narc

Narc is the sort of film that’s so gritty, you almost feel inclined to scrape and scrub the grime off your TV screen after it’s over. The cop thriller throwback - which evokes the unflinching 70s naturalism of Friedkin and Lumet - caused a minor stir upon its release in 2002 (Tom Cruise was such a fan he nearly recruited director Joe Carnahan to helm Mission: Impossible III)… but seems to have largely faded into obscurity in recent years. It is absolutely worth a re-appraisal - especially in comparison to a hammy potboiler such as Training Day, whose similarly themed (and notably inferior) shadow looms unjustly large.

Jason Patric stars as Nick Tellis, an undercover narcotics officer. He bursts from a drug den by way of introduction, frenziedly pursuing a strung-out dealer through the concrete jungle of inner-city Detroit, the jittery camera shaking violently, almost spasmodically - like an addict in the throes of withdrawal. By the time the dealer snatches a kid off the playground, we sense things are about to take a soul-scarring turn… and, in spite of the hint of self-conscious shock value, the sequence packs a wallop. It’s an unnervingly rancid adrenaline rush. 18 months later, Tellis is in a state of professional limbo… angling for a quiet desk job, but unable to secure one unless he agrees to assist in the investigation of murdered undercover officer Michael Calvess, a case that pairs him with the aptly-named Henry Oak (Ray Liotta). “He makes solid collars that make solid cases,” Tellis is told. “But between you and me, he’s not stable. He’s all of that shit a cop just cannot be, not right now.”

It’s a conventional setup, and there’s an initial fear that Narc is treading into generic cop territory. Tellis recognizes that he’s been tasked less with ferreting out the truth and more with providing an explanation acceptable enough to ensure the case is filed away in some long forgotten filing cabinet… and he has to figure out a way to navigate the city’s corroded underbelly while somehow keeping the volatile Oak in check. The late Liotta’s career was peppered with all sorts of memorable character work (both leading and supporting), infused with his typical live-wire intensity, but he was rarely ever better than he was in this movie. Packing on extra bulk, with a gray-salted goatee and cobalt stare that could pierce solid steel, he’s like an attack dog who’s slipped his leash. The character is all tightly-coiled aggression and ferocity, which might come off as superficial if Liotta weren’t so good at finding that undercurrent of sorrow between the cracks. Carnahan paints Oak as neither antihero nor villain; he’s a man who’s lost all faith in the system he serves, the lines between right and wrong not so much blurring in his eyes as being rendered completely irrelevant (the most dangerously nihilistic place you can find yourself if you’re a cop). Liotta is completely dialed-in. He was likely picking the scenery from his incisors between takes. The performance is pure horsepower.

Narc has you by the throat within moments, but the ride can still be bumpy. The grounded psychology at times feels at odds with Carnahan’s eagerness to flex his stylistic muscle (something Sidney Lumet would certainly never be accused of). At one point a montage of Tellis and Oak’s street legwork is showcased in four-camera split-screen - like surveillance footage with Altman-style overlapping dialogue. But the film grows stronger and more self-assured as it unfolds. Carnahan lenses the bleakness of wintertime Detroit with an authentic, unsentimental eye (he was born in Michigan). It’s a startling piece of work from a director who appeared to be just another Tarantino wannabe when he released his low-budget debut Blood, Guts, Bullets and Octane (of course he reverted back to being a Tarantino wannabe with his subsequent feature Smokin’ Aces, so go figure). Carnahan went on to direct some fitfully entertaining studio movies such as The A-Team and The Grey, but one wonders why he never really made good on the marker he laid down with this film. The edges of the picture are too roughly textured, the bruising impact of certain scenes too pointed, the layers of the script too nuanced for this not to have been the effort of a serious filmmaker.   ​

At the heart of it all is Jason Patric, an actor who spent years flitting around the edges of stardom without ever becoming an actual star. Most movies you’d see him in, you’d be left with the impression that there was almost certainly someone better who could have played the role. But Narc is the exception. Wearing a vaguely porny handlebar mustache and baggy sweatshirt, he gives a somber and soulful performance (one of the other obvious standouts of his career was the 1991 vehicle Rush, in which he also played an undercover narcotics officer slowly losing his grip, so maybe this was just a very specific wheelhouse for him). Carnahan leans on perhaps one too many frayed looks in the mirror or thousand yard stares into the distance to connote spiritual damage, but Patric plays terrifically off of Liotta - he understands exactly when to push and when to pull back. The film builds to an incendiary climax in which Oak attempts to blunt force trauma the case to its natural conclusion and the harrowing sequence stands with the very best of the genre. But it isn’t until the final moments that Carnahan’s thematic vision truly comes into focus… casting a stark light on the toll being an undercover “narc” takes, the way these officers are dropped behind enemy lines with minimal support and lose themselves in the moral blur.  The anger and cynicism of the 70s runs deep in this movie’s veins as Tellis discovers a kinship with the murdered Calvess he wishes he didn’t. And in those closing moments, the notions of heroism and villainy evaporate, leaving only the hazy gray of gun smoke.