“V for Vendetta” stands on its own merits as a powerful, thought-provoking, allegorical exposé of the danger of totalitarian government.
Set in a near future, the feel of the film actually reflects the late ‘80s in which David Lloyd and Alan Moore created the graphic novel on which it is based. Yes, the movie changes Portman’s Evey character some, giving her a professionalism and feminism more palatable to 2006 audiences, but the portrayal of the vigilante V (Hugo Weaving) is spot on.
In a world where disease has broken down most of world society (particularly in the former United States of America), this sweeping vision of London is infested with shadowy immorality. The Chancellor (a creepy, unglamorous John Hurt), who appears as an angry face on a 20-foot screen, is in control of a police state whose agents have taken matters into their own greedy hands. When Evey attempts to visit a friend after curfew, she is accosted by several of the agents in an alley, but saved by a mysterious masked figure who exhibits exquisite manners and grammar while dispatching the villains with 17th century weaponry.
V is a vigilante with a very unequivocal agenda and, with Evey innocently watching, begins a series of attacks on the government and its media. His secret is a sordid one involving a series of biochemical experiments on the poor, homeless, and diseased, which V himself barely escaped with his mind intact. It’s been a decade or two since then, but the time has come to tear apart the system that scarred him. Is this terrorism? By some definitions, sure, but it’s hard to agree with the fascist system V combats.
Weaving is masterful in the titular role, particularly because he hides behind a Guy Fawkes mask the entire film. Fawkes, the mask, and the terror they inspire among corrupt authority are the primary symbols in a movie rife with symbolism. Evey changes as the story unfolds, and V nearly falters in his plan because he falls for her, but to reveal any more would spoil a film full of engaging and rewarding surprises. British film veterans Stephen Rea and Stephen Fry are breaths of fresh air as the somber detective assigned to the case and as Evey’s clandestine art worshipper friend, respectively. The rest of the film is liberally sprinkled with largely dialogue-free performances from small characters who reappear at crucial moments. There is also a side story played out in narrated flashbacks about another prisoner of the system (Natasha Wightman) and her doomed love affair. This is among the more moving sections of the film, yet while it could have taken over, it does not – remaining a flavorful side dish.
The film’s ending, predictable in many ways, is still stunning. After a slo-mo action sequence where any and everybody gets theirs, Evey/Portman’s final speech moved me to tears and – but no, I’d spoil it, if I told any more.
Powered by AkoComment 2.0!
Entertainment
