(It's a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful world - except wherever the hell this movie is set. Or rather, wherever in hell...)
CAST: Morgan Freeman, Brad Pitt, Gwyneth Paltrow, R. Lee Ermey.
DIRECTOR: David Fincher
WARNING: Some SPOILERS and gut-punching gross shit straight ahead.
The plot of SEVEN, at first glance, isn't exactly byzantine. It's actually formulaic to the point of being ho-hum. But dig deeper, though, and you find yourself faced with a labyrinth of darkness, despair, and moral ambiguity. Kind of like stepping into a puddle - only to find out it's actually an abyssal trench leading straight to hell. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Our plot revolves around two detectives: (1) William Somerset (Morgan Freeman), a taciturn loner who is just six days away from retirement - and looks forward to it the same way a sex addict looks forward to a mind-blowing orgasm; and (2) David Mills (Brad Pitt), a cocky new kid on the block whose eager to prove his mettle in the big city despite having no experience besides being a Keystone Cop from "upstate" - which we can assume means: "the sticks."
Somerset is in that special phase that all soon-to-be-retireest hit which, in the military, is known as "F.I.G.MO." Or "Fuck It. Got My Orders." I can't imagine an inner-city police department is any different. Somerset, though, is a class act and goes about clearing his desk without gloating or rubbing his still-gotta-work-for-a-fucking-living colleagues' noses in his good fortune.
Want further proof that Somerset is an okay guy? Well, he also agrees to mentor the aforementioned new upstart David Mills and show him the ropes. Given that Mills is a bit of swaggering dickhead, I think Somerset has moved beyond being "okay" and a "class act" into the realm of "prime candidate for Sainthood." Somerset probably also thinks that nothing exciting will happen during his last week of service - and that the most distressing thing they'll face is a donut shop that closes early.
Well, not quite, Bill...
Right on cue, a brutal series of murders grips the unnamed rainy city that Somerset and Mills are policing. First, they are called to a crime scene in a grimy apartment where a fat fuck has apparently gorged himself to death on Spaghetti-O's. Now, I know how wonderful Italian food is and while I can't think of anything else I would sooner gorge on (besides certain unmentionable body parts of Russell Crowe, Chris Evans, and Uma Thurman), let me just assure you that Spaghetti-O's are not Italian food. To put it very mildly. And just to make things even more intriguing, our good detectives discover the word "GLUTTONY" carved into a wall nearby. Gee, you think?
Next, they receive word of another murder. This time some slimy pederast is basically starved to death or something in a room full of hanging car deodorizers. To help get rid of the stench of his slowly decomposing body, I guess. And you thought that death-by-Spaghetti O's was the worse thing you could expect from this movie. You have no idea what's waiting ahead of you. Oh, and the word "SLOTH" has been carved into a nearby wall, as well. Hmmmmm..... Methinks that "ROTTING LIVE CORPSE" would be more accurate.
As if those two fun-filled adventures weren't exciting enough, our heroes are then called to the luxurious apartment of some beautiful, vain chick. We know she's beautiful because a picture of her hangs right above her bed. We know she's vain because... a picture of her hangs right above her bed. And right below said picture is our beautiful, vain victim - dead as a doornail and missing her nose. But that's not what killed her. Nope... no, sir. In one hand, she has a bottle of sleeping pills super-glued to her palm. In the other is a cordless phone - superglued, as well. On the wall above her, the word "PRIDE" has been etched in blood. Somerset quickly deduces that the following happened: (1) our sadistic killer sliced her nose off; (2) glued the bottle of sleeping pills to one hand; (3) glued the cordless phone to the other; (4) then gave her a choice of killing herself - or calling for help. Guess which one she chose?
And just like that, Somerset realizes that a serial killer is at work here. Thank you, Detective Obvious.
Not long after this not-exactly-shocking revelation, Somerset also deduces that the killer is basing his murders on the Seven Deadly Sins - and has an agenda. With the murder for Gluttony, Sloth, and Pride out of the way, Somerset warns his superiors that four more based on Lust, Greed, Envy, and Wrath will soon be visited upon them - and they have to track this sicko down before he completes whatever fucked-up plan he's got up his sleeve. Not exactly how Somerset planned to spend his last week on the police force.
Will Somerset and Mills catch their killer before he kills again? Or has the killer been ahead of them all this time? How do the detectives fit into his overall plan? Will they lose their lives in the process? What about Mills' wife, Tracy (Gwyneth Paltrow)? Will she decide she's had enough of this rainy, grimy, unnamed city and move to Maui to hook up with hot Scuba instructor?
I would. In a fucking heartbeat.
BUT, SERIOUSLY: I vividly remember the first time I saw SEVEN. It had just come out in 1995, and I didn't hold up much hope for it because it seemed like yet another SILENCE OF THE LAMBS-wannabe. I went into the theater with low expectations - and came out feeling like someone had slammed a log into my mid-section.
I truly don't want to spoil the film too much for anyone who hasn't seen it. This is one of those films that works best the less you know about it going in. Yes, you too will be sucker-punched like I was. Suffice it to say, SEVEN takes the darkness and brooding atmosphere of JENNIFER EIGHT - and magnifies it by tenfold. It is not afraid to subvert our excpectations - even to devastating effect.
But I should stop now while I'm ahead of myself - and before I spoil anything for the uninitiated. Those of you have seen SEVEN know what I'm talking about, and I'm sure you appreciate my keeping the plot cards close to my chest. Suffice it to say, SEVEN's unrelenting doom and gloom paved the way, for better or worse, for future nightmares like the SAW and HOSTEL films. Even its jittery and surreal opening credits style is still being copied to this day (see GIALLO - or better yet, don't).
What I will say is this: the movie is near-perfect. It's like a cold, lethal steel trap that gradually tightens around you before slamming shut with a vengeance - trapping its terrific cast. Morgan Freeman is the picture of gracious gravity as Somerset, while Brad Pitt vividly captures David Mills' insecure swagger and also his vulnerability where his wife, Tracy, is concerned. Speaking of Tracy, Gwyneth Paltrow turns her into a radiant pool of light amidst the disturbing darkness around her - much like Uma Thurman's Helena Robertson in JENNIFER EIGHT, a film that has an obvious influence on SEVEN.
That's all I'm going to say. I'd be preaching to the choir for those who have already seen it and know how great it is, and I'd be revealing too much for those who have yet to see it - and that would be a shame.
Bottom line? If you haven't seen SEVEN, see it now. But be prepared to be haunted for the rest of your life.
