A broken laptop, an unusually heavy work-load, a backlog of notes which I'd like to make and an indifference to the film generally means that these notes will be necessarily brief.
This isn't a bad film, in fact it has a remarkable intensity throughout which plenty of films fail to achieve. But it isn't very good. There are people who mistake bleakness for gravitas and will probably tout this as a significant film, but it isn't. I'm not asking for every film to be Singin' In The Rain, but saying that bleakness isn't enough. Tarkovsky's Andrei Rublyov is a good case in point, no less bleak it is however far more interesting, far more visually stunning and with far more to say. Though I suspect the source novel deserves its bravura reputation, the film doesn't provoke new or interesting thoughts: anarchy causes a societal breakdown and a loss of the humanity which we had as children is hardly a revelation or worthy of any deeper analysis.
Even that isn't the biggest problem, however, the biggest problem is Viggo Mortensen. I like him, I think he's a good actor generally but here he disappoints. In providing a brave face for his on-screen son, he fails to show even a glimmer of anything different to the audience. It's an unsubtle and consequently unengaging showing, he is either sorrowful or stoic or afraid but never a combination of his emotions.
It's not a bad film, but I won't be bothering again.
