The Iceman Review

• 1st Oct 2013

The Iceman is the vicious tale of infamous contract killer Richard Kuklinski who worked for a mafia family in New York from the fifties to the eighties. With an astounding (albeit approximate) 100 kills attributed to him, he was seriously good at killing people. Arrested and incarcerated in Trenton, he eventually died, possibly the victim of a possible mob-hit himself. The film covers his meteoric rise from pool shark  and porn distributor to murderous ice-cold killer, all set against the backdrop of his mostly peaceful, loving relationship with his wife and daughters who knew nothing about his later exploits. It is basically GoodFellas if Ray Liotta (who, not at all surprisingly, given his now permanent associations with all things mob, is Kuklinski’s boss here) was a mafia version of Hannibal Lector or Michael Myers.

With Shannon’s menacing presence, a rapid script and more than a sprinkling of stellar cameos and support cast (Winona Ryder, Chris Evans, David Schwimmer, James Franco to name a few) to bulk it out, the film should be almost perfect. Unfortunately, more than a couple of the rest of the cast give in to their obvious desire to over act. Stephen Dorff especially, as Kuklinski’s equally psychotic brother, acting up like a chimp with a fake ‘tache. Ryder’s annoying croaky-voice habit – obviously hoping to give herself some kind of gravitas – just comes off as someone doing the ‘sick voice’ for a day off work having hit the booze hard the night before. Schwimmer looks more like David Seaman (David Schweaman) in a velour tracksuit, complete with huge porno moustache. Go on, imagine it; it’s very distracting. Chris Evans, as Kuklinski’s sometime partner, Mr Freezy, is about the only one who comes off well. Despite his almost impossible-to-hide coolness, in full seventies dodgy hair/beard combo, Evans proves very much up to the role of the slightly cheery, definitely unbalanced contract killer.

Shannon, however, is just plain brilliant. His fury is a black hole, sucking the warmth from a room. His petrified scowl is an ice cold breath, whispering the promise of violence. Pretty tall in reality, on screen he is a solid slab of muscle, sinew and grimace, guaranteed to make grown men take a stumbling step back from him. Hulking-out in a pure rage at a flippant comment from his wife, he is one of the most chilling on-screen creations it is possible to imagine. So real and so ferocious. Given his fractured, tender performance in Take Shelter, this brutality is seriously incredible.

Kuklinski’s moral character is a little awkwardly probed by the film. There are some throwaway comments to his children about god’s lack of attention, coupled with his apparently sincere desire to see if a victim’s prayer would change his mind about a kill. These aren’t entirely successful in terms of creating any kind of depth to his nature. What does ring with more truth is the abused/abuser notion succinctly laid out for us by a short scene with his brother and a couple of swift flashbacks. This all so familiar, however, that it is almost unnecessary. Kuklinski really seems to be no more than a straight-up killer, whether he learnt this on his father’s knee makes very little difference to anyone involved. An eleventh hour please for forgiveness from his family is clearly framed in terms of the hurt he did to them, rather than to the victims of his murderous accomplishments.

The brevity of plot – unencumbered by a heavy script or too many of the larger questions – enables the film to focus almost solely on the powerhouse that is Michael Shannon. Given his talents this is no bad thing.

Hannah Turner