Have you ever happened to sit next to a drunken nihilist at a party? At first they’re an absolute hoot. Every word from their speech slurred mouth is a bit on the outrageous side, and with each successive drink they dive deeper and deeper into their own thoughts, regardless of how deep those thoughts might be. They ramble on about the existence of a biblical god and how we’re either lemmings addicted to the opiate of the masses or potentially enlightened because we see the truth behind the curtain. Astrological signs of the apocalypse are there to be seen and understood if you only ask the right questions, or in this day and age, have watched the proper YouTube videos that gave you the red pill knowledge you’ve been searching for. Remember when these ramblings seemed innocent and humorous just twenty minutes ago? By this point you’re likely looking for an escape route or a handoff because now this philosophy 101 twat is getting a little more coarse and whatever he’s angry at is starting to bubble to the surface and that existential rage is going to be pointed in your direction if you don’t take your leave, which will likely end in their dismissal of you rather than vice versa. But once free from their consistent, uncomfortable eye contact you enjoy the rest of your evening. As you get ready to leave you notice them off in a different corner and now they’re now effortlessly seducing the person you had your eye on earlier. What once seemed dangerously on edge is, for the moment, oddly enchanting to them, so it drives you a little mad. You wonder how on earth could they be enthralled by the charade and get a little pissed at yourself for remembering that was you earlier in the evening. You’d like nothing more than to go over and say something dismissive that’ll cut them to the bone but after a few drinks you’re not quite as sharp with the wit as you want to be. Come morning, when they’re waking up next to that person and you’re waking up alone you’ll think of the perfect thing to say, but it’s too late. While you’re oddly fixated, that person has completely forgotten you exist and that’ll anger you even further. If you’re not careful, you could be taking the first step towards turning into that person.
That, in a nutshell, is how David Thewlis plays Johnny, the character at the heart of Mike Leigh’s Naked, a nihilistic look at being young and poor in London. While he’s capable of giving off some serious Patrick Bateman/American Psycho vibes, he’s effortlessly charming when he needs to be and seems capable of saying exactly what you alternatively both need to hear and loathe to hear. As we watch him bounce from person to person and situation to situation we know he’s likely to fuck up whatever he touches but we cannot bring ourselves to turn away. We feel for Louise (Lesley Sharp) and Sophie (Katrin Cartlidge), two young ladies who find themselves in the crosshairs of not just Johnny, but Jeremy, a more proper, but no less awful counterpoint to Johnny. Like most of Leigh’s films the plot is secondary to the performances and Thewlis gives one for the ages, winning Best Actor at the Cannes Film festival where awards also went Leigh for Best Director and the Palme d’Or to the film.
Rated 4.5 out of 5 Stars
