In
the grubby, squirrelly, one-crazy-night New York crime drama Good Time, Robert
Pattinson disappears under a ratty haircut, a mangy beard, and a thick glaze of
animal desperation. His character, a petty crook named Connie Nikas, spends
almost every second on screen running into or out of trouble, and the star
wears that frazzled frenzy—that state of constant back-against-the-wall
anxiety—like another layer of his baggy wardrobe. What we’re seeing, in the mad
scramble of this outlaw dirtbag, is a career transformation. Stripping away
almost all traces of movie-star glamour to reveal the naked, nervy talent
underneath, Pattinson finally bursts out of the chrysalis of his pin-up boy
celebrity. The metamorphosis from YA heartthrob into electrifying character actor
is complete.
Robert Pattinson as Connie in Good Tome, PHOTO: A24 |
Good Time; PHOTO: A24 |
Things
do not go as planned. Connie escapes by the skin of his teeth. Nick isn’t so
lucky. Most of Good Time unfolds over the hours that follow, as Pattinson’s
small-time hustler tries to figure out a way to get his brother out of the hot
water he got him into. Connie, as Pattinson plays him, is a quick-on-his-feet
bullshit artist, and the actor lets us see not just his survival-mode stress
but also the improvisational spark of his intellect—the click click click of
turning wheels behind his eyes, as he weasels his way out of every new dilemma.
At first, Connie just plans to coerce his smitten girlfriend (Jennifer Jason
Leigh, amusingly and kind of sadly playing a grown woman with the emotional
maturity of a teenager) to put the $10,000 bail on her mother’s credit card.
But when Nick is moved from Rikers to Elmhurst Hospital after a fight in the
clink, our hero decides to bust him out instead (an episode with a delayed and
truly inspired punchline), and the movie spins off into an odyssey of foibles,
bouncing the character across boroughs, from frying pans to fires, through a
kind of scuzzier After Hours.
This
might sound like uncharted territory for the Safdie brothers, who specialize in
proudly janky, digressive New York character pieces. But just as their
breakthrough, Heaven Knows What, was a freshly idiosyncratic spin on the
addiction drama, Good Time funnels a crackerjack genre scenario through the
peculiar particulars of their style: the shaggy storytelling, the affection for
twitchy misfits from NYC‘s underbelly, the alternately seductive and oppressive
blare of an electronic score (in this case, by Oneohtrix Point Never, whose
hypnotic, feverish tango of synths and guitar supply the movie a retro
Tangerine Dream vibe). Part of the good fun of Good Time is how it marries a bootleg
Michael Mann urgency to an older, grungier species of NYC movie. (From the
fleabag backdrops to the fringe-dwelling characters, a Safdies production never
gives us a romantic or upscale New York.) But there’s also the thrilling
unpredictability—the way the plot keeps zigging when you expect it to zag.
At
a certain point, Good Time becomes about as exhausting as any real up-all-night
misadventure. As if attempting to upstage the abrasiveness of their own
characters, the Safdies capture everything in unflattering telephoto
close-ups—a confrontational and literally in-your-face shooting strategy. But
their boldest gamble is building this mess of exploits around such a
belligerent, blatantly selfish protagonist: Connie, in his reckless flight
through the night, has a way of fucking over everyone he encounters, from the
teenage girl (Taliah Webster) whose car he commandeers to a hapless,
fast-talking knucklehead (Buddy Duress) who hilariously stops the movie cold
with an anecdote about his own troubles. Only an intense brotherly devotion
redeems this flawed specimen—and the Safdies, who know a little something about
the subject, are unsentimental enough to see his particular family bond as
quite the double-edged sword. Of course, they were also smart enough to entrust
the role to Pattinson, who’s impossible to take your eyes off, even as Good
Time gleefully pushes in on his sweaty, uncharacteristically splotchy mug. He’s
never looked worse or been better.
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