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Visual:		9.0
Audio:		7.0
Acting:		8.0
Writing:		7.0
Score:		8.0

Director(s):	Jeremy Alter
Writer(s):	Anton Pardoe
Starring:	Anton Pardoe • Roselyn Sanchez • Patrick Bauchau • Sam Thakur • Tony Amendola
Genre:	Action • Indie • Thriller
Release Date:	March 20, 2009
Rated:

The Perfect Sleep’s official synopsis bills it as the world of Dashiell Hammett populated by the characters of Dostoevsky, mixed in with martial arts. Tall order. Naturally, I assumed that the prevailing portion of the three would be the Hammett, given the noir-tinged visuals. Imagine my surprise, both in bemusement and amusement, that the Dostoevsky reigns in this independent production. The Perfect Sleep is existential and dense, with a sharp moral core and family schisms recalling The Brothers Karamazov.

Anton Pardoe is both the writer and the brooding star of the film, a Sam Spade type fella known to us only by his nickname The Mad Monk. He returns to a timeless city (old clothes, old cars, but new guns and gadgets) after a long exile, to help his object of affection Porphyria (a voluptuous and affecting Roselyn Sanchez), no doubt named so for the pain she causes the men who fight over her. To do this, The Mad Monk must take on the criminal empire of his maybe-daddy Nikolai (played with great subdued-villainy by Patrick Bauchau), forcing the Monk to attempt maybe-patricide. This sets him off on a violent quest filled with memorable characters. Special attention must be given to Tony Amendola’s quaint and hilarious performance as some kind of doctor-ninja who takes great pleasure in giving his victims a full medical understanding of how they’re dying as he kills them.

The exact circumstances of why our anti-hero goes through all this is not easily explained, and I don’t think I should bother. That experience is part of what sets the film apart from a simple homage to film noir. The first act is bogged down with a complicated dynasty war via a series of narrated flashbacks almost too surreal to follow, but the pretty visuals and the suggested Shakespearean calamity keep it from grinding to a halt. Once the stage is set, though, it’s back to the Monk walking in the shadows and dishing out violence, and it’s pretty much nonstop excellence in its barrage of action and style—like a smarter, bolder, cooler Sin City. First time director Jeremy Alter nails the spot-on visuals, keeping the film properly dark, lit just enough to register the beautiful locations. During action scenes, Alter’s camera is elegant yet brutal.

The 1967 French hitman film Le Samourai pointed out an overlap between these hardboiled toughs and the samurai’s Bushido code, and here we find some allusions to that in The Mad Monk. It’s neat to see this contemplative dark crime story suddenly burst into a violent fight movie. Like any down-and-out noir protagonist, the Monk gets the living bejeezus kicked out of him at every turn, but always comes up for more. It’s that kind of stubborn that makes pulp characters like him so awesome.

Sure, the film is definitely flawed, and more than a little stilted in its pacing, but it has so many great ideas and brave executions that it’s pretty hard not to get caught up in the film’s dreamy narrative. Part of it is Pardoe’s intense performance, a powder keg packed too tight for most of the film until it explodes in the climax—surprisingly emotional. Pardoe also does a great job keeping the narration as cool or as witty as it need be. A crucial feat, since his voice is the viewer’s trustful guide through the expositional flashbacks. It reminds me of one of my favorite film noir, Blast of Silence, in its relentless stream-of-consciousness babbling, and it’s fun. Like a lullaby that won’t let you sleep.

What I found most fascinating, however, are the language and the talking points. The dialogue switches back and forth between gumshoe noir-speak and verbose philosophical talk, which, amazingly, fit in together like Legos. The self-comparison to Dostoevsky may be pretentious, and the film is pretentious in many ways. I don’t see it working any other way, though. The characters are so entrenched in Greek—or should I say, Russian—tragedy that it’s almost an essay of the trapped nature of this genre’s archetypes.

“You might think this is one of those stories that make sense in the end,” our grizzled narrator warns us in the beginning. “It’s not.” I’m glad it isn’t, because that’s what makes the film so trippy, so elusive, and ultimately fascinating. The Perfect Sleep is a great example of an independent production that breaks free of its budget constraints and, for all its references and hark-backs, does unique things. Even if not all of them works, the effort is appreciated. That it manages to kick so much ass is even more appreciated.