Paul Schrader’s latest directorial effort is a dire CIA tale

dying of the light

Director: Paul Schrader

Cast: Nicolas Cage, Alexander Karim, Anton Yelchin

Rating: 18

Running time: 94 mins

Release date: January 2nd, 2015

The premise of Dying of the light purportedly distinguishes it from generic, political thrillers. CIA agent, Evan Lake (Nicolas Cage) finds out that his former tormentor, Muhammad Banir (Alexander Karim), is alive, but gravely ill. Lake’s health is ailing too, likely the after-effects of their past encounters. What follows isn’t an existential odyssey with a climatic, thought provoking stand-off between bitter enemies, instead, we’re subjected to what should already be a shoe-in for one of the worst cinema releases of the year.

Plenty of noise has been made by writer-director, Paul Schrader – and the maverick filmmaker Nicolas Winding Refn – concerning the impact producers had on the final cut. Allegedly, the film was unscored and unmixed before Schrader was shut out from production. If this is true, at least the rote, jingoistic soundtrack that accompanies the film can’t be pinned on the director. During some of the uninspiring car chases, tires screech – scratch that – steering wheels jolt, drowning out the tedious music, such is the onerous sound mixing.

Dying of the light barrages the viewer – scene-after-scene – with exposition heavy dialogue. The introductory CIA bureau scenes feel artificial and oppressive, reminiscent of cut-scenes in old PC strategy games. Laboured, unnecessary details are covered, masking what is essentially a simple plot. Right down to the location title fonts, conservative camera work, and bland colour, the film screams bog-standard TV-movie. In terms of pace, it uniquely manages to be pedestrian when building tension, yet elliptic in its serial globetrotting.

Combining a poorly written script with Cage’s hysterical delivery was a union destined for unintentional laughs. Cage chews scenery like the aliens in Stephen King’s Langoliers. It’s unclear where Cage starts and Evan Lake stops: in this maelstrom, reality and fiction collide. Self-parody – intentional or not – reigns. The serviceably buoyant, wooden script is terminal. It  leaves the ever-eager Cage to churn out its gems. In front of his co-agent, Milton Schultz (played by a croaky, near catatonic Anton Yelchin), Cage balances a book on the back of his hand to demonstrate he is still a competent field agent. Stoney faced, Cage subsequently garbles, “there are two kinds of people in this world, men of action, and everyone else”.

Of course it’s not a Cage vehicle without an angry flip-out scene. Hint: brace yourself when he’s asked to clear his desk. Schrader throws in some hate-the-political-elites speech (a theme present in a number of his films, including Taxi Driver – what, he wrote that?), but it comes across as a juvenile rallying cry against the powers that be, the kind that would factor ten on the Laurie Penny-stilted-fury-o-meter. It’s difficult to build a nuanced sub-text when the actor hogging the screen is a tornado of rage and glaring eyes, but even more so when the script’s political clout amounts to pathetic jibes. Screaming about Obama being so far up his own backside that he acknowledges what is produced there does not make for savvy commentary.

Near the end of the film, there’s a brief moment in which it threatens to relay a poignant message. Cue a shootout, a final fight, and we’re safely returned to the TV-movie by-numbers narrative that Dying of the light was condemned to be. No amount of editing could have saved the film, making one wonder whether the extent to which Schrader and Refn complained about the final result (t-shirt campaign?) is one absurd stunt to raise the film’s profile. Insinuating the film would have been profoundly different if Refn had taken the helm – or any other what-if – does not escape the frightful truth that the script and lead are egregious and the film is unsalvageable.

Verdict

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