London actor grips in Half Nelson
TORONTO (CUP) -- Ryan Gosling had critics and audiences by the ears after his no-holds-barred performance of Jewish-skinhead Daniel Balint in 2001's The Believer. Thereafter, critics took note of Gosling's every career move, hoping to affirm that this London, Ont., native was no one-trick pony.
After Murder By Numbers -- a genre flick that relied heavily on its half-baked premise -- then The Notebook (meh), then Stay, hope for Gosling had all but run dry. He seemed damned to tabloid hell, as his relationship with Notebook co-star Rachel McAdams took precedent over his modest to bad movies.
Yet Gosling returns to form in director Ryan Fleck's debut feature, Half Nelson, as if to reclaim his status as the most promising young actor of the new millennia.
The film itself travels familiar terrain, as it follows an idealistic Brooklyn history teacher, Dan Dunne (Gosling), and his relationship with a misguided inner-city student, Drey (Shareeka Epps), thus forming the pedigree of student-teacher, feel-good fodder that Hollywood has practically genre-fied with films like Dangerous Minds and Coach Carter.
Dunne has all of the imbedded street smarts and verbal sparring capabilities -- typical traits for this category role -- that make him a challenge for the slum-city misfits to ignore. However, the curve ball in Half Nelson is that Dunne himself is a base head, afflicted by a crack addiction that makes him a dubious guide for underprivileged eighth-graders.
In fact, the relationship between Dunne and Drey is forged when the latter finds her teacher wasted in the girl's locker room after a basketball game. Drey is subsequently drawn to Dunne, not for his dynamic teaching methods, but to his fragility.
Dunne is no better than the drug dealers that burden Drey's orbit, one of whom is a high-roller named Frank (a mischievous Anthony Mackie) who provides her with frequent supervision and discreet lessons in peddling.
While Dunne makes efforts to persuade Drey to steer clear of Frank's “generosity,” his own hypocrisy boils to the surface.
Named after a professional wrestling hold that is near-impossible to escape, Half Nelson is a probing character study of a male role model who struggles to reinforce his ideals while under the clutch of his own afflictions.
The ever hopeful “If I could change just one student” testimony, which Dunne makes attempts to deliver, is eschewed when he's balancing random women with a line of coke while uttering his mantra.
Dunne's strategy to isolate his inspired daytimes as a teacher from his nefarious nights as a junkie becomes a dangerous game, one that is especially taxing on Drey, as her presence in his life begins to transcend the boundary of the school bell.
A noticeable trait of Half Nelson is how it frequently treads the road not taken. Though fashioned after countless celluloid student-teacher relationships, the film's characters transcend the categorical models that have preceded them.
Gosling's teacher is not one that you can comfortably like, if not scorn altogether, while Mackie's drug dealer is not the epitome of scum, as conventional wisdom would have it, but a rather charismatic and likeable enterpriser instead.
The narrative in Half Nelson takes strides in the same motion by avoiding the climactic plot points that former films have diminished to cliché.
Director Ryan Fleck's keenest decision in this film is to rely on the intensity of the actors, and forego the typical pencil drama that past films so often find in the form of confrontations and tragedy.
Though this maneuver frequently leaves narrative gaps, they are easily reconciled by the presence that Gosling imbues in his character -— we may not be told exactly what happens, but the actor's silent expressions say all we need to know. Fleck's unrelenting faith in Gosling has paid off admirably, as the actor replaces overt drama with internal combustion.
As a result of Fleck's good measure, Half Nelson becomes that rare gripping “indie” dream that reaffirms your faith in character pictures with meagre finances. Subsequently, Ryan Gosling shall finally be reckoned as a bon-a-fide talent again. Take this man off those tabloid shelves, now!
After Murder By Numbers -- a genre flick that relied heavily on its half-baked premise -- then The Notebook (meh), then Stay, hope for Gosling had all but run dry. He seemed damned to tabloid hell, as his relationship with Notebook co-star Rachel McAdams took precedent over his modest to bad movies.
Yet Gosling returns to form in director Ryan Fleck's debut feature, Half Nelson, as if to reclaim his status as the most promising young actor of the new millennia.
The film itself travels familiar terrain, as it follows an idealistic Brooklyn history teacher, Dan Dunne (Gosling), and his relationship with a misguided inner-city student, Drey (Shareeka Epps), thus forming the pedigree of student-teacher, feel-good fodder that Hollywood has practically genre-fied with films like Dangerous Minds and Coach Carter.
Dunne has all of the imbedded street smarts and verbal sparring capabilities -- typical traits for this category role -- that make him a challenge for the slum-city misfits to ignore. However, the curve ball in Half Nelson is that Dunne himself is a base head, afflicted by a crack addiction that makes him a dubious guide for underprivileged eighth-graders.
In fact, the relationship between Dunne and Drey is forged when the latter finds her teacher wasted in the girl's locker room after a basketball game. Drey is subsequently drawn to Dunne, not for his dynamic teaching methods, but to his fragility.
Dunne is no better than the drug dealers that burden Drey's orbit, one of whom is a high-roller named Frank (a mischievous Anthony Mackie) who provides her with frequent supervision and discreet lessons in peddling.
While Dunne makes efforts to persuade Drey to steer clear of Frank's “generosity,” his own hypocrisy boils to the surface.
Named after a professional wrestling hold that is near-impossible to escape, Half Nelson is a probing character study of a male role model who struggles to reinforce his ideals while under the clutch of his own afflictions.
The ever hopeful “If I could change just one student” testimony, which Dunne makes attempts to deliver, is eschewed when he's balancing random women with a line of coke while uttering his mantra.
Dunne's strategy to isolate his inspired daytimes as a teacher from his nefarious nights as a junkie becomes a dangerous game, one that is especially taxing on Drey, as her presence in his life begins to transcend the boundary of the school bell.
A noticeable trait of Half Nelson is how it frequently treads the road not taken. Though fashioned after countless celluloid student-teacher relationships, the film's characters transcend the categorical models that have preceded them.
Gosling's teacher is not one that you can comfortably like, if not scorn altogether, while Mackie's drug dealer is not the epitome of scum, as conventional wisdom would have it, but a rather charismatic and likeable enterpriser instead.
The narrative in Half Nelson takes strides in the same motion by avoiding the climactic plot points that former films have diminished to cliché.
Director Ryan Fleck's keenest decision in this film is to rely on the intensity of the actors, and forego the typical pencil drama that past films so often find in the form of confrontations and tragedy.
Though this maneuver frequently leaves narrative gaps, they are easily reconciled by the presence that Gosling imbues in his character -— we may not be told exactly what happens, but the actor's silent expressions say all we need to know. Fleck's unrelenting faith in Gosling has paid off admirably, as the actor replaces overt drama with internal combustion.
As a result of Fleck's good measure, Half Nelson becomes that rare gripping “indie” dream that reaffirms your faith in character pictures with meagre finances. Subsequently, Ryan Gosling shall finally be reckoned as a bon-a-fide talent again. Take this man off those tabloid shelves, now!
