Dirty
Pretty Things
Directed
by: Stephen Frears
___________________________________
Walden pops to mind watching the contemporary immigrant plight
depicted in Dirty Pretty Things, specifically Henry David
Thoreau's observation that "the mass of men lead lives of quiet
desperation." This microcosm of humanity depicted in the film gravitates
toward an old London hotel with vestiges of a more glorious past. Its
Nigerian desk clerk (Chiwetel Ejiofar) was a doctor forced to
flee a vindictive regime, a Turkish chambermaid (Audrey Tautou)
has escaped a misogynistic environment and its Spanish concierge (Sergei
Lopez) has reinvented himself as a fixer if the fee is right.
It is a decidedly unflattering portrait of a city and a nation
that has opened its doors to the oppressed and dispossessed. However,
it prefers they remain invisible or keep a low profile once inside the
gate.
There's
no question that Steven Knight's screenplay has a quiet authority
that transcends tragedy. The hurdles these people have already cleared
created a survivor's mentality that has no place for pity. They are
isolated but not broken or ready to retire from life. That said, the film is deceptive in its complexity
and its difficult to imagine many filmmakers capable of keeping it simple
without resorting to cliché or the banal. On first blush it recalls
a wave of films that focused on European guest workers back in the 1970s
and embraced comedy in Bread and Chocolate and melodrama in Fassbinder's
Fear Eats the Soul - Ali. However, director Stephen Frears
steers the story in an entirely different direction. It is not about
someone adapting to a new culture, rather a sub-strata within society
that operates by its own rules and rarely enters into the mainstream.
Odwe (Ejiofar) has somehow managed to make his way to England,
likely on a temporary visa long since expired. He lives in the shadows
as the hotel's night clerk and drives a taxi during the day, taking
a herbal stimulant to ward off fatigue. He shares a flat with Senay
(Tautou) but their paths rarely cross longer than to exchange the door
key. It seems somehow like the setup for a bygone romantic comedy. Instead,
the action turns on the seemingly bizarre.
One evening a prostitute who services the hotel tells him that
there's a problem in one of the bathrooms. He arrives to find an overflowing
toilet and when he pulls out what's clogging the pipes, uncovers a human
heart. His buddy in the hospital morgue (Benedict Wong) virtually
yawns when the incident is retold. Somehow it's eluded Odwe that unable
to sell their souls, poor, desperate immigrants give up part of themselves
- generally kidneys. The former doctor almost doesn't believe it. However, just to be sure he goes to Juan, unaffectionately known
as Sneaky, who makes it his business to know all that goes on behind
closed doors.
The traffic in human organs is the currency of this new generation
of residents. It buys passports and residency cards, apartments and
food to put on tables. From Sneaky's perspective everyone wins - the
desperate arrivee finds a measure of security, the Anglo unable to secure
a vital organ through National Health gets the gift of life and, he
pockets the cash. Of course, when things go wrong, as obviously occurred
with the man with the missing heart, it messes up the natural flow.
Sneaky resents having his morality put under the spotlight
and decides to find out about his African inquisitor. He learns that
he "had" to leave Nigeria and really perks up to discover that he's
a surgeon. The Spaniard would love to leverage the dark past to have
a qualified doctor in his makeshift operating room. While he's unable
to do it directly, he finds a way to capitalize on Senay's precarious
situation of being dogged by immigration police (her visa does not allow
her to work) and taking any job for slave wages.
The truly amazing thing about Dirty Pretty Things is
that the heart beating within this social commentary/thriller is that
of a love story. The myriad reasons that prevent Odwe and Senay from
even considering a romantic relationship are considerable, even daunting.
But they are ever present, providing an emotional involvement in what
might have otherwise been a crackerjack political thriller.
The cast of largely unfamiliar faces is uniformly excellent
and even Tautou, best known as Amelie, is unrecognizable as a
rather plain English-speaking Turk. Frears opts to create the illusion
of reality in this largely after hours world. Music is used sparingly
to punctuate rather than wash through a scene and the gliding camerawork
of Chris Menges accepts the harsh, ugly quality that poorly lit
rooms offer.
I'm not sure it matters but assume the title is a British idiom
lost in translation. There are ample candidates for Dirty Pretty
Things but few films as inventive, surprising or emotionally satisfying.
An
Interview With Audrey Tautou
EMAIL
THE AUTHOR