REVIEW - A SINGLE SHOT

All the integrity in the world can't enliven a film like A Single Shot. And anyway, the level of artistry that must be attained in order for such a banal production as this to make any lasting impression is beyond the grasp of the majority of filmmakers. David M. Rosenthal (the M. stands for pretentious) cedes any responsibility to exalt this Plain Jane of a backwoods crime story above its lowly status, so it lacks ambition but compensates for that in modesty. But though this is a most agreeable film in matching content with tone, and handsomely crafted in many respects, A Single Shot offers nothing of sufficient boldness nor uniqueness to latch onto, and thus swiftly becomes a montage of smart, tidy, moderately-impressive but frustratingly prosaic and increasingly wearisome scenes. The formation of mood is strong throughout, especially when Rosenthal shuns the more picturesque landscape shots in favour of more intimate stagings, in the grubby cabins and motel rooms dotting this dreary countryside. It's one of those films where almost everybody mumbles, and where those who don't seem quite incongruous, and while this may not attenuate your reserve from the story, it certainly contributes to the atmospheric authenticity. Sam Rockwell is a compelling, innately sympathetic lead - a good fit for this cliched character, if maybe somewhat too good a fit; he's his usual charismatic self, and settles into his surroundings with ease, but you've got this guy sussed from the get-go, and there's no fun to be had in knowing exactly where you stand in a crime drama like this. Tech specs are, obediently, modest and not ambitious, bar Atli Orvarsson's abrasive score, which pitches itself somewhere between Bernard Herrmann and Jonny Greenwood, and Orvarsson's clumsy mimicry is the film's biggest blunder.