There are movies that overwhelm (even, at times, repel) us with their greatness, and there are movies that either pass through us like a soporific or delight our baser pleasures with inanities and/or the strictest adherence to certain handy, and crowd-pleasing, conventions. And then there are movies that inarguably fall in with none of these camps, and yet, because of their very distance from the extremes, seem to pass public appreciation somewhat unnoted, blipping into the limelight but for a moment before ending up in the bargain bin with the rest of the stale classics and poppy pablum.
Narc seems to belong to this oft-overlooked category, which is a shame, considering its merits as both a stylistic feat and an acting vehicle for not just Ray Liotta (a producer on the film, as well), who is predictably incendiary, but most of the supporting cast, especially Jason Patric’s troubled ex-undercover cop Nick Tellis.
Yes, for all its occasional bravura, Narc still follows a rather conventional track, and in this way its predictability (for plot and character) drags it down a tier from the more innovative examples of the crime/neo-noir genre. However, its attention-to-detail when it comes to the methodical process of criminal investigation, the realistic brutality of those who commit crime and (especially) those who police it, and its honing-in on the lives of its characters so as to avoid mere stereotype lifts Narc up into that field of art which, in spite of its limitations, invites meaningful engagement from an experienced and/or dedicated viewer.
The story follows Tellis as he’s pulled back into field work eighteen months after an undercover job goes wrong, ending in the shooting of a pregnant woman and her eventual miscarriage. The murder of another undercover cop, a one Officer Calvess, needs solving, and the case seems to be the perfect one for Tellis’s reinstatement. Still tormented, he brashly refuses but is convinced back (because this is how these sorts of movies go) after a bout of empathy for the murdered officer.
He’s forced to work for Calvess’s old partner, Detective Henry Oak (Liotta), a mean-tempered man who habitually, and aggressively, oversteps the line of legal conduct—his introduction to the movie involves him beating some handcuffed perp, who’s been brought in for spousal abuse, to a pulp—but is kept around due to his stellar conviction rate. Oak interrogates Tellis for why he’d pick up this case, of all cases, and despite Tellis’s caginess, it’s obvious that a deep sense of guilt for his own botched operation impels him.
And so the investigation commences, following all the expected beats: ruthless drug busts, wacky ethnic offenders, cussing-galore; a beautiful wife who tearily begs Tellis to relent for the sake of their family, which includes a cherubic baby boy, etc. – but with a level of stylized realism that, although probably not super outré in the early 2000s, is utilized quite well in this instance. (My friend remarked that some of the visual gimmicks reminded him of BBC’s Sherlock, made around a decade later; although by the time that show came out, those gimmicks were well out of fashion.) The opening, for instance, is an example of shaky-cam used correctly (and sparingly, thank God), e.g. in order to convey a sense of panic, or to momentarily immerse the viewer in the franticness of the scene, etc. And the editing is all-around solid, and is unafraid to nimbly leap back-and-forth along the chronology of the narrative; this is at times played for slightly humorous moments (like the shotgun in the bathtub), but also becomes a more crucial technique by the time the final act comes around.
As dour and depressing the lead-up to said act might be, things really tighten up once Tellis and Oak corner two of the likeliest suspects of Calvess’s murder in a rundown auto warehouse. Here, all the threads connecting the individuals involved in the case come together, and Tellis is forced to not only confront Oak, whose investment in Calvess’s life and death has become increasingly suspect, but his own personal shame – for his succumbing to drug use as a narc in the past, and how the effects of this have virtually dismantled his family life.
Because there is much satisfaction to be derived out of a relatively unspoiled watch, I’ll leave it at that; but regarding the film’s conclusion (coming in after an astonishingly breezy forty minutes or so have whizzed by), suffice it to say that matters are left nicely hanging in the air, deliciously positioning Tellis at a difficult crossroads, with either decision made—like any proper good noir—offering no happy outcome.
Ray Liotta is great as the rabid Detective Oak, and not because he is so adept at conveying the character’s unhinged mannerisms, although he is, but more so for how he can dial it back in subdued moments – notably in an effective, and crucial plot-wise, monologue while he and Tellis stake out a location. A vet like Liotta is important for roles like this, because there is a gravitas needed for the character’s sense of authority, plus his experience playing in Martin Scorsese’s guilt-ridden macho universe exudes, allowing the viewer a glimpse of the character’s torment simply through his eyes.
Patric also shines as Tellis—this character is nowhere near as rough-and-tumble as Oak, and there’s something even a little polished about him (perhaps stemming from Patric’s too-clean line delivery) but this is not all that problematic, considering he’s supposed to act as a foil to Oak, anyway. It is a finely understated performance, in any case, and Patric is capable of packing a lot of meaning into a single look or glance.
Looking at Joe Carnahan’s filmography since this released in 2002, it’s disappointing that nothing of real note jumps out. Some junk, some solid stuff—I enjoyed The Grey, for instance, but it pales in comparison to what he achieved here—but otherwise, he seems to be as virtually unrecognized as his own film. The attention to character-driven material shown in Narc is sorely needed in a genre seemingly devoted to indulging in the worst kinds of stereotypes (something that Carnahan is somewhat guilty of himself) even in so-called sympathetic portraits. Perhaps what he truly needs is a firm artistic foundation to build off of, as the seeds of Narc were sown from a short film he created in response to his viewing of Errol Morris’s classic documentary The Thin Blue Line.
But to have quality and lack recognition, however regrettable, is surely better than the inverse; and while one cannot call Narc a masterpiece, it certainly deserves to be dragged out of obscurity and appreciated for its very real merits, as well as its true-to-life brutalities.
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