Tim Sutton explores the shadowy underbelly of America in DARK NIGHT
DARK NIGHT (Tim Sutton, 2016)
Alamo Drafthouse Downtown Brooklyn
445 Albee Square West
Opens Friday, February 3
718-513-2547
drafthouse.com/nyc
There’s an ominous cloud hanging over Tim Sutton’s deeply poetic Dark Night, a grim, gripping journey into the dark night of America’s soul. The title of Sutton’s third film, following Pavilion and Memphis, also references Christopher Nolan’s 2012 Batman movie, The Dark Knight Rises, for reasons that become apparent about halfway through. Dark Night opens with a close-up of a young woman’s disbelieving eyes, red, white, and blue lights flashing across her face; the camera then pulls back as the woman, wearing an American flag top, lowers her head, taking stock of an unrevealed tragedy. For the next eighty-five minutes, Sutton goes back to the beginning of this fateful day, following the lives of a small group of men, women, and children in a suburban Florida community as they go about their usual business. They play on computers, put on makeup, pet animals, and head over to the mall. One concerned mother and her detached son speak with an off-screen interviewer as if searching for reasons in the aftermath of a horrific event, but in this case it hasn’t happened yet. In many of the vignettes, there is little or no dialogue, as the characters, all nonprofessional actors mostly found on the streets of Sarasota, speak with their actions, particularly when several of the males, including a military vet and a teen with dazzling blue eyes, load firearms. In this Blue Velvet-like town, danger lurks just below the surface.
A cast of nonprofessional actors play realistic characters facing tragedy in DARK NIGHT
Dark Night is photographed by French cinematographer Hélène Louvart (Pina, The Beaches of Agnès) in a documentary style, with fly-on-the-wall shots occasionally broken up by stunning aerial views of perfectly trimmed green lawns and cookie-cutter rooftops that look like video-game targets, static shots of light poles as if they are living creatures, and a striking scene of a woman walking along the outdoor hallway of one of Florida’s ubiquitous motel-like apartment complexes. Canadian singer-songwriter Maica Armata’s (Caro Diaro, MaicaMia) score features five haunting songs, including “Om,” “Oh Well,” and a gloomy, reimagined version of the old standard “You Are My Sunshine,” her ethereal vocals utterly frightening. Evoking such indie works as Larry Clark’s Kids, Gus van Sant’s Elephant, Lance Hammer’s Ballast, and Harmony Korine’s Gummo, the Brooklyn-based Sutton paces the unsettling film with a delicate, disquieting subtlety, the community overwhelmed by an unspoken ennui that’s representative of the dissatisfaction and disconnection being felt all across the country. He might not offer any answers, but he asks many of the right questions, giving the riveting tale an uncomfortable, beguiling immediacy. Dark Night opens February 3 at the Alamo Drafthouse in downtown Brooklyn, with Sutton participating in Q&As following the 6:30 screenings on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.