This is not a perfect movie, and it’s the smallest moments that give it away— a slightly noticeable cut here, subpar sound design there. It feels like a student film, and that’s because it kind of is one. Filmed in 20 days with a crowdfunded $450,000 (compared to, let’s say, Heathers’ 3mil for scale), it’s every aspiring indie filmmaker’s wet dream. It’s not made for everyone, because indie films never are— that’s not the point. When talking about his experience filming in his own high school, Rian Johnson said “it’ll save you years of therapy”. Maybe it’s because I’m a femcel, maybe it’s because I have a thing for annoying boys with long hair and nose bleeds, but that’s exactly what this movie did for me.
Wikipedia says noir films are characterized by their use of flashbacks, cynical heroes, stark lighting, intricate plotlines, and underlying existentialism. The hardest part of creating a neo-noir is to take all of these aspects and mold them into a living, breathing creature void of tacky winks and pretentious self-awareness, and Johnson accomplishes this with flying colors.
Technically speaking, this film is extremely impressive. Low budgets tend to suck the marrow out of ambitious projects, but where another director would’ve understandably cut corners, Johnson instead takes his circumstances as a challenge and runs with it, past every expectation one would have for a rookie film student’s debut feature. Johnson not only uses the classic noir’s practical lighting rather than a studio-esque 3 point system to create a sense of realism, using shadows to heighten suspense, but takes it one step further, using lighting as a tool for visual storytelling, as is most prominent at 1h8mins. Brendan is in a backroom of the Pin’s basement, using a mirror to spotlight the final brick. When Tug finds him, the mirror is set into motion by his rage; as it spins, it fractionally lights up the two of them, as the camera snaps between Tug and Brendan’s bodies, one tense and the other cornered, both equally desperate. The mirror only stops spinning when Tug empathizes with Brendan, and we move upstairs. This elevates the scene from a lame interaction between a bully and an unlikeable loser into something much more sinister, and proves that dialogue isn’t the only way you can give characters depth.
In Brick, the tone is enhanced through 4 main portals: the lighting, the unconventional writing, the snappy editing, and the score. What would’ve otherwise been boring character molds are brought to life through clever visuals and even cleverer writing, which while not exactly creating an accurate depiction of high school life itself, manages to perfectly capture what high school feels like. There’s an absence of true parental authority, creating a sense of anarchy despite the emphasized social hierarchies. Instead of order and ascendency, we’re given something more, a darker, harsher beast, growing in urgency as Brendan himself sinks deeper into his own pain and grief. Great editing and great scores often go unnoticed because their purpose is not to stand out but rather to create a subtle, underlying tonal framework. Johnson’s use of jump-cut-flashbacks, experimental transitions, and comical fight sequences fill Brick with so much charm and character that would’ve otherwise left a gaping hole in the narrative. The score (which was composed by Johnson’s cousin, using wine glasses and kitchen utensils, amongst others), works similarly, building suspense which breaks at just the right moment.
When looking at the shot composition in this film, I couldn’t help but be reminded of gritty graphic novels, where unbalanced composition conveys uneven dynamics, shadows convey tension and suspense, and dramatic angles convey power. They didn’t have to add the dolly zooms, but they did, and it makes me wanna kiss the camera(wo?)man on the lips. There’s a lot of powerful imagery here, namely Kara as a Geisha framed in the blackness of a broken mirror and the presence of a black plastic body bag whenever there’s mention of death.
When you ask a guy for a cigarette outside a crappy high school party, you’ll find he’ll be more inclined to tell you about his mommy issues than if you didn’t. It seems silly, but really, the psychology behind it is quite simple: you make him feel like he did something for you, and trust is immediately established. It’s difficult to write a murder mystery without making the viewer feel either too smart or too stupid, and the way Johnson avoids this is simple, but effective: he establishes trust. When Tug rams the car door into Brendan’s head or when Brad’s thug slams into the metal pole, we don’t see the collide; we hear it, and we connect the dots. Tug’s body language and compulsive grass-tearing tells us that he’s the killer before Dode does, but Johnson builds suspense anyway, creating misdirection by obscuring Tug behind Brendan, allowing for a natural crescendo. This movie shouldn’t work: the anachronism should feel tacky, the 40s slang should feel pretentious, and the excess of nerd-boy fantasy should be aggravating. But it isn’t, because at no point is Johnson trying to outsmart the viewer; rather, you end up feeling like you’re included in some dark, twisted version of an inside joke.
This film is by no means groundbreaking, but it does everything it’s meant to do exactly how it’s meant to be done. It’s purposeful yet unartificial, charming without being preachy, quirky yet non-pretentious, passionate without being sloppy, and overall, is an oasis of hope for young filmmakers.
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