From Wordy to Wordless, J.C. Chandor's Minimalist "All Is Lost"

All Is Lost * * *

     All Is Lost is a singular story, simple, told well, and in the present. It compounds a series of losses, all disastrous in their immediacy but salvage-able in their wake. As the poet Bishop wrote, "The art of losing isn't hard to master." Spare words and a plot transpiring entirely in the now characterize the film's every moment beyond the "8 days earlier" title screen that follows it's inconsistent antithetical out-of-sequence opening where Robert Redford's voice is heard reading a letter to his loved ones. Then the inciting incident where a cargo crate's rough corner slices open a hole in Redford's sailing vessel plays out in real time. He calmly anchors the crate to pry it out of the boat, deftly maneuvers the boat to lift its gouge above water, and expertly begins repairs with a glue compound and a paintbrush.

     It takes a certain type of man to sail alone at sea; "Our Man" (as Redford is credited) is practical, responsible, a stable man, well balanced, conscious to take the proper precautions. This nameless protagonist is virile but older. Casting Redford at 77, director J.C. Chandor is right. Redford is correct for the part and the part is right for his age: this isn't Harrison Ford gallivanting about as Indiana Jones at 64. "Our Man" maintains a collected composure and controlled demeanor, coolly assessing his vessel's damage and not making hurried decisions. With focus and consistent determination (but seemingly no urgency), he repairs the rip in full and manually pumps out all the water that flooded the boat's inside. This is a man at home on the water.

     The film's title provides a lens through which to interpret it. The cumulative whole of "Our Man's" losses will amount to his everything (ALL Is Lost). Redford suffers the first of his losses by way of the cargo crate. Though able to mend the tear it caused, the water that initially rushed in through the orifice it created destroyed all of his electrical navigation and communication equipment. The second of "Our Man's" losses comes at the hands of nature itself. Even the night before his sailboat's restoration is complete, Redford basks in nature's glorious sunset on the ocean. After his vessel is sea-worthy again, nature brings a rain that our protagonist stands out in not because he sees it as concerning but rather cleansing. Then one day "Our Man" employs a pulley to hoist himself up the mast, atop which he attempts to repair his antennae. There he spots nature's dark and foreboding cloud cluster, and the urgency that he seemingly lacked in his earlier repairs becomes readily apparent as he hastily lowers himself back down. And as he fastens and secures loose objects below deck and runs fresh water into a container to prepare for the coming storm, only fear can be seen in his eyes.

     A spectacular storm sequence sees Redford owe his life to a tether, his boat make 360° rotations a la Inception or Flight, and sails billowing underwater distract him from which way is up. And thus "Our Man's" second loss is assessed by nature's storm: his vessel's mast and sail. 1700 nautical miles from land, it is impossible to know the direction to go in without navigation, impossible to ask without communication equipment, and impossible to move in any direction without a sail. A third and even more devastating loss comes from the sea itself and Redford's fourth is self imposed. To describe either would be to rob viewers of the film's pleasures.

     All Is Lost is writer/ director J.C. Chandor's sophomore effort and a demonstration in restraint after his (inexplicably Oscar nominated) garrulous freshman foray into screenwriting: Margin Call. An anti-Life Of Pi that bravely refuses to describe its protagonist's wrenching struggle through any kind of monologue, at reportedly just 33 pages long, All Is Lost's screenplay is a courageous exercise in minimalism. The story's simplicity does not negate its gravitas, but the severity of "Our Man's" plight could have been even further illuminated beyond the script's details by a cinematographer's lingering eye. Frank G. DeMarco does compose some scope through aerial and underwater shots -for instance, a skyward-facing underwater view of a school of fish swimming beneath the shadowed outline of Redford's vessel (reminiscent of Jaws' upward-facing shots of dangling legs) captures their beauty but also serves as a reminder that all manner of sea-life (docile and dangerous) could lurk beneath the ocean's depths as well- but he never pans out far enough or long enough to imbue his celluloid with "Our Man's" isolation.

     In the unaddressed letter "Our Man" reads in All Is Lost's opening moments, he apologizes (presumably to loved ones) and outlines all the things he tried to be. He is their loss, and they, above all others, are the ones "Our Man" fears will be his. Each loss "Our Man" tries to prevent is to avoid the ultimate loss of his life; for with the loss of his life, would come the loss of those he loves. Redford is nameless and those he fights to live for unspecified. He is a canvas for the audience to project onto. What would you do? Who would you fight for? What do you live for? From its practicality-focused start highlighting a man's ingenuity, to its stressful-to-watch climax depicting desperation's last "all-in" attempt at salvation, All Is Lost (like this year's Gravity) is a survival tale that begs the question, "why live?"