to a functional piece of entertainment. As he whizzes through the grand finale, storming through layers of memory and subconscious, twisting and turning at ferocious pace, it becomes evident that the only place he’s taking us at such great speed is around in circles. Still, none could deny that it’s a gorgeous round trip: some journeys are worth taking for the scenery alone.