Review of 25th Hour (2002) by Philip S — 24 May 2011

What a difference a day makes...

I've been meaning to watch Spike Lee's 25th Hour for some time, seeing as how it has been quoted by university media hipsters as one of the definitive statements about the state of post-9/11 New York and of a changing society that, in the grand scheme of things, really makes people just feel more isolated.

It goes without saying that Edward Norton would be drawn to this story. Much like Fight Club before it, his drug dealer protagonist is a disenfranchised outsider, critiquing the world he inhabits whilst never leaving the periphery. Judgmental, mistrustful and bitter: these are the words which define Norton's Monty Brogan as he goes through the many phases of pseudo-grief to which life shattering events are tied. In the space of his final 24 hours as a free man, Monty's emotional journey is never short of tumultuous, cursing everyone and everything in his life, unable to take relish in his borrowed time and whatever simple pleasures remain.

The 'fuck you!' men's room monologue, much acclaimed, marks the high point of Norton's performance and is undoubtedly deserving of it's notoriety. Extensive, offensive and occasionally philosophical, a lesser talent would have milked it with forced aggression but Norton's quiet vitriol makes even the worst slander shine like gold...but then would you expect anything less from some one of Ed Norton's talent.

The film also sports great performances by Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Barry Pepper as Monty's 'friends', contemplating his destiny like the Fates of Greek myth, in spite of the fact that deep down they may be no better than he. Hoffman carries the biggest emotional challenge as Jacob, a tortured academic struggling to remain professional in the face of his own desires (manifested by schoolgirl seductress Anna Paquin); and Pepper makes for the kind of truly despicable success driven yuppie which would make Patrick Bateman look like a saint.

The film is far from perfect though. Excellent performances aside, Lee's more artistic pretensions do tend to grate after a while. The slow motion nightclub confrontation between Paquin and Hoffman may look pretty but it runs for two long and feels too European for a gritty tale of life in urban America. Particularly given that this is a film about time and how effectively it is used. However, considering how this is a rare departure by the director from his usual black supremacy, this may (or may not) be easily forgivable.

To wit, 25 Hour is your basic tale of one man suffering a personal apocalypse, a common reflection of humanity in the modern world and a footnote to the best films of Norton's long string of exquisite performances. If anything is to be learned from the film it is to appreciate the time you have, and the people you know, because tomorrow everything could change and everything you know could end.