LFF 2021: Mass
LFFIf one thing is assured in Fran Kranz's Mass is that it will emotionally destroy the viewer. A devastating and brutal depiction of grief, Mass is a feature that explores the internal destruction of a tragedy upon two families crafted in a tense and often harrowing description of emotional torment.
Crafted in an isolated and often claustrophobic setting of just four chairs surrounding a table, Mass not only isolates the characters for brooding emotive power but equally isolates the viewer by having no choice to witness and explore this pain on screen. This intimacy is ever so compelling, with strong use of close-ups from the cinematographer Ryan Jackson-Healy that feel inescapable in the feature’s heart-rendering power. The viewer is consistently propelled into these characters lives, for good and for bad, feeling invasive and powerless; no doubt a conscious decision from Kranz to be forced in the life of these two couples and the lack of privacy in their respective lives.
The screenplay does a strong job of covering not only the internal issues of said characters and expresses such to a brutally honest and powerful depiction, but the screenplay, as aforementioned, covers a great deal of social and political commentary. Now, this undeniably adds layers and depth to the proceeding narrative but also adds to the individual arcs that allocate personalisation and individualism. Nevertheless, it often feels as if these arcs ultimately deviate and push away from the primary momentum of the feature and knocks both the pacing and immersion. With the features unneeded prologue of sorts, an attribute that adds at least ten or so minutes to a running time that sadly comes in at being excessive.
At one hundred and ten minutes, Kranz’s feature is just a little too long for its own good. Granted, it is a topic that justifies its length, but how Kranz crafts his screenplay, there are multiple arcs and narrative inclusions that feel not out of place but overly excessive in the feature’s heavily emotionally fuelled themes. Due to this, the length drains on top of the already difficult substance that Mass holds. Thankfully, this is only felt in the prologue as well as small character idiosyncrasies, as the editing is rather spectacular utilised to craft momentum, pace, and tension.
Editor Yang-Hua Hu and assistant editor Christopher Ma do a fantastic job in elevating suspense as well as crafting pause and brevity in a manner of sharp and strong cuts or slow and methodically implemented restrictions; thus, this allows the screenplay, themes and ultimately the performances to really take shape and prowess. Each respective performance is rather spectacular, but the one that stands out is the utterly outstanding and emotionally brutal performance from Jason Issacs, of whom puts forward a career highlight in the devastatingly external craftmanship of emotional depth and range. His eyes, in particular, have strong intoxicating power that expertly curates heartbreaking and stirring torment.
Aside from an issue of narrative over-indulgence, it is hard to not see Fran Kranz's Mass as nothing short of incredible. Beautifully performed from a quartet of powerhouses in Martha Plimpton, Reed Birney and Ann Dowd, each adding a breathtaking and often brutal curation of haunting dramatic intent. Capturing such touching and affecting performance is the filmmaking craft in editing and cinematography that builds and builds a tragic and brutal tale of acceptance, honesty, and grief in a feature that hauntingly cuts close to the bone.
