Our lady of the tabloids

Noel Vera

Joel Schumacher's "Veronica Guerin" is based on a true story about an
Irish journalist (Cate Blanchett) shot to death for articles she had
written about drug dealers in Dublin (I'm not giving away anything
particularly crucial; the shooting occurs at the movie's opening).

The rest of the picture is one long flashback that tells, more or
less, how and why the shooting happened. Guerin starts out writing a
human-interest story about syringes lying about Dublin's cheaper
housing complexes and about youths there dealing in drugs; she
develops contacts in the drug underworld, particularly a middle-level
criminal named John Traynor (Ciaran Hinds). She digs beyond the
killing of gangster Martin Cahill, nicknamed "The General" (Gerry
O'Brien)--previously the subject of a biopic directed by John Boorman-
-and learns that his murder was not an IRA reprisal, but was actually
carried out on the orders of one John Gilligan (Gerard McSorley), a
low-key, high-ranking gang leader with a violent temper.

It's good material, and the idea of a woman journalist going against
all odds to take on powerful Irish drug lords that eventually kill
her for it, turning her into a martyr, has an immediate popular
appeal--you can imagine what someone actually familiar with the
milieu and with a journalistic, no-nonsense filmmaking style like Jim
Sheridan ("My Left Foot," "In the Name of the Father") might do with
the story. But this is Joel Schumacher, the director who ran Tim
Burton's pop-Wagnerian "Batman" franchise into the ground, then did a
hilariously hysterical expose on the imaginary snuff porn industry
with his "8 MM" (accusing the Philippines of being a center of snuff
porn--it doesn't even have much of a hardcore porn industry--along
the way does not add credibility to his case). In Schumacher's hands,
Guerin's story becomes yet another Hollywood-style canonization job,
with the camera dwelling on the elaborate demonstrations held in
protest for Guerin's death, and the various ways in which her killers
have since been humiliated and brought to justice--all mostly in
excruciatingly slow motion, of course, with a lonely Irish lament
playing in the background (the words "understated" or "low-key" are
apparently not part of Schumacher's vocabulary).

Schumacher may be an abysmal director but he's not too bad at
handling actors--I remember snappy performances from Susan Sarandon,
Brad Renfro, and Tommy Lee Jones in "The Client;" a warmly human one
from Philip Seymour Hoffman in "Flawless;" an intense one from Colin
Farell in "Tigerland," to name a few. Here he elicits memorable
moments from Gerard McSorley as the borderline psychotic Gilligan--
the man looks like a balding version of someone's grandfather, so
when his lips tighten and he lashes out with a heavy fist it comes as
a real surprise, and has genuine impact. Ciaran Hinds also does well
as Traynor, who may or may not like Guerin, and whom Guerin may or
may not like in turn. Traynor sports an immaculately maintained tan
and large Latino mustache, and his bravado when talking with Guerin
comes off as the one refreshingly unforced detail in the movie; when
their largely underwritten relationship shifts and changes according
to circumstance (and to the demands of the rather episodic plot),
Hinds plays his character in such a way that you see Traynor as
something of a blustering coward--a dog that likes to bark before
running with his tail between his legs. You wish the script (by Carol
Doyle and Mary Agnes Donoghue) had given their non-affair (near-
affair?) more screen time, perhaps an extra minute to flirt around
more.

The movie lives or falls on its lead performance of course, and with
Cate Blanchett it has perhaps more acting firepower than it deserves.
Blanchett just has to switch on her gloriously wide-lipped smile and
you can believe Irish hoodlums will fall under her spell and hand
over trade secrets (most of the time, anyway); flash that smile our
way and we accept whatever drivel Guerin gives us in the way of
explaining her motivations.

Blanchett's charisma and unconventional beauty go a long way towards
selling us her character--and, by extension, the movie--but it's no
substitute for real characterization, insight into the real Guerin.
What makes her story so unusual goes largely unexplored--namely, her
drive to get the story despite the phone calls, the bullying, the one
previous assassination attempt. Was she really naïve enough to
believe that they wouldn't carry out their threats? That, when
someone implies he's going to pay her house a visit, he wouldn't
actually go and do that? It's possible this was exactly how it
happened, in which case we need to know more about her near-insane
recklessness. I'm not talking of a long-winded explanation a la the
psychiatrist scene in "Psycho;" at the very least Guerin or someone
close to her should be aware of the complexities of her personality
(her husband (played Barry Barnes) certainly isn't--he sits passively
close by, quietly caring for their child like a supportive spouse or
idiot savant, I couldn't decide which). The film does give the ghost
of a hint of an explanation--just before she's killed, she's bragging
on a cellphone to her mother about how she beat a speeding ticket--
but the hint remains as such, and is barely developed in the story.
We don't even get to see her speed (other than in that opening
sequence and its reprise) through the streets of Dublin.

The film ends with titles solemnly stating that over a hundred and
eight journalists have since died in the line of duty. What this
factoid has to do with Guerin's own story I haven't the slightest
idea--maybe they are suggesting that she started a trend; maybe
they're suggesting that we should pray to her on behalf of all other
journalists, laying their lives on the line for truth and justice.
Either way it's a cheap attempt at sanctity; actually the whole film
is a cheap attempt, and a disservice to the real Guerin.

(First published in Businessworld, May 14, 2004)

(Comments? Email me at noelbotevera@...)