Geometric World
Panic, written and directed by Henry Bromell, is the
latest in a recent series of films about middle-aged
white men in the throes of mid-life crises. As tired
as this plot may sound -- a gangster/family man sees a
therapist because of his middle-age "stress" --
Bromell imbues the
premise with added dimension, raising the bar for
similar stories. Known for writing and producing the
quality television dramas Homicide: Life on the
Street, Northern Exposure, and Chicago Hope,
among others, Bromell is a superb craftsman who never
lets the bizarre subject of the film get in the way of
great storytelling and characterization, letting the
tale unfold
slowly and carefully. Though the idea of a
professional killer who is also a loving suburban
husband and father is potentially absurd (and
cliched), Bromell never lets the narrative spin into
the realm of the ridiculous, as other movies labeled
"black comedy" are wont to do (see Suicide Kings).
Black comedy, however, seems an inappropriate label
for Panic. Though the film is not without plenty of
laughs, they are mainly supplied in sitcom-like scenes
involving Alex's witty six-year-old son, Sammy (David
Dorfman), who riffs on such adult subjects as the
nature of God and the universe. The comedy gradually
gives way to more serious concerns, as Alex's separate
lives and loves begin to converge in ways that
threaten his emotional and professional security.
Alex, schooled in the techniques of professional
killing by his father, Michael (Donald Sutherland),
has grown dissatisfied with his marriage, himself, and
the family "business," as hired killing is referred to
by Michael and Alex's mother, Deirdre (Barbara Bain).
Unable to confide in his wife, Martha (Tracy Ullman),
who knows nothing about what he does for a living --
his pretended occupation is a mail order business
specializing in "kitchen gadgets and sexual aids" --
Alex seeks the aid of a therapist, Dr. Parks (John
Ritter). Alex's attempts to keep his lives as hit man
and family man separate are complicated by his therapy
sessions and his budding relationship with
23-year-old, manic bisexual Sarah Cassidy (Neve
Campbell at her sexiest). During his first visit to
Dr. Parks, Alex meets Sarah in the waiting room. This
crucial meeting starts the ball rolling toward the
film's almost inevitable conclusion. Alex enters the
waiting room, which resembles a modern deco art
gallery, hung with rust-colored, rectangular, Mark
Rothko-like compositions, and takes a seat in a cushy
leather chair. Sarah, seated next to him, informs him
that he needs to push "the button," a kind of buzzer
on the back wall that alerts the therapist to the
presence of a patient. Alex rises, pushes the button,
and waits. But his passivity and repression are
progressively undermined by the seductive, uninhibited
Sarah and the internal conflicts awakened by his
counseling sessions.
While framed as comedy, Alex's history and new desire
for Sarah are not without consequences. Whether in the
midst of moral panic or murder for hire, Alex is calm,
perfectly coifed and creased, with only his knitted
brows and "sad" eyes (as Sarah describes them)
betraying his discomfort. Panic opens with a
wide-angle shot of an office complex where Alex
commits the only murder shown in the film. The film
repeatedly emphasizes geometric architecture and
enclosed spaces, confining the characters within their
pasts, their choices, and the forces that govern their
lives. Dr. Parks' office is situated in a landscaped,
ivied complex. The most striking scenes that don't
take place in these suburban habitats are those in
which the sinister Michael (dressed up like the
elderly Vito Corleone in straw fedora and cardigan)
trains a young Alex, and later Sammy, in the art of
killing squirrels with a handgun. Visually, these
scenes provide a startling shift from the safety and
order of the interiors to the disorder of the woods,
and so, intimate that the old crime boss is some kind
of child molestor, visiting his evils upon his
children.
By contrast, Sarah's apartment is a mix of colorful
knick-knacks, multicolored walls, and vintage suede,
camouflage, and fur-trimmed clothing that show her
eclectic, bohemian tastes. However, the rigorous
geometry that encloses the garden shows up here too.
The door to the apartment is composed of square glass
panels, painted in dark colors, analogous to the
identically square paintings in the waiting room.
Sexually open and emotionally vulnerable, Sarah seeks
to step beyond the conventional, and in her frustrated
desire for Alex, an "off limits" married man, she
punches through one of the glass panels, cutting her
hand.
Alex's conflict focuses on a struggle between rigorous
order -- Michael's firm control over Alex, Alex's
obligation to his wife -- and his resistance to it.
This conflict leads to the panic of the film's title.
At the apex of Alex's crisis is the depraved and
verbally abusive Michael. Things become even more
complicated for Alex when Michael orders him to kill
his therapist, his only sympathetic ear. From here,
Alex only becomes more unhinged. In a scene that
recalls a similar one in Godfather II, Alex chases a
group of children around at his son's birthday party,
wearing a devil costume, driving the point home about
the evil that men do haunting the generations to come.
And so, Panic is, in addition to being a dark
comedy, also a family drama. The "family business" is
as secretive and psychologically damaging as incest or
physical abuse, functioning as a metaphor for family
abuse in general. The potential fate of this engaging,
humorous, and well-crafted film -- that it is not
being widely released in U.S. theaters -- is
unfortunate. Bromell's first feature is as warm and
human as his acclaimed tv series, and Artisan's
decision to jettison Panic in favor of more
commercial fare is indicative of the ways that the
"business," be it family, commerce, or entertainment
(even the supposedly "cutting-edge" independent film
industry), routinely orders our lives, despite our
best efforts to break out of regulated, geometric
structures.