Bruce, I appreciate your e-mail and that you appreciated Match
Point, as I definitely also did. Everything starts with the
script. There's nothing without that first foundation block (which gives a
new meaning to "script-wise," it being wise to think
"script" first). And this one is a dilly ("dilly" is
an extremely technical term in script talk that means "a script that is a
dilly." In case you were wondering.) Why is this script a
superb example of good screenwriting? I'm glad you asked. Oh, before
I go on (and I do have a tendency to do so), I need to mention:
Warning:
If You Haven't Seen Match Point (and we're not just talking about any
tennis match), be forewarned that the plot of the story may be mentioned,
thereby revealing an important moment in the story, which you may not want to
know about before you see the movie.
Or
don't worry about it.
Okay, now that I've claimed my
disclaimer so that won't get hate e-mail from those who haven't seen the film
and weren't forewarned
that the plot of the story may be mentioned, thereby revealing an important
moment in the story, which you may not want to know about before you see the
movie, I can proceed. (I have to admit that I'm
feeling font-challenged with these big letters over my head. But I'll
forge on.)
The beauty of Match Point
is that it is essentially a drama about a murder prompted by passion and
circumstance. This storyline has been used in many, and I mean
"many," screenplays. But what stands this screenplay apart from
the general flock, is that it moves and transitions with such subtle precision,
catching us up in the moment at the exact time the characters, primarily the
lead, the ambitious and aggressive young man and his love interest, the
struggling actress, are caught up in it. There's very little of
"Oh-Oh, here it comes" thinking on the audience's part because it
is already here before we have time to think of it.
Another brilliant aspect of the
plot is that it leads us down a path that appears to be that of the tragic hero
who will pay for his crime of passion. We're sure of it; we know this path
well. We know this story. We're clever, sophisticated viewers who
can read nuance in dialogue and in opening voiceovers. That's true.
But the author, Mr. Woody Allen, took that into consideration and masterfully
used that very fact to give us a false sense of security in our intellectual
prowess and masterminds what many would call a "twist," but, upon
deeper inspection, he simply played out the "game" all the way without
inserting that third act turn of events that turns the tables on the killer,
and, instead, the author's third act plot point (the ring not making it over the
ledge) turns the tables on the forces of good (the law looking for the killer)
and allows the protagonist (a definite anti-hero since he is the killer -- or
should we call him an "anti-protagonist"? Woody might.) to
barely escape detection, allowing him to get away with the murder.
Definitely something our senses and senses of justice and our visceral and
nervous system are not used to. Where's the pat, perfect, tidy ending
where all is righted and the wronged are vindicated and the doers of wrong meet
their retribution? Where's that twist we've all come to love and
expect that will undo the bad doer? (Could it be that we must untwist what
we've already, in a sense, twisted and projected in our own minds to allow us
our momentary and, according to us, much-deserved catharsis of righteousness and
justice?)
The charismatic, basically
sympathetic key character we followed, with very little forethought (unlike some
of the classic murderers who killed for power such as MacBeth -- although he,
like MacBeth, and other Shakespeare's tragic heroes, is visited by ghosts
of murdered ones), letting passion and avarice rule him, quickly becomes a
murderer. Wait a sec here; he was such a soft-spoken, nice guy! How
could this be? The author did his own version of soft-speaking as he laid
the groundwork, the understated setups (as story analysts are want to
say). Our lead character early on did reveal his intensity, his lust, his
strong drive to succeed. We just didn't think those traits would lead him
to murder. And a murder of a woman he coveted so fully. How did that
happen? We thought he loved her. How is it that, just because of a
weak toss of a ring (Tolkein or Peter Jackson might have something to say about
that), the murderer, who we used to like, but no longer consider him to be on
the side of good, gets off Scott-free (Scott might have something to say about
that)?
Maybe this perfectly crafted
screenplay is a case of art REALLY imitating life.
Do you think?
DcH