There are some writers whose work is identifiable within the space of a couple of sentences. Guillermo Arriaga makes his directorial debut with The Burning Plain, but it’s a film that’s also almost instantly identifiable, bearing as it does the same hallmarks as the numerous films he’s written. Anybody who’s seen Babel, The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada, 21 Grams or Amores Perros will find it hard to stifle a sense of déjà vu at the emotionally scarred characters, the desolate landscapes both urban and rural, the anti-erotic nudity and the fractured chronology that will eventually explain the seemingly motiveless behaviour of the characters.
The Burning Plain doesn’t strive for the grandiosely global narrative of Babel (and, thankfully, doesn’t have any characters quite as obnoxious as Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett’s American tourists), focussing instead on a coastal town in Oregon and an unnamed town somewhere near the Mexican border. However, unlike Babel, it manipulates time a great deal more – what seem to be three separate narratives are eventually revealed to be two, only separated by twelve years.
Arriaga’s direction makes fine use of the large screen, and of a largely strong cast. At the heart of the film is an excellent performance by Charlize Theron as Sylvia, a sommelier in an upper class restaurant who has a propensity for self-harm and fruitless relationships. Her character proves the link between the present and the past, as she is faced with a daughter she abandoned, who in turn forces her to confront an even bigger secret she’s repressed for years. Her story is interweaved with the past narrative about an affair between a Mexican man and an American housewife who’s recently undergone a mastectomy and its repercussions for their two families. This past strand is hampered somewhat by Kim Basinger as the housewife – whether through botox, cosmetic surgery or simply poor direction, her face remains expressionless throughout, meaning we never really get drawn into her emotional quandary. However, this is a minor gripe, as it’s offset by strong performances from Jennifer Lawrence as her daughter and J.D. Pardo as the Mexican’s son, who embark on their own troubled affair.
I won’t spoil the film’s major surprise, but I will say that it has a happy ending, or potentially happy at least, just as Babel did, and this weakens it. It’s hard to escape the feeling that Arriaga in his last two films as writer or director is playing with time and crosscut narratives for no better reason than to provide a false redemption for his characters – it doesn’t matter how bad a thing you’ve done in the past, skilful editing can still make you look like the innocent party. It’s a cheap trick to play and one that suggests that though his films are now so similar in structure and subject matter that they’re being written to a formula, he’s lost the courage to challenge the audience with the resolutely unhappy endings that are truer to the materials he works with.
It seems inevitable that Arriaga’s next film will be much the same, which would be a shame. I’d much rather see him try something new and challenging – if he wants to show people as essentially good, why not try a comedy of fractured chronology? – but if he’s not going to be so bold, he’d do well to rediscover the nihilistic edge that, with the help of Tommy Lee Jones’s direction, made The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada one of the best films of the decade.