My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done? (2009)

2.0

DRAMA/HORROR
U.S. Release Date: 12/11/09
Running Length: 91 Minutes
MPAA Classification: R (Language)
Aspect Ratio: 1.85:1

Cast: Michael Shannon, Willem Dafoe, Chloë Sevigny, Michael Peña, Brad Dourif, Udo Kier, Grace Zabriskie
Director: Werner Herzog
Screenplay: Werner Herzog, Herbert Golde
Cinematography: Peter Zeitlinger
Music: Ernst Reijseger
U.S. Distributor: First Look Pictures

Review by: Carter Moulton

06/25/10

My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done? is a hard film to analyze for a few reasons. It’s the first collaboration between two legendary filmmakers in Werner Herzog (Grizzly Man, Bad Lieutenant) and David Lynch, with Lynch executive producing. Herzog directs the film, and Lynch’s presence is more than felt. The feature as a whole leaves much to be desired, but because these two geniuses are playing off one another, there are moments of wonderment to balance the confusion and tediousness of the storytelling. Unfortunately for all involved, moments of fascination don’t outweigh minutes of dullness. Because the images are so well crafted and a few sequences stick to your brain, it’s easy to view Herzog’s film in a kinder light than it deserves. But sitting through My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done? is an exhausting experience—consider yourself warned.

Where to begin? The first twenty minutes of My Son, My Son are cinematic gold. Willem Dafoe and Michael Peña play two detectives called to the scene of a murder. As they arrive to the suburbian scene—Lynch’s favorite—the soundtrack is also pure Lynchian, with piano rolls and clarinet trills creating lumps in the audience’s throat.

A woman has been sliced by a sword-wielding man.

That man is Brad McCullum, played by Michael Shannon. He is first seen walking away from the crime scene as the detectives arrive. With a bushy head of brown hair and a snarling grin, he sips from his coffee mug as he strolls to his house across the street. “Razzle them, dazzle them: razzle dazzle them,” he says as he slips away.

The film is inspired by the true story of Mark Yavorsky, who in 1979 walked across the street and killed his mother with a three-foot sword. Herzog, who revealed that the film is about 70% fiction, 30% fact, plays with concepts of fear and psychology.  The story is told mostly through the voice of those who knew McCullum, including Ingrid (Chloë Sevigny) and Lee Meyers (Udo Kier). Dafoe asks the questions, and we get to view their answers in order to discover Brad’s motive.

Photo © First Look Pictures

Herzog’s film has a few shots that are themselves nearly worth the price of admission. One sequence occurs when Brad, who is now bunkered in his home with two hostages, slightly lifts the garage door and rolls a canister of Puritan Oatmeal—a Quaker Oats replica—down the driveway. The camera—at ground level—smoothly follows the container as it rolls down the driveway to its final resting point. Who knew it could be thrilling to watch oatmeal roll down a hill.

Another example of Herzog’s wizardry behind the camera is when Brad walks down an upward-moving escalator. Brad times his steps perfectly to remain stationary in vertical space. He looks at his surroundings and links them to his psychology as the camera peers out from behind his shoulder. The film’s final image, a basketball resting in a twiggy tree foregrounding a cityscape and highway, is poetic as well. These are purely aesthetic shots, but what Herzog constructs is truly impressive.

Longtime Lynch-collaborator Grace Zabriskie plays Mrs. McCullum, and she is by far the most unsettling element of this film. In one scene, she brings Brad and Ingrid snacks. Then she just stares at them. Heavy lighting from below makes her face look ghoulish. The camera remains on her as she shifts her facial features for what seems like eternity. This scene is the most effective Lynchian moment in Herzog’s film, but again, it’s all in the name of aestheticism: character’s look directly into the camera, recite incomprehensible lines, and create frozen tableaus.  My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done? is more of a vaudeville show than a cohesive motion picture, and even then it teeters on the edge of success.

As I mentioned before, the film’s first twenty minutes grab you by the throat, but the remaining seventy crumble like a stale biscuit in comparison. The film’s pacing is atrocious and the editing loose. An insane amount of time is spent watching Brad onstage, rehearsing for a theatrical production of “Orestes.” Though this play is relevant to the narrative—“Orestes” features a son stabbing his mother—these scenes lull us to sleep as the chorus recites lines in unison and the camera circles around Brad. We see scenes of Brad discussing ostriches with Brad Dourif and watching musicians with Ingrid, but these do absolutely nothing for the story.

This is the first time I’ve seen Michael Shannon fail to shine in a role. You’d think he’d be magnificent as a psycho-killer—we’ve already seen him go mental in Revolutionary Road—but the dialogue, the film’s editing, and the performance don’t quite fit together. (Herzog co-wrote the screenplay with Herbert Golder.) Maybe the same can be said about Herzog and Lynch.

Film critic Manohla Dargis of The New York Times wrote, “My Werner, My Werner, What Have Ye Done?” in her review. I have an answer. What “Ye’s” done is create a frustrating picture, a film that ultimately fails to absorb us despite a few visual victories.