Directed by:
Clint EastwoodScreenplay:
Brian HelgelandCinematography:
Tom SternComposer:
Clint EastwoodCast:
Sean Penn, Tim Robbins, Kevin Bacon, Laurence Fishburne, Marcia Gay Harden, Laura Linney, Kevin Chapman, Tom Guiry, Emmy Rossum, Spencer Treat Clark (more)VOD (1)
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When they were kids growing up together in a rough section of Boston, Jimmy Markum, Dave Boyle and Sean Devine spent their days playing stickball on the street, the way most boys did in their blue-collar neighborhood of East Buckingham. Nothing much out of the ordinary ever happened, until a moment's decision drastically altered the course of each of their lives forever. Twenty-five years later, the three find themselves thrust back together by another tragic event--the murder of Jimmy's 19-year-old daughter. Now a cop, Sean is assigned to the case and he and his partner are charged with unraveling the seemingly senseless crime. In the wake of the sudden and terrible loss of his child, Jimmy's mind becomes consumed with revenge--and his own plans to find the killer. Caught up in the maelstrom is Dave, now a lost and broken man fighting to keep his demons at bay. As the investigation creeps closer to home, his wife Celeste becomes consumed by suspicion and fear, while Jimmy's wife, Annabeth, draws her family tighter together in order to weather the storm. (official distributor synopsis)
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Reviews (11)
To criticize Eastwood is to spend the rest of my life looking nervously over my shoulder, but I've got the balls for it. Because the problem with Clint's directorial output of recent years lies mainly in the fact that he's a crappy psychologist, but would love to be one (i.e. the classic problem of all trendy psychology students, who end up psychoanalyzing their houseplants two months into their first semester, oh how many I've known). He can't seem to go deep into the characters, even though the actors help him tremendously with that. Tim Robbins' acting in particular should be watched just as a reward. Except that his monologues with cheesy metaphors (vampires, wolves) rustle the paper (or was it hustle?) and you don't believe a thing. The film's straightforward mystery storyline will please all crime fiction lovers because it's got it all and Fishburne and Bacon are likable to a fault. However, that shocking ending that the film doesn't allude to in any way beforehand squeals like a pig, no matter how well shot it is – especially the rather brutal and excellent skirmish from the unnamed characters. There's a very interesting (again, paper-rustling) scene at the end, with Penn's wife, whose relationship we've also learned quite a bit about up to this point, and will therefore cause a wrinkle on more than one forehead, and ironically it's this scene that stands out enough to clinch that fourth star, even though I still found the "traditional" bits the best part of the overall film.
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Once again, Clint works flawlessly with human emotions, from love to pure hatred, but this time it's not so much to his credit as to all the excellent actors who play such an atmospheric and chillingly patient game that the depressing finale made me want to scream and quickly shake it all off. Unfortunately, the compelling and simply-framed psychological storyline fights too hard for attention with the detective plot, which rings a bit hollow and is ultimately not as crucial to the story as the frequency of all the interrogations and new leads might suggest. Other than the aforementioned finale, there aren’t any wow-sequences that would be permanently etched in our memories, the kind Eastwood usually delivers aplenty in his masterpieces, so I have no choice but to bring up Sean Penn and Tim Robbins again, without whom this time it wouldn't have been quite the same – but Clint probably knew who to cast :))) 80%
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Mystic River is a dark crime drama laced with intimate character studies. With minimal music, this slow, quiet film is certainly not an adrenaline-fuelled thrill ride, but rather a serious human drama that is perhaps even more thought-provokingly powerful in its conclusion than A Perfect World. A visually simple film relying mainly on the actors and editing. The editor could have still done more, but the actors save it.
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A very impressive work that has artfully combined the virtues of psychological drama and detective story, with the blending of the two genres in a very gritty finale being one of the greatest pros of Eastwood's film. The first part feels rather clumsy and takes on revolutions more than laboriously, but in the end, thanks mainly to Sean Penn, the narrative engine kicks in successfully, and as the minutes progress, Mystic River becomes a truly magnetizing spectacle, which, while not surprisingly deep in storytelling or extremely masterful direction, amounts to only honest and interesting narratives, great acting performances and emotional moments. The strength of the story lies primarily in the central three-petal, in the internal dilemmas and scars that protagonists have carried with them since childhood and which influence their actions... Unbalanced, but excellent.
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It's not satisfying as a classic crime drama, but it is as a psychological drama. The film flows at the slow pace of a lazy river, there are no camera exhibitions, Clint directs artfully, giving a lot of space to actors who can show a lot of their range, and that's how I like it. Tim Robbins in particular dominates the performances, and here the Oscar is in the right hands. On the other hand, I would question the second award-winning actor, because Sean Penn, in truth, overacts in places. The intelligently written story manages to draw you in and not let go, although there are a few distracting elements, namely, the wife's strange silent phone calls to Detective Devin (played convincingly by Kevin Bacon), which have no connection to the plot and take it nowhere, and the poor symbolism in Robbins' character's reasoning – I didn't get the "vampires" (= pedophiles?) thing. Nevertheless, great satisfaction, also thanks to the unconventionally closed story. They don’t make many films like this in Hollywood today.
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