The 'real' in realism

The work of writer/director Andrea Arnold is the strongest argument for the potency of auteurism to come along in a very long time. This relative newcomer captured a jury prize at Cannes last year with an arresting and shockingly well-made film about the obstacles faced by a 15-year-old girl living in working-class Essex.

Arnold made the inspired choice of pairing veteran Irish method actor Michael Fassbender with the unknown and untrained Katie Jarvis. The former is one of the strongest male leads working today, while the latter, though young and inexperienced, gives the performance of the year, instantly establishing herself as a first-rate talent.

Before I unleash a torrent of praise, however, it must be noted that Fish Tank is a very grim tale. It's a beautiful, painful take on a hard-nosed, hip-hop Lolita, told from the perspective of the troubled youth. There is no moral, no redeeming message, no point being made. This is documentary realism, and the subject matter is deeply troubling.

That said, the film has a tremendous amount going for it. The storyline follows young Mia (Jarvis) as she kicks around her rundown shambles of a neighborhood, evading her verbally abusive mother and sister (granted, she gives as good as she gets), getting into fights, drinking, stealing and generally causing trouble. Her one refuge is hip-hop - dance, mainly - and her passion for the art form is her only ambition. When her mother brings home a man (Fassbender), things become progressively more complicated as an initially harmless flirtation develops into illegality. Needless to say, things come to a head and the true vulnerability and disfunctionality of Mia's situation is underscored.

Fish Tank evokes an unusual jumble of cinematic trends: There is the gritty realism of Kids (1995), Raising Victor Vargas (2002) and The Wire, as well as the magical cinematography and ethereal aesthetic of art-house giants like the Polish brothers (Twin Falls Idaho, Northfork) and Wim Wenders (Paris, Texas; Wings of Desire; The Million Dollar Hotel, etc.). As Mia slinks down alleys and practices dance moves, surreal imagery infuses the story with poetry. There is the scrawny, chained-up white horse that she repeatedly tries to set free. There is the titular fish, plucked from a grungy river by the bare hands of her seducer. Gritty meets pretty as cinematographer Robbie Ryan and editor Nicolas Chaudeurge intersperse the fast-paced, kinetic hand-held camerawork with fine-art photography fit for installation in a gallery.

Arnold's script is authentic and unaffected. Her narrative point of view is nonjudgmental, with no polemic against poverty or sexual abuse. Arnold's sole aim seems to be to capture the essence of her characters' lives - their humanity - and in this she succeeds. Perhaps she succeeds too well, as the final product is far more bitter than sweet. Moments that seem pregnant with the promise of mirth inevitably turn grim. Ironically, it is the grimmest moment of all that veers into something like fun, if for no other reason than the sheer absurdity of watching Mia say farewell to her mother and sister via a low-key dance sequence set to Nas' "Life's a Bitch."

Strong writing and technical prowess aside, Fish Tank is an actor's movie, and the performances dominate the film. Fassbender is as engaging as he was in the festival of pain that was his award-winning portrayal of IRA hunger striker Bobby Sands. Jarvis and a similarly unknown Rebecca Griffiths (in the role of Mia's sister) meet Fassbender's talent head-on, with one or the other stealing virtually every scene. Kierston Wareing doesn't have a lot to do as Mia's drink-sodden, paltry excuse of a mother, but she comes through at key moments, adding dimensionality to the portrait of domestic chaos with small gestures and glances that carry more meaning than a paragraph of exposition.

Fish Tank isn't an enjoyable film, and it's probably not destined for massive mainstream success. But it is too good to dismiss as gratuitous, and much too artfully pieced together to ignore.

James Walling can be reached at
jwalling@praguepost.com