Red Riding

Written By: Tony Grisoni

Rated: Unrated

1974

Directed By: Julian Jarrold

Starring: Andrew Garfield, Sean Bean, Rebecca Hall, David Morrissey, Warren Clarke, John Henshaw, and Anthony Flanagan.

Director of Photography: Rob Hardy, Editor: Andrew Hulme, Production Designer: Cristina Casali, Original Music: Adrian Johnston

1980

Directed By: James Marsh

Starring: Paddy Considine, Warren Clarke, Maxine Peake, Robert Sheehan, James Fox, and David Morrissey.

Director of Photography: Igor Martinovic, Editor: Jinx Godfrey, Production Designer: Tom Burton, Original Music: Dickon Hinchliffe

1983

Directed By: Anand Tucker

Starring: David Morrissey, Mark Addy, Robert Sheehan, Peter Mullan, and Warren Clarke.

Director of Photography: David Higgs, Editor: Trevor Waite, Production Designer: Alison Dominitz, Original Music: Barrington Pheloung

    Red Riding, a trilogy of films from the United Kingdom, is a noirish examination of crime and corruption in the Northern city of Yorkshire. Throughout the three films—each with a different director, and thus vision, behind them—characters tell us, “This is the North, we do what we want.”

    The films Red Riding: 1974, 1980, and 1983 are based on a set of novels by David Peace set around the true events of the Yorkshire Ripper. More than that, the films capture an era of corruption and paranoia. Nuclear silos sit in the background, and fog is always confusing the space, and every character has to cross to the bad side at least once. While the films are about corruption and murder, they are really about the same culture of Three Mile Island and Watergate—there always seems to be some hidden darkness underneath the surface.

    The films, which played on UK television last year, are all written by Tony Grisoni, who also wrote Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas for Terry Gilliam. Mr. Grisoni plays a wondrous mix of understanding that each film should stand alone, while also creating a wholly encapsulated story. Some characters complete their arcs in just one film, while others slowly melt into the larger conspiracy, only showing their true colors in the final film.

    But it is the extremely different visual styles and tones that make Red Riding so compelling. While other trilogies aim for consistency, the three directors each worked completely separate of each other, creating their own interpretation of the world. This is both a curious experiment, but also one that leads to a fault—while 1974 is a near masterpiece of tone and character, 1980 and especially 1983 pale in comparison. Part of this is the stories they tell—1974 has the most delicately paced and novelty elements, though certainly the vision of Julian Jarrold, director of films like Kinky Boots and Becoming Jane, sucks you into an environment of seeded corruption and ugly truths.

    1974 stars Andrew Garfield (soon to be seen in David Fincher’s film about Facebook, The Social Network), as a journalist covering a series of child abductions in Yorkshire. Mr. Garfield plays his character Eddie Dunford with a nod to Jack Nicholson in Chinatown, part smart alec over his head, part man attempting to find the right path in a series of shady corners. As Eddie buries himself more and more in the facts of the case, it becomes apparent that the answers seem right in front of him, but the tide against him is turning.

    Mr. Jarrold uses a distinct 16mm look to give a grainy texture to the shots. The darks are dark, the lights are gray, and the realism feels jolting. The score by Adrian Johnston, also hits a wondrous note of both the anger of atrocity, as well as the dispassion of apathy. As more and more characters swing into the mix (Rebecca Hall and Sean Bean give strong supporting performances), 1974 sits in its cool atmosphere, rebelling in its anti-establishment environment. The film is less concerned with solving its narrative questions than helping contextualize the fiction story of corporate greed with governmental ties as a reflection of the changing era of modern Britain.

    When 1980 thus begins, it begins in a completely different type of environment, slickers, faster, and with a more straightforward narrative than its meandering counterpart. The film is directed by James Marsh, best known for his Rififi-inspired documentary Man on Wire. Mr. Marsh shoots the film in widescreen 35mm, giving the film a more conventional look than its predecessor. But this is a stronger reflection of 1980’s narrative, which moves quicker than its counterparts, while tying in less with the overall story. The films follows In America star Paddy Considine as Manchester police detective Peter Hunter, who is sent to Yorkshire to crack the ripper case. But his team becomes focused on the killing of one of the women, a prostitute whose murder does not match the others. Hunter becomes more confused as his team becomes less reliable and the cops he works with susceptible.

    1980, the shortest and with the most compact narrative of the three, speeds through point after point, with a few character touches here and there. Mr. Marsh does well creating power compositions, and keeping us interested in the narrative, with a payoff that ties directly into 1974. But as a follow-up to 1974, 1980 seems to lack the thrilling atmosphere—its colder approach feels fit for the story, but the story seems of a different nature, one that is neither as interesting or as dynamic to watch.

    Of course, 1980 has strong performances, and a well thought out narrative, two things missing in the disastrous 1983. The film is directed by Shopgirl helmer Anand Tucker, and plays sort of likes a pick up sticks of loose narratives, none that are that interesting. It ends up following minor characters from 1974 and 1980—a cop whose reached his limit on moral ambiguity, a homosexual looking for revenge, and a lawyer trying to redeem a wronged case.

    These narratives become more and more convoluted, and instead of giving the dark edge that 1974 and 1980 had, attempts to present a more convention and happier ending for its characters, none of which are satisfying, nor plausible. Mr. Tucker’s camera work rarely helps as well, shooting it in digital and splashing his screen with bright lights as a metaphor for the redemptive power. Instead of burying itself in the cynical darkness that seemed to define the trilogy, 1983 gives its characters the satisfaction it doesn’t deserve. While 1974 and 1980 feel more like zeitgeist films of their titular years, 1983 seems completely focused on characters we really don’t feel anything for. The circles of corruption and transition to a conservative Thatcherism that should make 1983 an inventive delight are instead substituted for a bland, and frankly boring narrative.

    I’m curious to see how Red Riding would have done as only a standalone film, with simply 1974’s bold and atmospheric narrative, shaded with bits of David Fincher and David Lynch. But Red Riding is a trilogy, whether good or not. IFC, which picked the films up for US Distribution, will start them in a 305 minute epic road show, before playing them for separating admission in the weeks to come. Trilogies are always tricky things, and Red Riding experiences the best, as well as the worst, of making such an experiment where three styles and narratives play out in three very different ways.