Dennis Hauck
Too Late

I believe that in several aspects, I could quite easily be defined as what might somehow be a sort of control freak. Nothing that makes me a clinical and/or particular case. I would rather describe it as nothing but a form of security. What I mean to say, for example, is that I would very likely never trust crossing a rope bridge. Why should I, after all? Surely, if there’s a moat, there must be some geological reason, and there will inevitably be a better and safer way to cross it. A way where, in any case, you know exactly where you're placing your feet, step by step, until you reach the destination.

Do you ever find yourself talking to a friend, an acquaintance, a relative, your girlfriend, or your boyfriend about a movie (or a book, but from now on, I'll only talk about movies to avoid redundant repetitions and facilitate the reading and understanding of the content I aim to present) and at a certain point feel the urge to be silent, as in a sort of warning whereby your interlocutor covers their ears and says, 'I can’t hear you, la la la...', practically asking you not to dive too deeply into the narrative? To not reveal too many details and—obviously—the ending. This is because, clearly, most people want to enjoy the surprise of every single moment. This continuous experience, living moment by moment until the end, constitutes for them one of the fundamental reasons for watching a movie. Indeed, it’s the fundamental reason, maybe the only reason to do so. If you tell them how it ends, you've spoiled the viewing for them. You’ve handicapped them.

Well. I'm not like that. Which doesn’t mean I'm better, nor—I hope—not worse than others. I am interested in knowing the plot of a movie, even its details and the ending, and this won’t spoil it for me, nor will it ever hinder me from proceeding with the viewing. On the contrary. Why? Because I always want to know how things end. This is probably due to my general inability to live and enjoy the single moment, for this reason, I can only appreciate a movie in its entirety (understood as a real whole) and in a way that I would describe as the unfolding of a process of total identification and thus self-analysis, as if in the end, I wanted to seize the contents. In fact, I want to take possession of them. I want the film to be mine. It must be mine. Because, evidently, only in this way can I feel safe. Only in this way can I really give meaning to things. In passing, before getting into the thick of it, I believe this is why I do not prefer poetry or short stories and arts like painting or sculpture. These are things that, given their 'dimension', escape me. I cannot possess them and consequently cannot appreciate them in all their wonder. However, I would not define myself as a possessive type; I am not as attached to things as to people; on the contrary, I am mostly a loner. Probably, I behave this way precisely because I seek a kind of companionship from these things through this identification process—which then—who knows—maybe it’s also a form of self-gratification. A kind of masturbation.

Let’s drop it and talk about more important things, namely this film, a 2015 independent US production written and directed by director Dennis Hauck, which apparently fits the genre that could at all effects be a real thriller. I mean, firstly, there are clearly a bunch of killings and the presence of underworld characters; there are blackmail and threats of extortion and completely insane assassins. But the whole film, in general, is permeated by what I would define as a certain violence, which is also and perhaps mostly conceptual and as such extended throughout the events and scenes of the film, even in the dialogues, something which, even though the protagonist seeks to escape from it, ends up inevitably dragging along with him, as if it were itself—violence—a part of himself, a kind of wound that every time it scars over, is inevitably always destined to reopen. Which is worse than if it had always remained open in the first place. Because it means you might believe at a certain point to be out of it and then find yourself touching the bottom again and so you retaliate against yourself, you scratch the wound, that 'scab', and uncover your true nature and start bleeding again.

The protagonist of the story, masterfully played by John Hawkes (so good!), who I swear looks really like a young spitting image of Harry Dean Stanton (whom, who knows, he might even try to imitate in some ways, and why not), cannot be anything other than a typical private investigator in a film painted with such noir tones and insane settings. His name is Sampson, simply Sampson, and he is what could clearly be defined as a typical figure of the genre as outlined at the dawn by Raymond Chandler and then developed over the years in other episodes of the literary and cinematic world. Sampson is a solitary type, who has a lot of acquaintances but practically no true friends and/or regular company. Which, after all, is a more widespread human condition than one might think: the real condition of the human being in this global society. He earns little money and laughs little, but often has a kind of cheeky air painted on his face and the look of someone who knows a lot. When necessary, he hits hard. He apparently attracts women, but each of his relationships and human interactions are inevitably destined to go awry. He frequents nightclubs, strippers, and prostitutes, mysterious and fascinating singers, but he is not what one would define as someone in search of easy sex. What he apparently seeks is company, someone to talk to, or simply to listen to music that has an emotional meaning for him. He seemingly searches for positive emotions, sensations, but these perhaps have the same effect on him as that violence we've already mentioned, and all this while somehow forcing himself to hide the truth from himself first.

I could tell you that the plot of the film is all here and in this case, at least I wouldn't be inaccurate, nor would I have told you any lies. I would have told the truth, nothing but the truth and perhaps already piqued your interest enough without revealing more of the plot and the 'whys', but this film, which is titled, 'Too Late', and no title could have ever been more fitting for such a harsh and ultimately dramatic story (where the dramatic element ultimately surpasses the pulp one and perhaps reveals the real, dramatic, even tragic nature of the hard-boiled genre), where everything that happens, the protagonist's events and happenings (and not just his, even if he seems to drag all this tragedy behind him) always occur too late. Sometimes because of him. Other times because of circumstances that may not directly depend on his will. Other times because it is so. Because that's how life goes.

The basic element, the starting point from which all the events in the plot unfold, lies, as in the best tradition of the genre, in what is obviously a crime. A murder that Sampson is called to investigate even before it happens and by the call of what is an old friend of his. The dialogues and settings of the film almost always have something ethereal, hazy, and are never defined with precise boundaries and this is not because it’s as if one wanted to give the individual scenes that “dream” aura, but perhaps because everything that happens is somehow seen through Sampson's perspective, and as such blurred by pain and memories, sometimes by alcohol or too many slash or gunshot wounds. In his life, there are three women and all three are wrapped in that same tragedy and involved in that violence that Sampson seems to suffer from. As if it were a disease. A sort of pestilence and perhaps the main reason why he himself ultimately tries to keep his distance from everything and everyone and chooses to be a loner. Because when you're in pain, you can hardly, almost never do anything good for others, and this is a hard truth to accept, but that’s how things go.

'Too Late' is also a dark love letter to the city of Los Angeles, as defined by the Los Angeles Weekly, but above all, it is a film shot with a particular technique and completely, in every scene, with a techniscope 35 mm motion picture camera (stuff introduced by Technicolor Italy in the sixties). An uncommon modality for cinematic productions but in recent years it has been used for important productions like David O. Russell's 'Silver Linings Playbook' or Ben Affleck's 'Argo'. Additionally, the film is practically structured in what can be defined as five individual sections each lasting twenty-two minutes. Each 'take' hasn’t undergone cuts or edits of any kind and especially the different sections have been assembled one after the other without necessarily respecting a chronological order. Which means that, whether you like it or not, many contents, even in some way the ending, are revealed before you reach the end of the viewing. Something which depending on your tastes and appreciation for the work you may find interesting or not this time, but which certainly constitutes a particular and perfectly successful choice by the director. As for the ending itself, I don't know, that is, this in the end seems to be just one, but in my opinion, it could very well be any one of the five from the five 'takes' I mentioned. But ultimately, what really is the end? I mean, the end is just something that serves to make us feel more secure. As if by doing so we then knew how things really are or should be, but in reality, there’s something illusory about this. This time, by identifying myself with the lead actor and in this process, trying to take ownership of his figure and the film’s content, I saw myself and realized that we possess the same insecurities and that perhaps endings at the same time attract us because we recognize their role of 'completion' within a higher process; but on the other hand, they repel us. We repel each other. Because we always have a game to play and it never ends.