The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015. Remaining movies: 183 Days to go: 127
Movie #255: Sleepers
Sleepers made news twice, first when the original book by Lorenzo Carcaterra was published, and again when the movie came out. It was billed as an autobiographical account of abuse and torture within a juvenile detention center, a revenge killing more than a decade later, and a fixed trial intended to acquit the accused murderers. The question everyone was asking, of course, was did it really happen. Was it real? Lots of people have denied the veracity of Carcaterra’s claims, saying there’s never been a case like this in New York that anyone can find record of. Carcaterra stands by his story, saying only that names, dates, and other identifying details have been changed. I, for one, have no reason to doubt him. If he wanted to write a sensational story, he easily could’ve done so without naming himself as a victim of sexual assault. It would’ve been easier. It would’ve been safer. There is no pot of gold waiting at the end of a rainbow for people who make up stories about being sexually abused, no matter what people assume. It’s a lot more convenient, honestly, not to put your face to having endured that kind of terror at all. Which is why I make it a point to believe and support victims who speak out, as I wish more people would. I believe Carcaterra’s story — every last word of it — but that’s not why I like this movie.
Sleepers, on its own merits, is a gripping story of regret and retribution, of mistakes that you spend your whole life paying for, and of breaking the law in order to achieve justice. It’s about the insular community of Hell’s Kitchen, and how it took care of its own and paid its own debts, with little regard for the rules of the outside world. It’s about boys and the friendship (and secret) they held onto despite growing into vastly different men. It’s about the gray area surrounding what’s right and what’s wrong.
Half the film takes place when Carcaterra (played by Jason Patric — who narrates the film as well — as a man, and Joseph Perrino as a boy) and his friends are young and half when they’re grown. In the ’60s, the boys get into a little trouble here and there — running errands for a local gangster, pulling pranks in church — but never anything serious until one of their pranks goes horribly wrong and they’re sent to reform school. Four of the guards at the facility, led by Sean Nokes (Kevin Bacon), brutalize the boys in every way possible, so when John (Ron Eldard as a man, Geoffrey Wigdor as a boy) and Tommy (Billy Crudup as a man, Jonathan Tucker as a boy) — now hardened criminals — come across Nokes in a bar in the ’80s, they kill him in cold blood, and it comes down to their childhood friend Michael Sullivan (Brad Pitt as a man, Brad Renfro as a boy), now a lawyer in the D.A.’s office, to get them off for the crime while also exposing the guards for what they did and making them pay.
It’s a complex and complicated film, and yet it holds an audience’s attention with its tense balance of what is lawful versus what constitutes justice and with the central conflict of priest Father Bobby (Robert De Niro), who has to decide whether to perjure himself in order to help the boys in his parish. Even if you kind of assume which way he’s going to go, the film does a good job of representing his struggle, and the courtroom scenes (all of them, not just his) are incredibly satisfying.
Okay, so Minnie Driver does not do a great job masking her British accent in favor of a New York one, and she’s maybe a questionable choice to play even a half Puerto Rican, but she still does her best with the role, and the other supporting characters are all great, from Bruno Kirby as Lorenzo’s old school man-of-the-house father to Dustin Hoffman as an alcoholic, drug-addicted, washed up defense attorney. (I’m also a really big fan of all the one-liners from Fat Mancho, played by Frank Medrano.)
The film even details a strong connection the boys have with The Count of Monte Cristo, which, if it is just an addition intended to provide dramatic effect and intent to the tale, it still makes a pretty great comparison of the two stories and how true revenge takes years of patience and planning and waiting for the right moment.
I wouldn’t say I condone the actions of these men — any of these men — but I do understand the boys’ motivation. There’s definitely an aura of karma to it, of poetic justice that maybe supersedes the criminal justice system. And whether it all happened exactly as it’s told here or not, I really appreciate a film that can grab hold of my attention and push my convictions into uncomfortable corners.
Viable Option 