Animal Kingdom

A crime thriller, family drama, and coming-of-age story all rolled into one, Animal Kingdom is a complex, often exhilarating film that showcases a major new filmmaking talent in writer/director David Michod.  This is Michod’s first feature-length project (he has made several acclaimed shorts in his native Australia), and he pulls off that rare debut film that is immensely ambitious yet completely controlled, and which matches its smart, intricate writing with great visual storytelling and stylistic flair.

Animal Kingdom begins with a wayward teenager, Joshua “J” Cody, discovering his mother dead from a drug overdose in their apartment.  Unsure of what to do or where to go, J reaches out to the only family he knows, his grandmother Smurf, who takes him in to live with her and her three grown sons.  This is J’s mother’s side of the family, though she had been estranged from all them for many years; after we spend a little time with them, it is not hard to see why.

The three Cody men are all part of a criminal enterprise that was once thriving but has fallen on hard times.  The eldest brother, Pope, was a successful bank robber, but that “business” is no longer as easy or financially rewarding as it used to be.  Adding to his troubles is that the police now suspect and survey him constantly, causing him to grow progressively more frustrated and unstable. The middle brother, Craig, has recently found prosperity selling illegal drugs, but that world comes with its own dangers, and Craig is not only a peddler of these substances but an increasingly active user as well.  The youngest Cody brother, Darren, is more naïve and inexperienced than his elder siblings, but as this world of criminality and vice is all he has ever known, he is just as much a part of it as they are.

While the brothers continually jockey for position and attention, it is never in doubt who the real leader and guiding force of the family is—Smurf, a chilling sociopath who acts all sweet and loving on the outside, but who, we come to realize, is capable of monstrous things.  As J navigates his family and the increasingly dangerous and volatile circumstances they end up in, he must make some crucial decisions about who he is and what he wants, and his actions are gripping and surprising until the very final scene.

Animal Kingdom is the definition of a slow-burn film, but it builds steadily in intensity and dread, and the last half-hour is packed with twists and reversals that will keep you constantly in flux but which never feel cheap or forced.  Michod masterfully creates a dark, foreboding mood over the entire film, which ratchets up both the tension and the emotional stakes of the story.  In this he is assisted by the cinematographer, Adam Arkapaw, who, working within a mostly naturalistic framework, is able to evoke treachery and menace at every turn.  Melbourne, where most of the story takes places, has probably never been used to this expressive or sinister an effect.  The music, by Antony Partos, also enhances the atmosphere and dramatic force of several key moments in the film.

In addition to its many impressive technical achievements, Animal Kingdom features terrific acting all-around.  As Pope, Ben Mendelsohn is frighteningly charismatic and unpredictable, and he grounds his performance in a tragic realism that makes his moments of aggression all the more disturbing.  Newcomer James Frecheville plays J, and he subtly but forcefully depicts his character’s transformation over the course of the film, realistically evolving him from a blank slate into a very determined and particular person, while always remaining a compelling protagonist.  Guy Pearce, as a cop on the family’s trail who takes an interest in J and tries to help him, does a great job exploring the intricacies of an upright, straight-laced man whose actions are driven by a combination of benevolence and personal gain. Ultimately, though, the film’s most distinctive and noteworthy performance belongs to Jacki Weaver, who plays the chirpy, homicidal matriarch of the Cody clan.  Weaver is a well-known character actress in Australia who previously has not gotten much recognition in the U.S., but her scene-stealing role in this film should hopefully change that.  The brilliance of her performance is not just how she creates such a sweet and kindly exterior for a character whose dark underbelly gets increasingly exposed—this could have merely felt superficial or gimmicky in the wrong hands.  Instead, she makes Smurf a real, complex person, and shows that not only is her outward personality a manipulation on her character’s part, but also how deeply this character is driven by a love of her family—a destructive and compulsive love, perhaps, but a love all the same.

It is this notion of family that, in the end, makes the film so resonant and unique.  A criminal underworld is a fascinating thing in and of itself, but it’s the exploration of the familial dynamics and obligations within such an underworld that enriches the themes and enhances the drama of Animal Kingdom.  Michod also deserves major credit for making a gangster film that is grand without being grandiose—the film takes itself very seriously and at times even approaches operatic proportions, yet it never feels either pretentious or over-the-top.  In recent times, most popular crime thrillers have been in the more comedic, ironic vein—Quentin Tarantino, Guy Ritchie, etc.—and while those films can be great, it is also refreshing to see a director with such a serious, straightforward, and intelligent approach to the genre.   It’s a gem of a film, and gives us much to look forward to with the subsequent work of this filmmaker.

                                                 David Laub