VENICE 2020: Nowhere Special
venice 2020
In the last ten years, the meteoric rise and talent of James Norton has been astounding. From his breakout role in Happy Valley to a string of superb supporting character pieces in the likes of Rush alongside Hollywood features such as Flatliners and Little Women. He has held his own as the lead in the miniseries, McMafia, and as of recent, proved leading man quality in Mr Jones. Norton's performance in Nowhere Special is not only a culmination of the last ten years of talent and skill as a performer, but it is also an outstanding piece of cinema that will destroy and inspire any and all who have the privilege of watching it.
Written and directed by Uberto Pasolini, nephew to the famed Italian director, his third effort is a superb drama that chronicles the intricacies of morality and the depths of fatherhood in such esteemed and brutally emotional fashion.
Utilising a kitchen-sink-inspired dynamic of a working-class Irish family, not too dissimilar to the works of Ken Loach or Mike Leigh in a restrained and wickedly efficacious manner, adds not only a heightened engagement factor due to its organic and authentic design, but also crafts an unflinching portrait of the harshness of morality. It is that same theme of questioning life's experience, and the hand dealt, that encompasses the audience in its poignancy.
It is written and explored in a deafening silence of sorts with little actual dialogue present. A longing visual presence takes shape and conducts a more significant emotional and visceral response, better than any monologue ever could. This is where Norton shines through. A stunning depiction of morality is present here in a gentle and almost oxymoronic tranquil depiction of brewing mood. Norton says so little within his conversations and relationships but presents such a stunning visual depiction of pain in subtle nuance which destroys the audience in how it is evoked.
It is the subtle pause and reflection from Norton, or even the glimmer of hope in his eye, in his depiction that elevates this material ten-fold. The film revels in the smaller intimate moments of conversation he has with other families and neighbours alike. It is a form of intimacy that blankets the devastation yet to come.
This is not a man who is fighting the world; he is not screaming and shouting at the top of his lungs, ready for battle. He has already lost. Norton's transcending performance takes aim at the aftermath of the battle, and with the tragic and devastating fallout that is inevitably going to follow. The stirring balance of wanting and needing to spend time with his son, but also having to work on a fixed plan for the future, is often too brutal to witness.
Then there is the performance of Daniel Lamont (Norton's on-screen son) which goes toe to toe with Norton’s in emotional pull and conviction. Granted, it is the contextual naivety from Lamont, conscious or not, that elevates the material due to his unknowingness of Norton's character predicament. That is not to say that it does not elevate the dynamic between the two, further adding that Lamont has key integral influence on the emotional destructiveness.
This slow and destructive internal force is the crowning glory of Pasolini’s film. It is written in such an unpretentious manner that it undeniably feels effortless, but less is always more. This brooding mood of a slow but assured obliteration raises its ugly head, and the result – of which has been aforementioned multiple times in this piece – is perhaps the most devastating piece of cinema this year. Do not treat that as hyperbolic tosh. It is, in fact, an understatement. Anyone who can sit through Nowhere Special's final scene and not be a balling wreck is not human.
