James Gray’s We Own the Night


Of all the members of a generation of filmmakers who wanted to be the next Scorsese, James Gray was different: He wanted to be the next Scorsese, Christopher Marlowe, and Georges de la Tour. That ambition seems little diminished in this, his third film in 13 years, set in his chosen milieu of outer-borough lowlife. Bobby (Joaquin Phoenix), sybaritic manager of a Brooklyn nightclub, shuns his family’s NYPD legacy, and his father and brother on the force (Robert Duvall and Mark Wahlberg) resent his independence. The ’80s drug wars are raging, and both dealers and cops vie for Bobby’s cooperation; circumstances align him with the “good guys,” and an ironic tragedy of falling into grace is set in motion as Bobby’s new sense of duty damns him to the solemn moral wilderness of law and order. Helpless with comedy, heavily reliant on coincidence, and out of step with all current cinematic vogue—the film received a divisive Cannes reception—We Own the Night finally resonates as a beautiful, dolorous nocturne. The closest thing Gray’s done to a commercial actioner, the film also applies his genius for tone (aided by superlative sound work) to set pieces that throb with trauma: a tinnitus-soundtracked shoot-out and a rain-slick car chase set to the tempo of
windshield wipers.