| APOCALYPTO Dir. Mel Gibson; writ. Gibson, Farhad Safinia; feat. Rudy Youngblood, Dalia Hernandez, Jonatha Brewer, Morris Birdyellowhead, Carlos Emilio Baez, Ramirez Amilcar, Israel Contreras, Israel Rios, María Isabel Díaz, Raoul Trujillo, Rodolfo Palacios (R) |
OK. Everybody done yelling at each other now? Good. ’Cause I’ve got limited space here, and Apocalypto’s longish. (And rather good, besides.)
Gibson’s fourth directorial feature (The Man Without a Face was his first, lest you find yourself straining, as I did, to remember what came before Braveheart), like his last two, is a two-hour-plus, period-piece epic whose central figure — a leader, issuing from an oppressed people — is selected for sacrifice. Quite unlike The Passion of the Christ and “the Scottish film,” though, this one’s more or less straight-up action-adventure; it feels the breeziest of the three, though it technically manages that distinction only by a scant 120 seconds. As with the previous couple, Apocalypto piles on the assiduously realistic violence (fast becoming a Gibson trademark), though said bloodletting seems to pale in persistence (if very slightly) relative to its most recent brethren. Yes, Gibson’s latest behind-the-lens outing may be the least viscera-drenched since he slapped on the prosthesis and learned Nick Stahl some Shakespeare. And no, considering his other films, that isn’t saying much.
Setting: It’s the 1500s, and the great Maya civilization is about to eat it. (Shhh … don’t tell ’em, though. I mean, come on: Would you want to know?) Life, in the meantime, appears reasonably happy and manageable for Jaguar Paw, our able-bodied hero — he hunts tapir with his father and friends, has a doting young wife and son and another rugrat on the way, plays mean-spirited pranks on Cocoa Leaf, the village’s lumbering, hapless Gomer Pyle (à la Full Metal Jacket, not The Andy Griffith Show) — everybody’s more or less content (save, of course, for the tormented Cocoa Leaf, but then, he’s kinda chubby and awkward, so no one cares). This peace is shattered in a vicious raid by warriors, who torch huts, slaughter would-be defenders, and drag women, clawing and screaming, to dark corners. The site thereafter is charred, carpeted with bodies and blood; those adults not lifeless and leaking are bound together and carted off, destined for slavery or worse. When one villager, through a seemingly miraculous intercession, manages to escape, the chase is on — along the way, watch for tumbling, Slinky-esque noggins, sundry perforations, a slo-mo braining, and a near-gratuitous head-eating, via jaguar.
Gibson, as you likely have heard and doubtless will hear again, went more or less authentic on the casting, corraling “Mesoamerican-looking” unknowns and non-actors from Mexico and Central America (and a handful from the U.S. and Canada), then hiring trainers to teach the cast Yucatec Maya — the only language spoken in Apocalypto, which is subtitled throughout. These actors’ inexperience is most evident during the film’s opening, which is, oddly enough, peppered with hit-and-miss slapstick and domestic-sitcom-ish bits (a screwball “overbearing mother-in-law” subplot is justified later, but at first seems daffy enough to nudge the proceedings toward “Everybody Loves Cocoa Leaf” territory; it’s almost surprising Gibson didn’t equip the cantankerous biddy with a rolling pin). At least one such “gag” moment will draw a hearty laugh, but the early goings are still mildly disorienting. Regardless, once the plot gets churning, any dearth of thespian refinement is blanketed by forgiveness thanks to (1) a twisty, enveloping thriller of a storyline, punctuated adeptly by near-misses and gasp-worthy dispatchings, and (2) the arrival of Raoul Trujillo and Rodolfo Palacios, whose respective, menacing performances as the bone-bedecked Zero Wolf and sadistic, gremlin-grinned Snake Ink lend a welcome bit of confident craftsmanship amid the greenhorns.
Certainly, religious significance can be read betwixt these action-adventure lines. End Times, the fulfillment of prophecy, talk of rebirth — it’s all in there. There is, as well, the parallel of a great nation on the verge of self-destruction, hammered home at the outset by an opening-title-card quote. More subtext? “What’s human sacrifice, if not sending guys off to Iraq for no reason?” asked Gibson during a September appearance at Austin’s FantasticFest. These themes aren’t overt or essential to the viewer, though; they seem mostly dressing, and the film clips along, taut and focused, to a reasonably satisfying end. My only real complaint: No big-screen Pok-a-Tok match.
