At this point, it wouldn’t be a Martin McDonagh joint without two lonely and dysfunctional souls seeking a warped connection in a world that seems hellbent on imperilling the possibility of redemption.
For his latest black comedy, Wild Horse Nine, the British-Irish writer-director harks back to his feature debut In Bruges – except it’s out with two bickering hitmen in Belgium and in with a squabbling pair of CIA operatives on Easter Island prior to the 1973 Chilean coup.
Taking a break from disrupting democracy, seasoned and increasingly forgetful agent Chris (John Malkovich) and Lee (Sam Rockwell), who doesn’t mind killing a man while eating a burger, are on holiday. Sort of. The odd couple plan to take in the sights of Rapa Nui, visit the giant stone heads – sorry, Moai – and verbally piss off two pro-Salvador Allende students (Mariana di Girolamo, Ailín Salas) who they keep bumping into.
But everything is not as it seems. Despite his Memento-style notes, Chris’ cognitive decline has led him to forget that the trip is also his last hurrah. Not only does he have a bad case of oversharing and wrestles with existential malaise regarding the regimes he’s toppled (with a side helping of Catholic guilt), he also riddled with cancer. With not long left, Chris previously asked Lee to Of Mice And Men him on the trip.
He’s forgotten that detail, but not his wish to work on his memoir, which he dictates into a tape recorder. These tapes are a source of great discomfort for the pair’s boss, chief spook MJ (Steve Buscemi), who fears Chris’ indiscretions and confessions – especially “the Dallas parts” which could reveal Chris’ role in JFK’s assassination – may jeopardise the agency…
While not deviating from his established playbook, Wild Horse Nine feels like a satisfying Best Of compilation from McDonagh, as he merges the narrative framework of In Bruges with Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri ‘s adoration for the F-bomb, a cheeky Tom Waits cameo (à la Seven Psychopaths), and the more quietly moving qualities at the heart of The Banshees of Inisherin. If that all sounds like your bag, there’s a great time to be had.
When the balancing act works, the filmmaker’s signature acerbic wit and beloved themes surrounding salvation and unavoidability of death coalesce into a bittersweet whole. When it faulters, his script can feel like a self-indulgent succession of showboating monologues and non-sequitur-filled tangents – a niggle which has resulted in past accusations of narrative bittiness and smugness of tone.
For the most part though, McDonagh pulls it off and plays to his strengths – loading the crackling tirades with some depth. For instance, a breakfast speech explaining why “gay countries” produce better cheeses than the US illicits laughter but also directly feeds into an initially promising commentary on the historic ills of American interventionism – and ongoing horrors of US foreign policy.
Frustratingly, more could have been accomplished here considering the politically charged backdrop, and the female characters do stand out for being underused. It’s a pity, as Mariana di Girolamo shines as Monica in the little screentime she is given. She is essentially relegated to being the wide-eyed embodiment of Chris’ long-lost optimism, and had she been given more to do, character dynamics could have been amplified and McDonagh could have bolstered his teased critical strands. While the last act hints at transformation before a tough battle ahead, a trick was missed.
Ultimately, enjoyment rests on the double-act chemistry between the leads, which is there in spades and largely rests on Malkovich’s capable shoulders. After years of forgettable bit-part roles, the veteran actor is firing on all cylinders and delivers his best performance since Being John Malkovich. Or maybe since his villainous turn as Pascal Sauvage in Johnny English, which is a performance for the ages, and we won’t hear another word about it.
Whether he’s admitting to caring more about the Chilean moths than the people of Chile, irascibly lashing out at whoever happens to be in his vicinity, or musing on why there aren’t more songs about suicidal birds, Malkovich savours every line of dialogue. His trademark elocution suits McDonagh’s prose to a T – especially when he’s repeatedly enunciating the word “cahoots”.
What a wonderful word… Did you know it was originally derived from the French ‘cahute’, meaning a small shack, evoking the image of huddled schemers. Who’s to say whether that’s gospel, but as Tom Waits once said, “Most people don’t care if you’re telling them the truth or if you’re telling them a lie, as long as they’re entertained by it”.
Oh god, it’s gone all McDonagh with a wordy digression. Back to John…
The way Malkovich manages to simultaneously dip his toes into eccentric, amoral, melancholic and soulful terrains creates pessimistic poetry that his hard to resist. The actor already bagged the Volpi Cup for Best Actor in Venice, where the film premiered this year, and on the strength of this performance he’s a shoo-in for Oscar glory next year.
Not hurting those odds is the fact that his last Oscar nomination was in 1993 for In The Line Of Fire – in which he played the unnamed killer attempting to assassinate the President of the United States. The Academy loves a comeback story; and who doesn’t love a decent bit of movie-echoing symmetry masquerading as coincidence?
So, familiar ground though Wild Horse Nine may be, there’s every chance you’ll be hearing a lot more about this sardonic and occasionally moving yarn come awards season.
Wild Horse Nine is out in cinemas now.