Cold in July - Freddo a luglio

How many men can one bullet kill? That is the catch line on the film poster, and it is one of the best definitions of a film I have ever read. Based on a novel by Joe R. Lansdale, this is the story of Richard Dane (Michael C. Hall, eternal "Dexter"), a protective family man that kills a burglar inside his home. Still in shock after the event, he is not fully aware of what that single shot has triggered.

I must confess I wanted to see the movie because I am a big fan of "Dexter" (James Manos Jr. 2006-13), and after this show and his role in "Six Feet Under" (Alan Ball, 2001-2005), I already thought Michael C. Hall was a great actor. Having watched this film, I admire him even more. It is not easy to shake a character that has been with you for so long, but Hall just nails this average man, father and husband. How such a man reacts when killing for the first time and everything afterwards, it is outstanding. The other actors in this trio are Sam Shepard as the father of the deceased burglar, and Don Johnson as a government agent, two tough guys that shows up as a result of Dane's killing. Both Johnson and Shepard really fit the role and they support Hall perfectly.

This film is tough, maybe not in a graphic way, but throughout the film you start to feel the burden of the events, the consequences of it. It is also a story of good and evil, of doing the right thing, and all the unexpected things behind that decision. The film is divided into two parts, and in the second segment, there is a shift in the tone, though there is something true about the whole film, it is a gritty, harsh story. How an ordinary man copes with life after a rough, life-changing event.

The story line is simple and clear but not completely convincing in all aspects. But the screenplay is the one that makes to hold on to the movie till the end without letting you think about the logics. The music and some of the performances like Sam Shepard's have been partners to the screenplay.

But towards the end of the movie, You think about Richard's involvement to the plan is so lightly touched making the characterization contradictory to itself. A citizen with clear records, a responsible family man who tries to safe guard the family under any circumstances turns out to be warrior keeping aside the family for a while. That itches a bit ! Doesn't it.

Other than that, it is a movie that you can watch for once without much regrets.

"Sometimes the good guy wins."

Start with Cape Fear, then merge into Killer Joe with a side Touch of Evil, and you will have an inkling of how macabre and comical Cold In July can be. It touches most of the familiar neo-noir bases including being set in East Texas and in the '80's. Revenge is the name of this game--director Jim Mickle paces the suspense and blood just about right.

Richard Dane (Michael C. Hall) and his family experience a home invasion, for which Richard kills the intruder point blank. The murder is reasonable until the corpse's dad, Ben Russel (Sam Shepard, more laconic and bad than ever), shows up just out of prison to menace the Danes for the death of his son. Yet as usual in pulpy noir, not all is as it seems including the motives of the local law enforcers and the identity of the dead "son."

Add to the grimy mix the Dixie mafia, who produce snuff videos using young girls. Russel is affected because it involves his son (even bad guys have the blues.)

The revenge formula ramps up considerably and the film becomes gleefully unglued with the advent of Don Johnson's swaggering detective, Jim Bob. His red Caddy convertible with the steer horn on the grille and his florid outfits signal an out-sized noir character channeling Matthew McConaughey from Killer Joe with a touch of Orson Welles' evil south of the border. A serious pig farmer, Jim Bob is hilarious as the swashbuckling, cheesy hunter. But make no mistake—he can give physically as good as he gets with some impressive sleuth work to boot.

The center of the darkness is Richard, a seemingly solid citizen who has the ambiguous demons usually reserved for the noir hero (think of Bogey's characters). His strong revulsion at the murder passes into something less than that but more than just vigilantism. Anyway, the blood bath at the end is worth seeing for its noir excess and dark humor.

Very few characters in this delightful summer indie get out unscathed, and some indeed find July very cold.

This dirty little piece of Texas pulp rides the fine line of art of trash with brilliant composure as its dark script teases you with how far it'll go. The seed is planted when an everyman kills an intruder in his home, and the story spins wildly out of control from there. The story moves forward at a brisk pace and never looks back. Sure that means there are as many holes as there are unanswered questions, but such is the case with pulp. You gotta live in the now, man. In the end, I'm still not sure how to process what I've seen, and I've gained no further insight or knowledge about myself, the world, or humanity. And I wouldn't have it any other way

The distinction between murder, manslaughter and self-defence is one that continues to grow more appropriate in America with each passing year. How does one determine the truth when only one key witness is available to divulge in their perspective? Especially when the odds are in their favour by accidentally shooting a "wanted felon" in the eye. The police view it as heroism. The general public questioning its intent. The victim's father overwhelmed with rage and demented turmoil, threatening the safety of the family thrown into the icy-cold chills of crime.

Mickle's intentionally masculine crime thriller is one that evokes themes of fatherhood. The paternal rights and responsibilities of their children who may, or may not, be following the path of sin. Ever increasing the protectorship of their guardian figure for the sake of the family they have lovingly crafted. It's a natural instinct. To protect our own flesh and blood, no matter the cost. But what if that expenditure is too severe? What if their existence is causing suffering to others? The morality of these two fathers, the shooter and the victim's patriarch, is tested through unlawful extremities. Challenges that conjure inner turmoil. And it's only through Mickle's astute direction do we as viewers journey down this careening route of masculinity.

What starts off as a simplistic revenge thriller soon complicates itself into an absorbingly comedic drama, whilst still shrouded in pulpy neo-noir aesthetics. Grace's booming synthesised score and Samul's ornate use of vivid neon backdrops cement the noir elegance. Yet it's Mickle's insistence in shifting genres, adding a quirky aura of surrealism to the mix, that acts as gritty adhesive. Does it work? Not quite. The brutal tension that is meticulously built up in the first hour is palpable. Slow panning through tight corridors. Strikes of lightning illuminating the bleak darkness of 80's Texas. The atmosphere compact with nullified thrills.

Then the plot thickens. The local police become involved, a recruited Private Investigator struts his stuff and suddenly the genre changes. Intrinsic comedy is injected through Johnson's character, contrasting against Shepard and Hall's intimidatingly serious performances. Unfortunately, this relieves the suffocating tension that preceded it, relying on a clichéd yet stylistic conclusive shootout with moments of jarring humour. Whilst it does add characterisation, Mickle's screenplay rarely furthers itself by being weighed down by overly basic dialogue. Conversational scenes, particularly between the two fathers, seemed muted. Lacking in fire and anger. If the script had been tighter with some sharper tongues for the characters, the complacent genre shift would've been more forgiving. The two were unable to mesh cohesively.

That's not a detriment to the overall technicality and theatricality of Cold In July. It remained bitterly deadly throughout and utterly watchable. If only the script had been tighter and the narrative differences more seamless when transitioning, we could've had ourselves an incredibly rare hidden gem of noir excellence.