Se7en is without a doubt one of the most memorable films of the 1990s and a rightful precursor to the highly influential torture porn sub-genre. It features director David Fincher, cinematographer Darius Khondji (a close collaborator to J.-P. Jeunet) and leads Morgan Freeman and Brad Pitt at their very best. The premise is supremely intriguing, and the execution is flawless. This is the quintessential contemporary thriller.
The rain-slicked Los Angeles streets form the stage for this sordid tale of morality gone wrong. They are home to many wicked creatures and sad souls among which are seasoned police detective Somerset (Freeman), newbie inspector Mills (Pitt) and a vicious serial killer known only as John Doe (Kevin Spacey, in a short but unforgettable performance). This killer's M.O. is simple but brilliant: he chooses his victims according to the deadly sins they have committed. Hence, he kills a morbidly obese man for his gluttony, a high-priced defense attorney for his greed... all in ritualistic fashion involving the utmost suffering of the "sinful" victims. Hot on his trail is the newly formed duo of Mills and Somerset. But wise as Somerset may be and feisty as Mills may be, they have a hard time catching the killer who's visibly very smart and organized, always a step ahead of the protagonists. It's a race against the clock as the corpses keep piling up and clues remain elusive. In the end, despite energetic investigation, the detectives can only catch John Doe when he willingly presents himself at police plaza and calmly surrenders. He makes a deal with the police to escort him to the location of the last two remaining corpses in exchange for a full confession of guilt. Having no alternative, Mills and Somerset fall into the killer's trap, which is the final part of his master plan. Will the two men have the will (and composure) necessary to beat the cunning psycho at his own game? Or will evil win? Co-starring Gwyneth Paltrow as Mill's wife who completes the cast of what is essentially a four characters scenario. Although her screentime is limited, Paltrow is efficient in the few key scenes she partakes in.
John Doe's murders are shocking and their aftermath are shamelessly framed by Khondji's camera (who went on to film even weirder stuff in Alien: Resurrection). This is perhaps the main reason for this film's staying power. A monstrously obese man (we're talking maybe 400 pounds here) living in a filthy apartment full of grease and roaches, force-fed spaghetti until he burst. The veins on his bloated, pickled body are glistening under the flashlights of the detectives and the medical lights at the morgue. A man kept alive for a whole year without food, looking like a blind ghoul gasping for air with vain frenesy. A prostitute, fucked with a strap-on knife by a man with a gun held in his throat. We don't actually see the massacred genitalia on this one, but we can imagine well enough thanks to a polaroid of the murderous contraption and the manic testimony of the man forced to wear it (Leland Orser, who went on to commit an even weirder murder in Alien: Resurrection). As you might have guessed, a total of seven murders (one for each of the deadly sins), all more repulsive than the last. If you have a weak stomach, or worse yet, if the mere descriptions I did of the murders turns you off, you might find it more arduous to watch Se7en, but in the end, you might find it more rewarding. In all truth, it is precisely the uniquely horrific nature of the crimes that makes the investigation so intriguing (and involving) as one cannot help but feel strongly against such atrocities. Moreover, the very bleakness of the murders directly partakes in the mood of the film, also a huge part of its effectiveness.
Murders aside, Fincher perfectly captures the depressing atmosphere needed to aptly frame the story. By shooting the dirty streets of L.A. under gray skies and torrential rain as he does, he successfully conveys a mood of lingering despair and hopelessness that seems to complexify the mystery, or at least cast some nasty shadows over it. And what's interesting is that the interiors are no less oppressive. Either bloody murder scenes, shady places of depravity (a shadowy "massage" parlor, the killer's apartment, a leather shop...), overcrowded offices, cheap apartments, these locales feature unsavory characters and filthy reminders of rampaging poverty that intentionally (and quite successfully) set-up Los Angeles as a literal hell-hole. The only safe haven from total gloom is the somptuous public library where we see Somerset researching the case in a short scene that is beautifully scored and brilliantly intercut with shots of Mills scratching his head over gory photos of murder victims. With all the nobility in the world, Somerset skims the alleys and shows us classic illustrations of horror from gorgeous editions of Dante's Purgatory, The Canterbury Tales and other such works. This just goes to show that knowledge will always reveal the inevitability of man/faith-made atrocities. Another bleak obsevation that sorts of spoils that single homely locale. At this point in his life, being a soon-to-retire detective who has seen it all, Somerset is a very pessimistic man. And his pessimism carries the story (while also offering contrepoint to Mill's youthful but eventually vain optimism). Because that's another thing about Se7en: at the heart of it is a very wisely pessimistic character, a character who is almost Shakespearian-ly tragic. He knows that our world is doomed and he knows best, as we're confirmed when the mystery brilliantly unravels. Everyone is corrupt in one way or another, and although this might sound like an overly moralistic statement, it is the truth. In the end, we are so overwhelmed by this revelation that John Doe's logic actually seems sound as he explains the motives behind his repulsive crimes. Points are certainly due to Fincher (and to Spacey, of course) for almost making us empathize with a character whose horrible crimes are so meticulously described before.
Another of the film's most obvious assets is the very able, limited cast. Four main characters, perfectly fleshed-out by an A-list cast in great shape. No intricate sub-plots involving tertiary informants, just a simple, straightforward drama about what it is to be in hell. There is great screen chemistry between Freeman and Pitt as virtual opposites learning to bond with one another. There is great chemistry between Freeman, Pitt and Spacey during the short but crucial "confession" scene. Despite the demanding screenplay, they all offer flawless performances that highly heighten the dramatic quality of the film, and thus make the vacuum of depression even wider. Mills is an emotional character, quite unfit to deal with an emotional case such as John Doe's, let alone seamlessly blend in his new environment. In the end, it is but a fleeting emotion which determines his fate. Somerset is a blasé old-timer who has killed his emotions to survive. Now, not only are those two characters perfectly portrayed, but so is the subtle interplay between them. We're not talking about buddy cops who jump in front of bullets for each other here. We're talking about two round characters trying to find a middle ground amidst all the chaos of urban life. The case is what ties them together. The case is Somerset's lesson to Mills, with whom he didn't want to work with at first, saying it was too rough of a first case for him. In the end, as things unfold in very Shakespearian fashion, it's as if the two detectives were classic dramatic figures. I don't think I could over-emphasize how good they were. As for the supporting cast, they all offer fine performances, some of which are memorable despite their shortness. As "man in massage parlour booth", Michael Massee calmly explains life to an over-excited detective Mills:
- You didn't see anyone with a package, asks Mills naively after he's learned from the potential witness that every client of the massage parlor had to go through him, a knapsack, something
under their arms?
-Hey, everybody that comes in there has a package under their arms, replies the man with a thick accent. Some guys carry suitcases full of stuff.
When later asked by Mills if he likes his job, he sternly replies: "No". He then leans forward and continues: "No, I don't. But that's life." Cut to Mills, who fails to process this invaluable lesson, the umpteenth of its kind disseminated across the screenplay. If only Mills could've learned pessimism, he might have made a great downtown L.A. detective.
By the way, Michael Massee is the guy who inavertedly shot and killed Brandon Lee while working on The Crow. Poor guy apparently suffered such a trauma that he took a one-year sabbatical from acting.
4,5/5 Easily one of the best films of the 1990s (Fight Club has absolutely nothing on it).
You think Brad Pitt is just a pretty face? He isn't.
Less attractive, but even better is the great Morgan Freeman.
The rain-slicked Los Angeles streets form the stage for this sordid tale of morality gone wrong. They are home to many wicked creatures and sad souls among which are seasoned police detective Somerset (Freeman), newbie inspector Mills (Pitt) and a vicious serial killer known only as John Doe (Kevin Spacey, in a short but unforgettable performance). This killer's M.O. is simple but brilliant: he chooses his victims according to the deadly sins they have committed. Hence, he kills a morbidly obese man for his gluttony, a high-priced defense attorney for his greed... all in ritualistic fashion involving the utmost suffering of the "sinful" victims. Hot on his trail is the newly formed duo of Mills and Somerset. But wise as Somerset may be and feisty as Mills may be, they have a hard time catching the killer who's visibly very smart and organized, always a step ahead of the protagonists. It's a race against the clock as the corpses keep piling up and clues remain elusive. In the end, despite energetic investigation, the detectives can only catch John Doe when he willingly presents himself at police plaza and calmly surrenders. He makes a deal with the police to escort him to the location of the last two remaining corpses in exchange for a full confession of guilt. Having no alternative, Mills and Somerset fall into the killer's trap, which is the final part of his master plan. Will the two men have the will (and composure) necessary to beat the cunning psycho at his own game? Or will evil win? Co-starring Gwyneth Paltrow as Mill's wife who completes the cast of what is essentially a four characters scenario. Although her screentime is limited, Paltrow is efficient in the few key scenes she partakes in.
"Realize detective, the only reason that I'm here
right now is that I wanted to be." - John Doe
right now is that I wanted to be." - John Doe
John Doe's murders are shocking and their aftermath are shamelessly framed by Khondji's camera (who went on to film even weirder stuff in Alien: Resurrection). This is perhaps the main reason for this film's staying power. A monstrously obese man (we're talking maybe 400 pounds here) living in a filthy apartment full of grease and roaches, force-fed spaghetti until he burst. The veins on his bloated, pickled body are glistening under the flashlights of the detectives and the medical lights at the morgue. A man kept alive for a whole year without food, looking like a blind ghoul gasping for air with vain frenesy. A prostitute, fucked with a strap-on knife by a man with a gun held in his throat. We don't actually see the massacred genitalia on this one, but we can imagine well enough thanks to a polaroid of the murderous contraption and the manic testimony of the man forced to wear it (Leland Orser, who went on to commit an even weirder murder in Alien: Resurrection). As you might have guessed, a total of seven murders (one for each of the deadly sins), all more repulsive than the last. If you have a weak stomach, or worse yet, if the mere descriptions I did of the murders turns you off, you might find it more arduous to watch Se7en, but in the end, you might find it more rewarding. In all truth, it is precisely the uniquely horrific nature of the crimes that makes the investigation so intriguing (and involving) as one cannot help but feel strongly against such atrocities. Moreover, the very bleakness of the murders directly partakes in the mood of the film, also a huge part of its effectiveness.
Murders aside, Fincher perfectly captures the depressing atmosphere needed to aptly frame the story. By shooting the dirty streets of L.A. under gray skies and torrential rain as he does, he successfully conveys a mood of lingering despair and hopelessness that seems to complexify the mystery, or at least cast some nasty shadows over it. And what's interesting is that the interiors are no less oppressive. Either bloody murder scenes, shady places of depravity (a shadowy "massage" parlor, the killer's apartment, a leather shop...), overcrowded offices, cheap apartments, these locales feature unsavory characters and filthy reminders of rampaging poverty that intentionally (and quite successfully) set-up Los Angeles as a literal hell-hole. The only safe haven from total gloom is the somptuous public library where we see Somerset researching the case in a short scene that is beautifully scored and brilliantly intercut with shots of Mills scratching his head over gory photos of murder victims. With all the nobility in the world, Somerset skims the alleys and shows us classic illustrations of horror from gorgeous editions of Dante's Purgatory, The Canterbury Tales and other such works. This just goes to show that knowledge will always reveal the inevitability of man/faith-made atrocities. Another bleak obsevation that sorts of spoils that single homely locale. At this point in his life, being a soon-to-retire detective who has seen it all, Somerset is a very pessimistic man. And his pessimism carries the story (while also offering contrepoint to Mill's youthful but eventually vain optimism). Because that's another thing about Se7en: at the heart of it is a very wisely pessimistic character, a character who is almost Shakespearian-ly tragic. He knows that our world is doomed and he knows best, as we're confirmed when the mystery brilliantly unravels. Everyone is corrupt in one way or another, and although this might sound like an overly moralistic statement, it is the truth. In the end, we are so overwhelmed by this revelation that John Doe's logic actually seems sound as he explains the motives behind his repulsive crimes. Points are certainly due to Fincher (and to Spacey, of course) for almost making us empathize with a character whose horrible crimes are so meticulously described before.
Another of the film's most obvious assets is the very able, limited cast. Four main characters, perfectly fleshed-out by an A-list cast in great shape. No intricate sub-plots involving tertiary informants, just a simple, straightforward drama about what it is to be in hell. There is great screen chemistry between Freeman and Pitt as virtual opposites learning to bond with one another. There is great chemistry between Freeman, Pitt and Spacey during the short but crucial "confession" scene. Despite the demanding screenplay, they all offer flawless performances that highly heighten the dramatic quality of the film, and thus make the vacuum of depression even wider. Mills is an emotional character, quite unfit to deal with an emotional case such as John Doe's, let alone seamlessly blend in his new environment. In the end, it is but a fleeting emotion which determines his fate. Somerset is a blasé old-timer who has killed his emotions to survive. Now, not only are those two characters perfectly portrayed, but so is the subtle interplay between them. We're not talking about buddy cops who jump in front of bullets for each other here. We're talking about two round characters trying to find a middle ground amidst all the chaos of urban life. The case is what ties them together. The case is Somerset's lesson to Mills, with whom he didn't want to work with at first, saying it was too rough of a first case for him. In the end, as things unfold in very Shakespearian fashion, it's as if the two detectives were classic dramatic figures. I don't think I could over-emphasize how good they were. As for the supporting cast, they all offer fine performances, some of which are memorable despite their shortness. As "man in massage parlour booth", Michael Massee calmly explains life to an over-excited detective Mills:
- You didn't see anyone with a package, asks Mills naively after he's learned from the potential witness that every client of the massage parlor had to go through him, a knapsack, something
under their arms?
-Hey, everybody that comes in there has a package under their arms, replies the man with a thick accent. Some guys carry suitcases full of stuff.
When later asked by Mills if he likes his job, he sternly replies: "No". He then leans forward and continues: "No, I don't. But that's life." Cut to Mills, who fails to process this invaluable lesson, the umpteenth of its kind disseminated across the screenplay. If only Mills could've learned pessimism, he might have made a great downtown L.A. detective.
By the way, Michael Massee is the guy who inavertedly shot and killed Brandon Lee while working on The Crow. Poor guy apparently suffered such a trauma that he took a one-year sabbatical from acting.
We are all sinners.
4,5/5 Easily one of the best films of the 1990s (Fight Club has absolutely nothing on it).
