If you find it hard to believe the obscenely wealthy tech CEO played by Jesse Plemons in Windfall with his vitriolic comments about “a world full of lazy fucking slackers and freeloaders,” you might want to check out Kim Kardashian’s recent remarks on such or disparaging remarks. variation on this theme. Watching Plemons pivot away from the gentle George in Power of the Dog and sink his teeth into the flattering bastard who makes the mistake of believing his privileges make him invulnerable is the ultimate treat in Charlie McDowell’s convoluted wealth inequality thriller. But it’s a pointed and well-played project, which makes its modest concept a virtue.
McDowell’s 2014 feature film debut, The One I Love was largely limited to one setting, a magnificent complex in Southern California’s Ojai Valley. His even more claustrophobic new film for Netflix returns to another beautiful estate in the area, remodeling a noir-influenced story dominated by three people, this time hatched out of the need for a pandemic. While director Justin Lader’s and Se7en’s screenwriter Andrew Kevin Walker’s screenplay dabbles in extras from time to time to flesh out the conceit, and the shocking ending could use a little more foreshadowing, the film is resourceful and gripping enough to reward watching.
windfall luck
Bottom Line Lean and sneaky.
Release date: Friday, March 18
ThrowCast: Jason Segel, Lily Collins, Jesse Plemons, Omar Leyva
directorStory by: Charlie McDowell
ScreenwritersCast: Justin Lader, Andrew Kevin Walker
Rated R, 1 hour 32 minutes
Jason Segel, who often worked with McDowell and developed the story along with the director and writers, plays the intruder dubbed “The Nobody”. Stylish Hitchcock-style opening credits unfold on a static shot of an elegant adobe house with curtains fluttering in the breeze behind French doors overlooking a stone-paved outdoor area. This is clearly some enviable property. But it’s not just Danny Bensi’s ominous tone and Saunder Juriaans’ unsettling music that indicate that something is wrong.
As cameraman Isaiah Donte Lee gracefully pans out of the pool, through the vast area’s orange groves and cactus gardens, it quickly becomes apparent that Siegel’s scruffy-dressed character doesn’t belong here, despite feeling at home with a glass of juice and fresh fruit. collected from a tree. He’s obviously taking his time erasing fingerprints and collecting valuables – a decent wad of cash, jewelry, a Rolex – and isn’t expecting the arrival of the country house’s owners, also unnamed owners, tech multibillionaire Plemons and his wife, played by Lily. Collins.
The burglar has already found the gun in the desk drawer, but the way the camera lingers momentarily on the heavy marble sculpture suggests that it, and not the weapon, may be Chekhov’s pistol. Or maybe both objects will follow this principle.
The CEO, who barely walked into the house before starting to complain that his assistant couldn’t fill it with flowers and fill the fridge, is a man not used to people not following his orders. He also doesn’t like being told what to do, even if a thug stands over him and threatens to harm him.
Plemons makes him seem slightly weary of all the inconvenience, as he offers an extra stash of cash and encourages the intruder to go his own way. But he also seems to be annoyed by the disrespect, suspecting that the stranger may be one of his apparently many disgruntled former employees. “Were you at headquarters? Is that what it is? he asked. “Not everyone works for you,” Siegel replies.
When the burglar actually tries to get out of there, he notices a security camera on the road outside the property, causing him to turn back. Believing that he will need more money to avoid arrest, he negotiates at first too low, then too high, finally settling on half a million dollars as a reasonable amount.
It seems a bit farfetched that both the CEO and his wife were telling the guy who pointed the gun at them that his initial $150,000 request wasn’t enough to allow him to disappear and have an acceptable quality of life. But something has to keep the three of them together for 90 minutes, and that could be a 24-hour wait before an invisible helper can deliver the money. The CEO uses the excuse that it’s necessary to pay a woman who doesn’t abide by a non-disclosure agreement, apparently not the first case he’s had.
Siegel’s character at one point ruefully admits that he became greedy and couldn’t help it, wanting to see what it’s like to live as the man who created the algorithm that eliminated countless jobs, making him even more astronomically rich. That’s why he stuck around here instead of getting in and out quickly. But it is Plemons’ character’s greed, and the ugliness that it engendered in him, that becomes the subject of the film.
Collins’ character has a background as an aide in the non-profit world and now runs her husband’s charitable foundation. The slight signs of annoyance on her face as he speaks to her in a possessive, vaguely condescending manner—reminding her, for example, that she will stop working and take over the role of counselor after the birth of the child they’re trying to get his hands on—didn’t even check in with him. As is her confusion the night the attacker separates them and the CEO suggests she try to “win him over” to help him not do something drastic once he gets the money.
The script doesn’t break anything new, portraying a tech mogul in the vein of Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos, accustomed to treating people like idiots and inferior. But the man’s corrupted soul gives Plemons plenty of juicy meat to chew on as he smugly defends his bigoted views and even whines about how hard it is to be a rich white guy with a target on your back these days. When his wife diplomatically reminds him that not everyone who needs help is a freeloader, he pleases her by agreeing, but there is nothing respectful or warm in his attitude.
The tension between husband and wife breaks through their calm surface like small tears. It is clear that this is a woman who has stopped more than once to ask herself the question of what life she chose and with whom she chose it. Her husband is a man who never doubts himself.
Collins (married to McDowell) skillfully conveys the character’s sensibility – she talks to the intruder like a person, as opposed to the CEO who treats him like a pathetic jerk – and the growing awareness that she is married to an undeniable asshole. The way he reacts to the outcome of the fourth character, who briefly appears, is further evidence. Collins plays out the biggest arc ever with a startling conclusion that works even if it’s not one hundred percent believable.
Unlike Sam Levinson’s similarly conceived Covid home project, Malcolm & Marie, McDowell resists the urge to make explosive arguments for the couple, remembering that they are in a difficult situation that could go very wrong even if the CEO behaves like it’s some kind of tedious game. The intruder observes the mostly unspoken friction between them and then uses it as a blunt tool towards the end, which gives Siegel intriguing undertones to play beyond the resentment, desperation, and lively mutual animosity that flares up in every exchange with Plemons.
Each of the three lead roles provides interesting opportunities for the actors, giving the character’s slender psychological elaboration the appearance of more depth than it really is. This also applies to Bensi and Jurrians’ tumultuous score, which builds tension throughout the film. It’s not a particularly bold or ambitious film, but it’s successful on its own.