Closer Movie review
Written January 2, 2005

The truth may set you free, but not necessarily in a good way. As far as perceivable lessons in cinema go, this was about as much as I could glean from the pessimistic ashes of Closer’s intricately weaved anti-romance. But it was more than enough.

Jude Law, Julia Roberts, Clive Owen and Natalie Portman anchor each corner of the fated love-square with equitable strength. Each carries a particular archetype in 21st century romance: Law is a writer - far too idealistic and theatrical to ever be satisfied with what he’s got, while Owen is a shrewd doctor who desperately wants a deeper love that he knows exists but can’t feel. Roberts is the classic pain addict and Portman’s character is doggedly loyal and dependant, still too young to assess her own brilliance and self-sufficiency. It’s all very familiar, both in life and in fiction, but the film’s sheer brutality makes it hard to look away.

An ensemble performance, every character in Closer is given equal chance to muse and rant, to crumble and break others in turn – to hurt, in general. As the film’s timeline skips around gleefully, we see the defining moments in these relationships: from the picture-perfect, storytale beginnings to the tragic minutes where everything falls apart.

Much of Closer’s strength lies in its critical scrutiny of modern-day romance, from the gender trickery of online dating to the ethical murkiness involved in suggesting that Absolut Truth is not always the best policy. A point of particular interest is the male preoccupation with ex’s and their sex lives – the hang-ups on who happens to be fucking one’s former girl (not that I wanted her back in the first place). These obsessions are a source of escalated conflict between Law and Owen and sex effectively becomes a heart-wrenching weapon. It’s an intriguing expose on a culture where gender equality is widely proclaimed and yet women somehow become ‘property’ to be jealously coveted and guarded from other men under all circumstances.

The dialogue carries the film, and those who require exploding vehicles and/or exploding buildings to keep their attention may not enjoy Closer. There are, however, strippers in abundant quantities and a number of vicious exchanges between characters that read like a particularly tense tennis-match. The barbs fly and when an especially devastating bomb is dropped, chances are you’ll care. Sure, the shaky coincidences add up and the occasional cheesy line is delivered, but if you give yourself to the drama, the sheer passion in this film is nigh-overwhelming.

Closer is, without a doubt, a pessimistic perspective on love – the antithesis to the Hollywood romance with a happy ending. Its quadrilateral structure becomes claustrophobic at times and you’ll wonder why none of the characters have the will to leave the nightmare, to start fresh. But as with any relationship, clarity is only for those on the outside, looking in. The film’s sour honesty and extraordinarily well written dialogue binds everything together in helplessness, a train wreck that one is compelled to witness yet powerless to act against. It’s a beautiful and painful thing, this dark reflection of ourselves.

I am convinced that the difference between people who liked and those who disliked this movie is their general experience and outlook on love – for those with a straightforward romantic history, it seems unrealistic and overly melodramatic, but for others who’ve endured these fucked up relationships for the sake of overwhelming passion, it hits close to home. Either way, there’s a lot to consider.