( This is and introduction to a pair of films made of the rare brand of genuine vision that reminds me why I bother to ever watch movies in the first place.)
There is a little girl at the heart of it all. Through the mire of maniacal, static sounds capes that only intermittently show reprieve. Or the panorama of bustling strangers at a bus terminal, at once overwhelming and unyielding. Said girl lies just out of reach for two desperate lives barely at functioning par within the final vestiges of sanity.
For Peter Winter, the girl is his last tangible fragment of a life abandoned for the mandated confines of a mental institution.
For William Keane, she is either a victim of a heinous abduction in the blink of an eye, or a fabrication in the troubled recesses of his mind.
For New York based filmmaker Lodge Kerrigan, these men serve as protagonists in two compatible yet separately effective meditations on the sometimes fragile nature of the socially imperfect.
'Clean, Shaven' is Kerrigan's debut effort and it builds its power off a sharp, minimalistic approach and the performance of one Peter Greene. Greene is probably most fondly remembered by all in movie geek land as the guy who laid uninvited pipe on poor Ving Rhames in a dank cellar in 'Pulp Fiction'. Here he plays Peter Winter, a wide-eyed apparent schizophrenic just reintroduced to the challenges of 'normal' life. He first whiles away his moments in his rundown auto adorned with layers of old newspapers (meant to keep him 'safe'). He then pays visitation to his less then welcoming mother before finally setting out to find the one thing that may bring him stability, his daughter. At the same time, a rather middling detective is developing suspicions about Peter in relation to the recent murder of a child.
The Winter character is etched out by Kerrigan and Greene through a series of panicked gestures and hectic actions. He is often subject to a barrage of grueling internal noises. Baring the likeness of harsh radio waves funneled through half blown speakers, the sounds are enough to push a questionable psyche toward dire extremes. At one telling point, Winter is seen crudely removing one of his own fingernails in hopes of diffusing the nuisance. Winter does such things, one must presume, in hopes of making himself more accessible for his inevitable reunion with his daughter.
'Keane', however, provides a more elliptic scenario for its titular character. See, William Keane spends the bulk of his days skulking around the New York City Port Authority bus terminal. It is here, we are lead to believe, that his only child was taken from him, leaving him broken and destitute. When away from the terminal, Keane exerts himself in multiple avenues of self-destructive behavior (i.e. drug intake and unsafe sex in public restrooms). Eventually he carves out a sort of companionship with a woman and her young daughter. Both are residents in the same moldy motel as he and apparently have their own problems to solve. Soon Keane is entrusted with the care of the child as the woman attempts to address her mounting personal woes. It is in the next few passages that the real tension develops. Is Keane stable enough to play guardian to this child? Is he at risk of some manner of outburst that may place the child in harm's way? Do his wires get crossed to the effect that he mistakes her for his own lost offspring?
In one scene the pair are in the midst of a friendly game of bowling. Keane loses all composure and lashes out verbally to both everyone and no one. Shortly thereafter, the little girl approaches and attempts to comfort and calm him. This is not entirely how I expected the sequence to play out, but it oddly feels right. Kerrigan has a natural gift for drawing realism via simple motions and gestures. Both his movies are built of them.
The major accomplishment made here by the director is bringing the audience as close as can be to the chaos of serious mental disorder. By maintaining consistent and unwavering focus on his central character in both pictures, Kerrigan is able to draw a more articulate performance each time. For instance, in 'Keane', the main character is shown making a noble attempt to maintain an attention to good hygiene care the sink and hand drier of a men's bathroom. The scene is deliberately played out just long enough to generate a tone of slight discomfort. The actor, British born Damian Lewis, embodies the moment with a perfect level of fervent contradiction. We can see this man struggling to retain some basic human dignity while aggressively trying to out wit the demons at large in his head. Likewise are the scenes in 'Clean, Shaven' when Peter finally tracks down his daughter. She is in the backyard of her adopted mother's house swinging on her swing set. Peter watches her from a slight distance, quietly, until she notices him. He blurts out a nervous greeting as he clings to a nearby tree, almost afraid she might run away screaming. Quite the opposite, she is moved to approach him and his frantic social paranoia partially subsides. In both scenarios these damaged, awkward men are brought closest to normalcy by the delicate trust of a child.
Lodge Kerrigan is the type of directer who in movie nerd terms is labeled a maverick. This would be the kind of filmmaker who does things for reasons deeper and of greater import then mere box office postings. He kicked his career off with 'Clean, Shaven' in the mid 90's generating solid (artsy) hype but scant else. Kerrigan has patiently produced a total of four features to date, only three of which have made the journey all the way to at least a handful of cinemas. One film ('In God's Hands') will most likely never see life in front of an audience, as it fell prey to extensive negative damage upon completion. In the remaining three (the two aforementioned and 1998's 'Claire Dolan' about an Irish prostitute trying to ultimately better herself away from pimps and johns) Kerrigan plays caretaker to deeply troubled souls at large who can only truly be redeemed by the purity of innocence.
So it goes without saying that this pair of less than mainstream character studies warrants the Fringe seal of approval. If you've made it this far into the article, you must be hooked (that or you've already read the rest of the stuff in this issue and have to kill more time). The extras on the discs themselves are rather spare. The Criterion reissue of 'Clean, Shaven' boasts the customary solid transfer, a commentary track and an audio essay on the films unique use of sound. 'Keane' features a shorter, drastically rearranged alternate cut put together by producer Steven Soderberg. This makes for an interesting example of a different perspective, I suppose, but in the case of both films I was really longing for some type of behind the scenes footage. Kerrigan's work is so intensely fascinating that it makes this particular audience member curious to see him in action. Either way I think you owe it to yourself to track down the Kerrigan filmography, and I've provided some links to help you get started.
www.criterion.com (for 'Clean, Shaven')
www.magpictures.com (for 'Keane')
www.killpeoplenamedrichard@yahoo.com (for unreasonable rounds of debasement in hopes of electing a cheap laugh at someone else's expense).
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