Contagion

Contagion
Director: Steven Soderbergh
Screenplay: Scott Z Burns
With: Marion Cotillard, Matt Damon, Lawrence Fishburne, Jude Law, Gwynneth Paltrow & Kate Winslet

You’ve gotta expect that I’d enjoy this kind of thing enormously. I mean, bunch of A-listers put in dire peril and knocked off one by one – it does wonders for your sense of equality. Two models exist for this sort of entertainment: Agatha Christie-style murder mystery or the disaster flick. Here, plague virus set loose upon an unsuspecting population with some major acting box-office and a bit of talent thrown in and you’re on your way to a pretty good premise for one of the latter. For those of you with a particular penchant for Irwin Allen’s wild perfection of the disaster flick (Poseidon Adventure, Towering Inferno, Earthquake) you’d be expecting a great deal. And I’ve always been partial to the collision of humanity and failed great technology (musty be some base attachment to Thunderbirds).

Virus films are a bit trickier, although at least there are still requisite celebrity deaths often compounded with sublimely gross-out symptoms. They give additional ways by which to extricate the maximum subliminal or transference pleasure – what’s not to like about blood pouring from orifices (orifi?); spewing up green slime; or turbo diarrhoea (not, wait, that was Bridesmaids, yes?). Sadly, though, there’s little by way of camp pleasure (excluding Jude Law – see below) as they all try to take it very, very seriously. Then again, it’s not without some fun and Gwynnie’s autopsy gets a wry smile from anyone familiar with the Lemonheads’ ditty “Here comes Gwynneth’s heaaaadddd in a box…” – their homage to her turn in Se7en – and more sardonic enjoyment from those of us who would place her on Celebrity Death Flight (no, not Airport 77 – though that’s a great idea; thanks).

Still, truth to tell, there’s a return to some old forms here. Notably how much the studios rely on Oscar (up my arse) to deliver the big names and big kicks. Three “Best Actresses” in one place at one time and another winner – for writing – in the cast. Which is interesting (and a little confusing) in this context because the writing is … well … a bit on the restrained side, a bit bland. Apart from some presumably intentionally hilarious speechifying form Jude Law as he tries almost every mode of an Australian twang to try to drum-up an impersonation of Julian Assange (they’ve even made look more like John Inman than usual) it’s all a bit on the dry side. (No, I don’t actually imagine there was humourous intent but I can dream, I CAN DREAM!) The metaphors are quite tidy though – virus matched in spread and speed by rumour, the interweb, international travel, urban environments – the things that bring people together and the means by which we make contact with one another.

This broader theme of connection and interaction is, of course, reminiscent of Traffic, perhaps Soderbergh’s best film to date. Disparate stories interlock over the course of the narrative and so we come to recognise the fragility of life strung out by so only so many connections – like a version of the Kevin Bacon game. Problem here is that although the various pieces are vaguely interesting enough and are used for some portrayal of differing human motivation the selected parts don’t quite make a particularly interesting whole. It’s not a bad film but it’s a long way from being a good one.

How come? Well the ending was a bit irksome. There seems an innate incapacity to understand that this sort of appalling shit really can just happen – unlooked for, unbidden and with catastrophic consequences. Instead, we have a vignette that puts together a bat and a pig with Gwynnie and a chef (a) no, it’s not the Muppets or b) oh please, don’t be disgusting) to explain the source and initial transferal of the deadly virus. Hmm, question – how many nameless Chinese were there between infection site and blonde Gwynnie whose stories were not pursued so she could be the first carried (adulterous whore that she is – IN THE FILM, IN THE FILM!).

This awkward, unnecessary closing sequence follows earlier plot devices around the attempts of Cottiard as WHO Forensic Scientist trying to find the first incident of the plague (no I’m not being rude this time, World Health Organisation – sheesh, give a guy a break). That work’s undone by her kidnapping (quite a nice turn by some (it had to be) honourable but duplicitous Orientals) and subsequent double-cross with placebos instead of anidotes – oh what will Marion do when faced by the good people driven to do bad versus global organisation established to do good not being so good? You guess, it isn’t hard.

Then there are some instances of what life under martial law might be like in the US – the deterioration of law and order, the creep of government demand but an underlying sense of general inefficiency and incapacity to respond to the scale of the epidemic and its rapid spread. Nice enough observations in the corridors of power but doesn’t really manage to get at the heart of incipient social collapse.

Not that it’s without social comment, you understand. You can take the film as evidence that Soderbergh is no lefty, indeed, it places him firmly in the neo-libertarian camp. First there’s a cloying, meaningless cameo given to John Hawkes. I love John Hawkes and he’s thoroughly dependable here but the janitor whose son gets an antidote form the health bureaucrat serves no purpose whatsoever other than to reinforce the character of said bureaucrat. Fine, no worries but why squander this actor and that part in such a meagre function in the script?

More disturbing though is the explicit anti-union sentiment that strings along various incidents throughout the action. Cop this lot. The teamsters go on strike because of risk to their members who have to drive trucks in and out of infected areas – or are they just using the crisis to screw more money out of their enslaved corporate bosses, I’ve seen Hoffa, I know what goes on in them thar unions. Mortuary assistants are not permitted to assist in burials because of the risk says the funeral operator to Matt Damon who’s looking to bury Gwynnie – Jesus Christ I half expected the funeral guy to morph into Mr Sowerbury in Oliver! and weeze out a chorus of “That’s Your Funeral!” The nurses union (always bloody tetchy those nurses) who refuse to help with the sick until proptocal are put in place – SHAME ON THEM DON’T THEY REALISE SODERBERGH HAS A POINT TO MAKE?! Even casino workers in Macau go out on strike (presaging inadvertently global plague) – look, on a point of International Labour Distribution Fact: are you seriously telling me that there’s a viable union movement in Macau? Relentless but, and here’s the rub, utterly fucking pointless union-bashing. It served no purpose whatsoever and to heap inferred blame or at the very least moral decrepitude on anyone of socialist leaning is so fucking tired. The only underlying purpose might have been to suggest … well … look I was thinking there might be a fifties vibe going on (proto-fascists everywhere, just think of PMs Menzies (Australia) or Holland (Nuzild)) but no, I really don’t see it.

So seriously? I mean, seriously, the unions are this level of bad people?! Rather undercuts the everyman appeal of the John Hawkes character now, doesn’t it?

And so it unfolds and you just keep on hanging out for something interesting to be made of it all. Regrettably, it just maintains an almost relentless bloodlessness.

In a phrase: A cerebral if passive take on the virus flick that lacks a real point of connection and sense of actual crisis – then again, I’m just disappointed they didn’t show what was so terrible about the state of Gwynnie’s brain once they’d fipped off the top of her head.

In a word: Placebo.