Some will find this cartoon toxicity entertaining, but I couldn’t reconcile the film’s very different registers. And Dinklage and his team owe some of their stylings to other Coen Brothers films and their physical-comedy influences: They bobble weapons, hurl smoothies, and wear costumes so loud I apologized to my downstairs neighbor.
Pike’s lipstick is so intensely red, her mouth becomes the focal point of any shot she appears in - not her eyes, which are often hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. Blakeson is British, and in sending up American evils, he dresses his characters as cartoonishly as panto villains: In order that we understand him to be a baddie, Chris Messina, a mobbed-up lawyer, wears a pinkie ring and a watch chain and a three-piece-suit made from upholstery fabric. We wonder - could it be that it takes an old predator to bring down a young one? But the plot turns instead towards Dinklage and Pike and their increasingly Rube Goldbergian plans, and Wiest slips away again, back to the dramaturgical depths.īlakeson, who also made The Disappearance of Alice Creed, is interested in the violent Absurd, so here he follows the Coen brothers in their Burn After Reading mode, stylizing for all he’s worth. Deep in her eyes, a shark rises up from the dark. During a lull in the action, there’s a tremendous scene in which Jennifer, dazed by overmedication, has a tense conversation with Marla, her “guardian-robber.” Jennifer’s gaze wanders, then sharpens. Unfortunately, Wiest is sidelined by the film, despite being its prize.
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Amos (and a few other obliging professional women) are competent in their monstrous efforts, while Dinklage’s gang is populated by nearly all male ding-dongs, bruisers accustomed to winning on the first swing. Marla refuses to be intimidated by threats or even harm she sneers at any man who tries it. This sets up a battle royal that also turns out to be, approximately, a battle of the sexes. But Jennifer is less alone - and less sweet - than she seems, and the folks that come to find her include an irritated gangster, played by Peter Dinklage. In a montage, we see how the scam works, how Marla blizzards Jennifer with documentation and official language, how swiftly the older woman’s phone and autonomy are taken away. Amos (Alicia Witt), a sweet little old lady named Jennifer (Diane Wiest) drops into their laps. She and her lover-slash-assistant, Fran (Eiza González), are waiting for a “cherry,” an older person with a fat bank account and no nosy family, someone they can park in a home and suck dry. She looks like the dragon-lady boss in a ’90s corporate thriller, a stalking predator in a bloodred dress. When we see her twisting the system round her finger, Pike’s hair slices sharply enough across her cheekbones to draw blood. You might think that Marla, who needs to pull the wool over people’s eyes, would come to court in sheep’s clothing, but no. She uses the proceeds to pay herself, and the money rolls in. In one fell swoop, Marla gets the power to put her wards away in a nursing home, where she can control them totally, from limiting their visitors to liquidating their bank balances. She bribes a physician to say an elderly patient is mentally unfit, then she persuades a judge to appoint her as the senior’s guardian. Marla’s grift is (mostly) legal elder abuse. But it often winds up fighting itself, paralyzed by its own toxin.
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I Care a Lot wants to race along like a caper movie it wants to sting like a satire. The film around her character, Marla Grayson, is a bit of a monster - in the old sense of the word, in that it has the body of one beast and the tail of another. The main reason to watch I Care a Lot, J Blakeson’s twisty thriller now on Netflix, is Rosamund Pike.
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