KRISHA (B+) - Trey Edward Shults turns family dysfunction into a darkly comic drama of such intensity it threatens to melt the screen.
The first shot is a close-up of the face of Krisha (Krisha Fairchild, like most of the cast, a relative of Shults), a 60-something woman quaking under the force of her demons, addictions and grievances. Over the next 83 minutes we'll watch her either manage to hold it all together or give in to those forces. And we'll revisit that intense close-up.
It's Thanksgiving Day, and Krisha is a prodigal child of sorts, ready to break an exile and impose her shaky sobriety on the rest of her clan, who treat her like a fragile wild animal. (Whatever caused her to lose the tip of a finger, now bandaged, is never explained, but the mind reels.) Shults himself plays her gruff, angry estranged son. The hosts in the Texas suburbs are Robyn (Robyn Fairchild), her husband, some in-laws and their various children. Most of the young adults are male, and they engage in relentless macho posturing and roughhousing, like Biff and Happy celebrating Festivus. There's a newborn at one end of the generational spectrum as well as Robyn and Krisha's elderly mother, wheeled in from her nursing home for the day.
Shults need not try too hard to season this stew, because it's a given that all families are psychotic. The biggest pleasures from "Krisha" emanate from the dark comedy, especially between Krisha and a sassy brother-in-law, Doyle (Bill Wise). Doyle is a sarcastic bastard with acerbic observations about everyone, but in particular the obnoxious stray dogs that his wife takes in and who add to the household turmoil. Wise has a biting way of delivering a one-liner while undercoating it with a thin layer of pathos. He and Fairchild are perfect together.
The question of whether Krisha will simply make it through the day without a relapse is fraught with true suspense. Shults crafts a menacing claustrophobia, shooting almost entirely in the house or through partial glimpses of the yard. Unfortunately, he gets a little shaky with climactic scenes and the cleanup and aftermath that follows. He keeps it real, but it eventually feels like a one-note drama by the end, and we're not sure what Krisha's journey has meant. His first hour, though, is magnificent. It would be nice to have another crack at the ending.
THE CLUB (B-minus) - This dismal examination of disgraced Catholic priests living in seclusion in a beach resort town in Chile puts forth a profoundly dismal view of human nature.
The four men live in a monastery with a nun, idling the time away and distracting themselves with the training and care of racing dogs. But it is so bleak and despairing that it presents a challenge to the viewer. In the final reel, when unspeakable violence befalls the dog -- quite graphically depicted -- it's tough to keep watching the onslaught of physical and psychological barbarism.
Director Pablo Larrain broke out in 2008 with the cult favorite "Tony Manero," and he disappointed with the meandering polemic "No" in 2013. Larrain definitely skews toward the morbid and the unusual. Here, the gruesome reality of the unforgivable sins of the Catholic church is presented mostly in rather tedious dialogue.
Early on, one of the priests is identified and confronted by an accuser from his past, and he commits suicide. The accuser refuses to yield in his campaign, though, and he and the townsfolk are painted as brutes and vigilantes. The church brings in a psychologist to counsel the other priests, and in session after session, the men spill their souls. They portray themselves as victims -- scapegoats and prisoners. One elderly priest is so infirm that he must have his diaper changed as if he were an infant -- unflatteringly rendered by Larrain.
As the mobs gather and the skies darken, a reckoning is inevitable. Cover your eyes and say a prayer for all of us.
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