Review: Fight Club

Edward Norton plays a guy with a miserable job as an insurance adjuster, investigating automobile accidents to see if there was a manufacturing problem, and, whether it is better for the company he works for to recall the products or deal with the lawsuits. He hates it, but it gives him money to spend on furnishings from IKEA catalogues. He’s also an insomniac, possibly because his existence is an empty one. As perhaps a means of emotionally connecting with someone, Norton attends a variety of self-help meetings for ailments and addictions he does not have. Hey, sometimes a guy just needs a hug, fake or not! But still, it’s not an uncomfortable existence, he’s able to sleep again, until two people walk into his life; Firstly there’s the trashy Goth-looking Marla Singer (Helena Bonham-Carter), another phony who attends self-help meetings, forcing a division among the list of groups, so they don’t get in each other’s way, and so that Norton can get some damn sleep. Secondly there’s smooth-talking, philosophising, soap manufacturer Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt), the embodiment of everything Norton isn’t. Confident, good-looking, master of his own domain in every facet of existence, and not consumed by consumerism and materialism. After a freak explosion forces Norton out of his home (full of his material possessions that he thought were so important), he calls Tyler, they meet up, and before long, they get into a bar fight. Why? Because releasing all that pent up aggression on each other in the most violent of ways somehow makes them seem alive. Before long, Tyler has turned this into a philosophy and the title club, where men with no prior hatred of one another, beat each other to a pulp, supposedly freeing themselves momentarily of an emasculating society. Hey, at least it allows them to feel something, Meat Loaf turns up as Bob, a group member with what Norton calls ‘bitch tits’ due to an hormonal imbalance. Zach Grenier is Norton’s a-hole boss, and a bleached Jared Leto is one of the ‘fight club’ recruits.

This 1999 David Fincher (“Se7en”, “Panic Room”, “Alien ³”, “Gone Girl”) flick is one helluva divisive film. You’ve got those who say it’s the modern equivalent of Catcher in the Rye (“Fight Club” also being based on a book) meets “A Clockwork Orange” (both films divide audiences on whether or not they promote violence), and those who say it’s a two hour macho wank-job. And then you’ve got Roger Ebert, who seemed to see what the defenders of the film see, but then condescends the audience by suggesting they’re not smart enough to see through the violence. I know what you’re thinking. Ryan’s gonna do his usual non-conformist thing and play piggy-in-the-middle. Not quite. I don’t think this is the greatest film of the 90s or anything, but this is no empty-headed glorification of macho thuggery, either. To suggest that is to entirely miss the point, let alone the sarcastic tone of the film. The film’s champions most certainly have the right to make the connections with the aforementioned landmark pop culture artefacts, all three are pretty incendiary works, if not quite tipping over into dangerous or irresponsible territory. For me, this film just stops short of being reckless, the film isn’t a mindlessly violent call to arms for disgruntled cubicle workers looking for some biffo. Norton’s sardonic narration and the twist ending show that Fincher has pretty much the opposite agenda in mind (Besides, those fights are damn ugly and not at all a glorification). The near-fascist, would-be terrorist is just as much a target for Fincher’s critical eye as the IKEA-obsessed, consumerist society. Fincher is criticising our consumer-obsessed society (IKEA gets such a pasting in this film I’m surprised they didn’t sue!) that basically rules our lives, robs us of our souls, emasculates men, and forces the characters in this film to seek other, extreme means in order to feel ‘alive’. That is, either through attending self-help groups, or attempting to reassert one’s masculinity and dominance through ‘Fight Club’. But Fincher’s also critical of this too, something many seem to have failed to pick up on. And (this is weird coming from me) if you still don’t get the message, that is, the big message at the end- Read the bible, it’s one of the Ten Commandments. And I’m sick of the whole ‘such and such a movie causes people to act violently’ argument anyway. It usually requires a mental/psychological deficiency in the person to begin with, and how about people exercise personal responsibility? Always works for me, rather than blaming a movie (Were movies around in Jack the Ripper’s day? Just a thought...). And y’know what? This film actually suggests that Fincher agrees with me on this anyway, if you think about it.

Fincher’s film isn’t a comedy, but it’s a wonderfully satiric, sardonic film nonetheless, in fact, it plays like a bit of a sick joke. Norton’s first punch is pretty damn funny in his inability to properly hit his target. And the whole attending self-help groups as a way of feeling emotions, is darkly amusing, even more so with the character of Chloe (Rachel Singer), the dying but horny cancer sufferer. It’s a bad taste gag, but damn funny. My favourite bit of humour, though, is a discussion between Norton and Pitt as to which famous person they’d like to fight. When Norton says ‘Shatner. I’d fight William Shatner’, he might perhaps be speaking for us all, but when Pitt replies with ‘I’d fight Gandhi’, the joke damn near deserves a standing ovation.

Talk about in-your-face, this isn’t just in-your-face, it’s up your arse and kicking your teeth down your throat! In addition to the violence (not to mention gratuitous Meat Loaf moobs), the film has more smoking than any film I’ve seen since the 40s! And the film’s visual style is equally impactful, not just in the decrepit production design (remember the dark, rainy and ugly world of Fincher’s “Se7en”?) but also the dynamic camerawork of Jeff Cronenweth (“Blade Runner”) that recalls some of the style Fincher also incorporated in later projects like “Panic Room”, and even a precursor to the kind of visual design we saw in “Stranger Than Fiction”, here in a scene that looks like an IKEA catalogue come to life. It truly is a visceral experience.

The acting is uniformly excellent, with even the usually annoying Bonham-Carter being perfectly cast as the trashy, slutty, chain-smoking Marla, and operatic rocker Meat Loaf an intimidating yet pitiful screen presence as a man nicknamed ‘Bitch Tits’, for reasons that you’ve got to see to believe. But this is the Pitt and Norton show, I really think both deserved Oscar nods for their excellent, tricky work here. Norton is one of the best actors of his generation when he feels like it, and still pretty darn good when he’s clearly coasting. Here he’s pitch-perfect as the emasculated nobody who hates his life, hates his job, seriously hates his boss (played by Grenier, in some of the film’s best scenes) and is therefore easily swayed into the fascist idol Tyler Durden’s thuggishly anarchist ways. Pitt, for his part, has one of his best showcases, in a role tailor-made for him, it’s the perfect blend of star presence and fine performance as the charismatic, enigmatic, uber-macho Tyler Durden.

This isn’t a masterpiece, but there is so much more going on in this film than cheap macho thuggery and dangerous violent behaviour. ]It’s a film that says many things that touched a nerve with moviegoers at the time, and is still relevant today. It could probably stand to be a little tighter, but love it or not, the film sure is unforgettable.

Rating: B