Bursts of violence, followed by the quiet pall of death

Gomorrah
Review by Nathan Weinbender

Matteo Garrone’s “Gomorrah” is a startling film—startling in its construction, startling in its execution, startling in its unswerving depiction of organized crime in Italy. It is a very good film, one that peers into a terrifying world and refuses to look away.

The movie is a far cry from any gangster picture I’ve seen, as nothing here is eulogized or stylized: The Hollywood veneer has been chipped away, and the result is wonderfully rough around the edges.

It isn’t just that the film is inspired by true events—Roberto Saivano’s tell-all book was so controversial, he still lives under police surveillance. It is Garrone’s approach, which at first feels slim and eventually assumes a raw power: The photography here is spare, the locations grubby and under-lit and the actors unfamiliar.

Watching it, I got the feeling that Garrone had turned his camera on real people in the real world and that forces more powerful than the screenplay were controlling their destinies.

The opening scene sets the tone: We see a group of well-groomed men in a murky, upscale spa, getting tans and manicures. They joke around, make small talk, and suddenly, without warning, they are shot dead. Violence comes in unexpected, messy bursts, and it leaves an eerie quiet in its undertow: When characters are killed in this film, and quite a few of them are, the camera hangs on them in a stunned silence. It’s deeply effective.

The story explores the inner workings of the Camorra, Italy’s oldest and most powerful crime syndicate, and it follows five separate plot strands, each one illustrative of the organization’s ever-reaching grasp. The script ebbs and flows from one character to another, and although the film’s construction sometimes feels haphazard, it replicates the chaos and disorder of real life: The movie does not always give us catharsis, and its interweaving stories don’t always overlap.

We first meet Totò (Nicolo Manta), a young boy who delivers groceries for his family’s business. He witnesses a drug bust and returns a discarded gun to the criminals who lost it. They decide to induct him into their clan, and the initiation process involves the wannabe gangsters donning bulletproof vests and being shot in the chest. The bruise it leaves behind is like a badge of honor: We later see Totò as he admires his in the mirror.

There’s also Don Ciro (Gianfelice Imparato), a financial intermediary between the Camorra and the families of its imprisoned members. He becomes involved in clan warfare, and, in a bid to save his own life, he supplies valuable information to the begrudged that results in everyone around him getting killed. And there’s a ruthless businessman named Franco (Toni Servillo), who casually dumps toxic waste in an abandoned quarry. When one of his drivers is injured, he hires children to operate the trucks.

Also in the shuffle is Pasquale (Salvatore Cantalupo), a tailor who specializes in haute couture fashion. His work is overseen by the Camorra, and when he is offered a chance to tutor workers in a rival Chinese sweatshop, he accepts in order to earn extra money for his family. He travels to and from the factory in the dead of night, hunkered in a hidden compartment in the back of the owner’s car.

Probably the most intriguing segment, however, involves two young men, Marco (Marco Macor), a scrappy James Cagney type, and Ciro (Ciro Petrone), an ungainly beanpole of a kid. They long to be gangsters, and their prayers are answered when they discover a stockpile of stolen guns. They use dialogue that they’ve most certainly heard in the movies, and at one point they chase one another through an empty warehouse, wielding unloaded pistols and re-enacting scenes from “Scarface.”

Later on, they strip down to their underwear and run down the beach, firing off rounds from semi-automatic weapons at driftwood and deserted boats. Their naïveté leads to them be outsmarted by the original owners of the guns, and their final scene would have seemed more tragic had it not been so inevitable.

In fact, the whole of “Gomorrah” plays like that: Tragic, yet inevitable. A prevailing sense of dread hangs over every scene, and Garrone’s camerawork is both peaceful and unnerving: He allows shots to linger for what seems like an eternity, gradually revealing details in the frame, and at any moment we could be struck by a blast of violence, followed by the quiet pall of death.

The film reminded me of last year’s “4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days,” which, like “Gomorrah,” played almost like a documentary. That picture, which chronicled a hasty and illegal abortion in 1987 Romania, was like a sucker punch in the gut, and I went back to see it again to see if its impact would be as devastating a second time (it was).

Both films are very different tonally, but they each play like grim extensions of the French New Wave movement—they are sparse, blunt and difficult to watch, but they’re both incredibly rewarding.

Note: “Gomorrah” has had a limited theatrical run since February and is currently available for viewing OnDemand.

Directed by Matteo Garrone. Written by Garrone, Roberto Saviano, Maurizio Braucci, Ugo Chiti, Gianni Di Gregorio and Massimo Gaudioso; based on the book by Saviano. Starring Gianfelice Imparato, Salvatore Cantalupo, Marco Macor, Ciro Petrone, Toni Servillo, Carmine Paternoster and Nicolo Manta. Not rated; 135m.