For the moment, the question crucial to Martin McDonagh’s Wild Horse Nine is whether it will finally get John Malkovich his first Oscar. He is the heart and soul of the film, just as inventive, idiosyncratic and unpredictable as the spy thriller itself, that turns rogue and juggles between a priceless piece of dark humor and political commentary as well as a bittersweet drama and poignant character exploration.
Set in the turbulent weeks before the 1973 coup in Chile (in which CIA is supposed to have been a covert ally of the military) with President Salvador Allende overthrown by General Auguste Pinochet, the film has Malkovich as the old CIA hand Chris Carlisle —aging, terminally ill and loose-tongued to often spill the beans about American Intelligence and the nation’s perennial and needless habit of interfering in global affairs—“We are here to destabilize your [Chilean] democracy and it is going great”, he tells a couple of students. Sam Rockwell plays his down to earth, crude and crusty mentee Lee Chesterfield. Both are sent off on an assignment from the capital Santiago to the remote Easter Island by the CIA chief MJ (Steve Buscemi), with the journey becoming a mode of self-reflection for Chris, dealing with the ghosts of the past and grappling with the guilt of bloodshed and brutality against the vistas of Moai statues--the big stone heads--and the untamed, roving horses. Once an asset but now often a liability, will Chris, along with Lee, deliver on the mission?
The wanderings also bring the many inner vulnerabilities of Chris to light that are made a tad easier to deal with by the comfort and commitment of old friendships and the forging of unlikely new ties with two youngsters from the other side of the ideological divide—the staunch Leftists Monica (Mariana Di Girolamo) and Alicia (Ailin Salas). In a word, the film can well be described as wordy, the screenplay by McDonagh, as usual, is driven by incessant conversations. His distinctive dialogue then forms the backbone in not just the exposition of people, relationships and the political paranoia but also in holding the audience's interest. It’s the trenchant talk that contributes to the black humour, the film’s calling card, that makes it such a terrific entertainer.
While the lines and the writing stick to the mind, there’s much to admire in Denis Schnegg’s production design and Eimer Ní Mhaoldomhnaigh’s costumes in reimagining and recreating the 70s Chile. The iconic Rapa Nui vistas are deftly captured by Ben Davis’s camera in the spirit of an American Western, while retaining their primordial specificity. Carter Burwell's musical score adds a mellow and pensive layer to the film, beyond the obvious thrills and laughs. The film might be a two-hander fronted by men but there are some solid women out there. Girolamo and Salas as the college students are all spunk and spirit and Parker Posey, as Lee’s serial-cheater wife Marge, is a hoot, making her presence felt despite the small role.
Malkovich’s is an undoubtedly intricate performance, a perfect balance of the genial, impish, wicked, eloquent and emotional. It is a treat to watch him use his whispery voice and halting delivery to great soulful, almost spiritual effect and shows what separates the funny from the farcical, the moving from the maudlin. His towering act is set off brilliantly by the unpretentiously rough and gruff and immensely likeable Rockwell. Their sparring, the perfect timing with which they get back at each other give the film its propulsive energy. Like their bickering on the flight into Easter Island over Chris's assertion that he's killed people in countries that Lee can't even spell. It's nothing short of hilarious. Like the father-son duo of Stephen Graham and Owen Cooper, in Adolescence, bagged the major awards collectively last year, the buddy spirit of Wild Horse Nine demands a similar honor for the Malkovich-Rockwell duet. One would have been truly incomplete without the other.
