ATLAS (2018) David Nawrath / Script: David Nawrath & Paul Salisbury / Cinematography: Tobias von dem Borne (1.85) / Design: Uli Friedrichs / Composer: Enis Rotthoff / Editor: Stefan Oliveira-Pita / Acted by: Rainer Bock, Albrecht Schuch, Thorsten Merten, Uwe Preuss, Roman Kanonik, & Nina Gummich / Germany / Not Rated / Length: 99 mins.
Walter (Rainer Bock) is a bearlike, furniture-bearer, a repo-man of sorts — working on the government’s dime, emptying dwellings after forced evictions, removing all evidence of the occupants who once called it home. But possessions aren’t the only thing the brawny 60-year-old carries: at the end of the staff Christmas party, the former college champion weightlifter and eternal workout warrior hauls a soused co-worker to an Uber.
At the end of the workday, Walter’s idea of relaxing at home is removing the several back braces hidden from view beneath his sweater and lying flat on a cool tiled kitchen floor. His seniority is about to be put to the test by new hire Moussa (Roman Kanonik), a big, Bluto-esque marauder. Moussa also wears a sweater; after a few washes in the hot cycle, it barely stretches over the intersection of barrel chest and beer belly. Moussa lets his fists do the talking: he uses one to knock the phone from the hand of his first evictee, and follows it with backhand to the cheek. When his superior cracks what barely amounts to a joke, the easily-annoyed Moussa follows him into the bathroom stall, where he proceeds to kick the crap out of him — and the crapper out from underneath him.
So far, so good. Director and co-writer David Nawrath keeps the dialogue to a minimum, steadily tightening the pace one thrill at a time. This gritty, no-nonsense borderline noir holds firm until an unforeseen twist arrives early on that, in less capable hands, might have sent things careening headlong into a sentimental quagmire. It seems the guy to whom Moussa owes a new phone just happens to be the long-lost son Walter hasn’t seen in 30 years.
To get past that singular, blaring coincidence, one must first buy into Walter’s dictum: “We all carry the weight we brought upon ourselves.” That's what adds enough ballast to propel the story to a logical conclusion, on its own terms, as events gradually cut loose a tamped-down side of Walter that’s as dark and brutish as that of any who pursue him. ***
Screens tomorrow, July 18, as part of the German Currents Film Festival at the Digital Gym.
ATLAS (2018) David Nawrath / Script: David Nawrath & Paul Salisbury / Cinematography: Tobias von dem Borne (1.85) / Design: Uli Friedrichs / Composer: Enis Rotthoff / Editor: Stefan Oliveira-Pita / Acted by: Rainer Bock, Albrecht Schuch, Thorsten Merten, Uwe Preuss, Roman Kanonik, & Nina Gummich / Germany / Not Rated / Length: 99 mins.
Walter (Rainer Bock) is a bearlike, furniture-bearer, a repo-man of sorts — working on the government’s dime, emptying dwellings after forced evictions, removing all evidence of the occupants who once called it home. But possessions aren’t the only thing the brawny 60-year-old carries: at the end of the staff Christmas party, the former college champion weightlifter and eternal workout warrior hauls a soused co-worker to an Uber.
At the end of the workday, Walter’s idea of relaxing at home is removing the several back braces hidden from view beneath his sweater and lying flat on a cool tiled kitchen floor. His seniority is about to be put to the test by new hire Moussa (Roman Kanonik), a big, Bluto-esque marauder. Moussa also wears a sweater; after a few washes in the hot cycle, it barely stretches over the intersection of barrel chest and beer belly. Moussa lets his fists do the talking: he uses one to knock the phone from the hand of his first evictee, and follows it with backhand to the cheek. When his superior cracks what barely amounts to a joke, the easily-annoyed Moussa follows him into the bathroom stall, where he proceeds to kick the crap out of him — and the crapper out from underneath him.
So far, so good. Director and co-writer David Nawrath keeps the dialogue to a minimum, steadily tightening the pace one thrill at a time. This gritty, no-nonsense borderline noir holds firm until an unforeseen twist arrives early on that, in less capable hands, might have sent things careening headlong into a sentimental quagmire. It seems the guy to whom Moussa owes a new phone just happens to be the long-lost son Walter hasn’t seen in 30 years.
To get past that singular, blaring coincidence, one must first buy into Walter’s dictum: “We all carry the weight we brought upon ourselves.” That's what adds enough ballast to propel the story to a logical conclusion, on its own terms, as events gradually cut loose a tamped-down side of Walter that’s as dark and brutish as that of any who pursue him. ***
Screens tomorrow, July 18, as part of the German Currents Film Festival at the Digital Gym.
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