Plot Details: This opinion reveals minor details about the movie's plot.

The "drug movie" has a less than distinguished history. Reefer Madness warned kiddies of the hellish dangers of marijuana way back in the '30s. By the '60s it was LSD, with with The Trip, and in the '80s and '90s, cocaine attracted the horrified gaze of Hollywood with movies such as Bright Lights, Big City - or at least it did when Hollywood managed to drag itself out of the toilet cubicle. Any film encyclopaedia could tell you that (cheers, Halliwell). Trainspotting, an excellent film by all accounts was more of a coming of age, grimy urban commentary about people who have been handed one of lifes duffer hands than a movie devoted to the subject of drugs. This is, of course, entirely dependant on your viewpoint.

There can, however, be no arguing about Requiem for a Dream. Requiem for a Dream is a drug movie. A depressing drug movie. A film that explores all forms of dependence – be it narcotic drugs, television, food, love and life as a whole - and what that necessity, be it physical or mental, does to one's soul, the kind of film that depicts human frailties and injustices to such a disturbing extent that is often unbearably painful to watch but ultimately worth the considerable discomfort.

Some cinema auteurs have championed director Darren Aronofsky's striking sophomore effort Pi, heralding it as the birth of a real filmmaker. The 29 year-old certainly knows every visual technique in the book, getting high on his own bleak style in a miasma of crash cuts, undercranking, so called-“hip-hop trackers” and stop motion. Sadly, despite reproducing the technical flair he showed with his daring debut, Aronofsky's adaptation of Hubert Selby Jr.'s novel projects very little originality.

Set against the austere inner-city landscape of Brighton Beach, we are introduced to junkie and petty thief Harry Goldfarb (Jared Leto) and his poor-little-rich-girlfriend Monica (Jennifer Connelly), who serve as the basis for the requisite "descent into drugs hell", treating the audience to the originally harmless sampling of various drug-related merchandise, through to the inevitable desperation of literally whoring themselves in order to obtain that ever-so-vital last hit, taking with them Harry's buddy Tyrone (Marlon Wayans).

More interestingly there's mom Sara (Ellen Burstyn) a sweet old lady deeply concerned for her boy who receives a telephone call inviting to appear on an appalling gameshow-cum-QVC-infomercial hosted by the oily Tappy Tibbons (Christopher McDonald) and turns to diet pills to squeeze into a little red number she hasn't worn for years. She too embarks on a plot of catastrophic consequences, diminishing into a world of surreal hallucinogenic imagery and compulsive infatuation full of angry refrigerators and raining food.

Aronofsky’s agonising and unflinchingly grim portrait of drug abuse is a formally pleasing piece of work - if ‘pleasing’ is the right word to use. Refreshingly, there’s no evidence of any “just say no” preaching on show here, as the film restrains itself from hammering home the morals, allowing the tragic events depicted paint their own picture. The consistently gripping narrative (which cynically makes a transparent comparison between pushers supplying drugs and nonchalant doctors prescribing numerous ‘self-help’ pills) is amazingly elated by the highly-talented cast. Leto destroys all memories of his pretty-boy image that’s hung over him since the TV series My So-Called Life with an astonishingly competent and understanding performance, while Connelly is as pleasing on the eye as she is on the heart.

By far the biggest gratification lies with the sensible and sensitive Wayan’s. Yes, Scary Movie’s Wayan’s. His recital as the ever-supporting friend who just wants to get rich is amazingly restrained, a wonderful showcase that this guy is a lot, lot more than a one-trick pony and one heck of a talented actor to boot. Please, Wayan, stop selling yourself out with the spoof genre you seem to love so much and get involved with proper film-making. I jest not when I saw that should he make such a decision, then an Oscar nod is not too bold a suggestion.

Speaking of Oscars, in the case of Burstyn, this is where a real crime of the 2001 ceremony was committed. How did Julia Roberts’ passable turn as a power-struck wannabe vigilante - which succeeded on no level in stopping us thinking that Julia Roberts was playing, well, Julia Roberts – gain acclaim over Burstyn’s superlative character piece? How? Because, to be blunt, if money had a penis then the academy would gladly suck until their mouths fell off, and seeing as Roberts has done more for Hollywood financially in one film than Burstyn has made in here career, there was no way their heads were going to turn. And in this dog-eat-dog world, talent counts for nothing. Bring in the bucks and you get the awards. Should you actually dare to act and, well, they’re just not interested.

So while the acting contingent is suitably strong, the problem lies in the script, co-written by Selby Jr and Aronofsky. Wonderfully subtle while at the same time horrendous in putting across its point it may be, it’s just a pity that the same cannot be said of Aronofsky’s unnecessarily hideous overtones. Time after time we are subjected to numerous disturbing images in order to illustrate four people’s decline into addiction: undergoing ECT at a New York psychiatric hospital, painful anal sex at a Long Island orgy involving a terrifying double-headed plastic phallus, and in a real crowd-pleaser of a moment, shooting up into a gangrenous vein.

There’s no denying his visual adroitness is admirable featuring increasingly shocking imagery and ignominy, as Aronofsky cuts and paces his work in order to disturb the audience. As the tension mounts, cameras violently shake, strange and alien noises haunt our protagonists, the outside world progresses in slow motion, and inconceivable nightmares come to life. Tarsem tried such illusionary damnation with The Cell, but largely succeeded only in creating gratuity. Here, Aronofsky’s big bag of tricks cleverly linger in the mind and also creates a haunting and devilish universe.

Despite this visual eye candy, however, the film comes to the forte when Aronofsky stops trying to impress his audience with his trippy visuals and simply points it at his actors. But so intent is he on saturating his work with MTV visuals (which he has continuously – and also pre-emptively – denies) that at times Requiem for a Dream looks increasingly in danger of falling into the dreaded ‘style-over-substance’ trap.

What’s more, the material in which the film is based is hardly revolutionary and has certainly dated over the years (the novella was, after all, written in 1978), while Aronofsky's own script has inherited a lot of the more shallow elements. The film is supposed to be one that depresses because of its harsh nature, but is it necessary for the sadistic climaxes endured by the leads?

True, little sympathy can be garnered as the youngsters find themselves in deep waters - and even that’s stretching it -, but how does that explain Sara’s terrible decline? Is it credible that a TV-obsessed vulnerable loner, a decent person who only simply wants the chance to shine on her favourite quiz show, receives the same fate deathly fate as her son’s? Her spiral into madness is certainly graphic, and an interesting comparison in the world of drugs, but it leaves a horrible aftertaste in the mouth, one that Aronofsky most certainly did not intend.

The end result is incredibly depressing, not just because of the subject matter but due to the relentless predictability that descends into a montage of misery. So blinkered by its own intention to not only produce a black-hearted ending, but four of the buggers, that it all gets a bit silly at times. It’s not a bad film by any means, it’s just that it’s also not an excellent one. And seeing as the huge potential on show promised a thought-provoking anti-conformity work of art, what we have is simply a harrowing, dark and momentarily disturbing two hours. As for Aronofsky, the aptitude is certainly there – he just needs to read better books.


Recommended: Yes

Viewing Format: VHS
Video Occasion: Good for a Rainy Day
Suitability For Children: Not suitable for Children of any age