“Mass” shows the aftermath of a violent tragedy that affects the lives of two couples in different ways.
Writer-director Fran Kranz’s emotionally-tolling debut feature, “Mass,” will likely appeal to fans of Noah Hawley’s “The Good Father” and John Patrick Shanley’s “Doubt.” Kranz takes big risks: a minimalist setting, which boils down to four actors sitting in one room; a highly relevant, sensitive subject matter; and a dialogue-driven, 110-minute script. “Mass” could have gone awry in so many different ways, but thanks to Kranz’s expert, subtle handling of each sequence, and his impeccable leads, it grips you by the throat and sears your senses and wrenches your gut.
Like Hawley’s novel and Shanley’s play/film, “Mass” doesn’t exactly qualify as entertainment. That being said, by the time the heartbreaking plot cunningly, gradually reveals itself — without ever feeling expository — it’s sunk its hooks into you. No, the film doesn’t become any lighter, nor does it provide any easy answers to its central dilemma. But, despite a rapidly growing heaviness in your chest, you find yourself watching, mesmerized.
Two couples — Jay (Jason Isaacs) and Gail (Martha Plimpton), and Richard (Reed Birney) and Linda (Ann Dowd) — convene at a small-town church. The reason for their meeting isn’t immediately apparent, but the gravity of what’s about to unravel certainly is. As they converse, they rage, they cry, they tell stories, they accuse and, perhaps, forgive. If I’m being deliberately obscure, it’s because revealing any nuances of the plot would mean revealing its core tragedy and consequently lessening its impact.
In what’s quite a rare case, there’s no standout performance among the four. Isaacs’ Jay may be going into this meeting “prepared,” yet he’s arguably the one who loses it the most. His wife Gail, as terrifically conveyed by Plimpton, seems to be on the verge of exploding, perhaps even achieving a redemption of sorts. Dowd devastates, nailing each micro-expression (especially in that last scene), and Birney’s Richard may just be my favorite, a staunch Republican who, aside from maybe one moment, doesn’t seem to be quite revealing his deepest feelings and inhibitions.
“Mass” is about grief, regret, confronting your demons; it’s about the silence between words, for what’s left unsaid often lingers far longer. The actors may do most of the grunt work, but Kranz does just enough to complement their performances, which isn’t as simple as it sounds. His eye for symmetric shot composition is as sharp as his knack for building tension with the most understated modulations. The filmmaker sustains a melancholic, almost-oppressive-yet-beguiling mood; when someone gets up from their seat, or when the camera takes you out of the church, or when three other characters enter the picture, it’s almost jarring and/or like a breath of fresh air. Kranz carefully sidesteps sentimentality or preaching — both traps that most films of its ilk tend to fall into.
Sometimes there are no answers, no atonement, no closure. You just have to keep living, day by day, though tragedy may have numbed your senses. Another work that “Mass” brings to mind is Clint Eastwood’s “Mystic River.” Though much smaller in scale, it’s just as psychologically raw and epic. Eastwood was a seasoned filmmaker when he made “River.” The fact that “Mass” achieves a similar effect, wherein folks will likely talk about it for days, if not years, to come, is commendable, to say the least.
In Theaters Friday, October 8th
