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“This is the north, where we do what we want.”
Ramble rousing cry? Or braggart threat? As the Red Riding Trilogy unfolds it becomes both of these things, sometimes at once. And sometimes it’s spoken like a mantra without much thought put behind the words or any deeper meanings these words may contain. But that is getting ahead of myself, as each individual film adds up to a bleak portrait of a place more so than a coherent dissertation on the Red Riding killer or any singular unsolved mystery.
The story begins in 1974 and follows a young reporter (Andrew Garfield) who uncovers a series of disparate missing and presumed dead girls are actually related. But the dangers and mysteries extended further out and go deeper into the society that has allowed them to happen than he could possibly imagine. These earliest murders occupy a weird space – part of an underground network of powerful men indulging in depraved acts, partly the byproduct of a city’s uncertain movements toward modernity – and their shaky, violent vibrations will be felt throughout the rest of the films.
1974 (and the rest of the trilogy) has problems with decipherability of language (those Yorkshire accents are sometimes unintelligible) and clarity of narrative. But it doesn’t matter, each film is plotted by the same writer and given to a different director is high on style, incredibly well acted and always engaging even in moments when it becomes incredibly hard to remember or even figure out what is going on. Garfield is one of the best younger working actors currently and his performance here is a testament to that fact. Sean Bean and Rebecca Hall are solid in their major supporting roles. Bean is particularly effective exposing tiny bits of rot and grim beneath his character’s well-to-do exterior, and Hall continues to display her quivering vulnerability and she’s the lone bright light in this pit of eternal darkness.
1974 begins to explore the social malaise that took hold in the seventies, but it’s really just prep work for the deep dive we’re about to experience in the second half. Shot in 16mm, the film has a pleasantly gritty, atmospheric look, but does occasionally dip into overly stylized and embellished theatrics which call too much attention to themselves. But still, as far as establishing stories go, 1974 has more than enough merits to stand on its own. A word of warning, if this film is too dark or densely plotted or not fast moving enough for you, just jump ship now as the trilogy only gets more obtuse and labyrinthine as you go along.
