On Pablo Hernando’s movie — Berserker
To me yes, when the film is not just about the mystery, like Pablo Hernado’s Berserker (2015).
From Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie to more contemporary crime fictions such as True Detective, Stieg Larsson’s Millennium series, Gone Girl, etc… the world loves mystery. I love mystery ever since I know how to read. Perhaps, out of our primal instinct, we are all, to a certain degree, fascinated by blood and murder. We also love solving a puzzle. As a story goes we will gather hints and reconstruct the events ourselves. That is a truly fun part in reading a mystery fiction. It does not matter whether you solve the case yourselves or the writer present the killer(s) to you on the table, ultimately, for any mystery story, the readers/audience need to know who, how and why.
Strangely, out of mere coincidence, I have run into a series of open-ended mystery fictions this month. First Who killed her (1996) and I killed him (1999) by Keigo Higashino. Both books end with the detective pointing his finger to one of the suspects and declaring “you are the killer” without letting the readers know who the detective is pointing to. Higashino is probably one of the most renowned mystery writers in Japan and I reckon having one or two open-ended crime stories, whether he is experimenting or he just wants to tease his readers, will not hurt his successful career. He simply can afford it. However, as a reader, I have to admit that such ending does leave a foul aftertaste. The itch is there. But you are never going to reach it. Ever.
It is almost malicious.
Pablo Hernado, writer and director of the Spanish thriller Berserker, did not end his film in such a nasty manner. However, it does not change the fact that the mystery is left unsolved. When the movie finished and the end credits rolled up, the girl sitting beside me leapt forward, with both her palms raised to shoulder height, even in the darkness I could see her mouth wide open and her face expressing a big “WHAT?”.
Movie still: Elena and her research friends
Berserker is shortlisted in the 12th London Spanish Film Festival (2016). Hugo Vartán is a so-so mystery writer who has published two books. Sadly they did not sell very well and he is now struggling with a third one. In a house party he learns that the sister (Elena) of his flatmate’s boyfriend has been locked up in some mental cell for killing her boyfriend in a most gruesome way. Immediately he senses that this could be used for his new book. He set out to investigate the sister. The case turns out to be more sinister than just one murder committed by a drug affected young woman.
Elena, though in her family’s eyes no more than an unstable troublemaker, was in fact a very bright woman. She and her circle of friends all worked as researchers in the university, conducting some sort of virological research. No one can tell Hugo what exactly they have been working on because one by one, Elena’s friends all fell into grave misfortune some time in June last year: disappearance, coma, suicide, etc. The only things Hugo knows are that they all have been excited in something, they were taking turns in some challenges, they all have been to one remote place prior to their misfortune, and at least one of them has received an invitation that contained a small bundle of wheat in the envelope. As the story unfolds, something big, something malignant starts to take shape. There seem to be an involvement of a foreign pharmaceutical company. Or, have Elena and her friends been part of a cult? The danger is closing in. Hugo starts to feel it. We the audience could feel it.
Movie still: Hugo talking to his flatmate Mireia
In usual mystery storytelling, our writer/journalist/investigator, though threatened, will eventually overcome all obstacles and lead us to the final revelation. But Pablo Hernado’s usual thriller plot ends here. Our Hugo is not a typical thriller hero. Rather, he is a quitter. And his giving up comes quick — he hears a gunshot, doesn’t even know where it is from, whether it is directed to him, he just runs, he runs and runs and finally he is home and immediately he decides: the whole thing is too dangerous, I am no cut for this. I quit.
Our protagonist Hugo is not an action hero, nor does he possess Sherlock Holms’ style of analytical wit to sweep us off our feet with his unparalleled intelligence. He is no charmer to women. He looks geekish but in fact he is more a computer user than a hacker. He has wide eyes, wears thick glasses and plain cloths, unnoticeable enough amongst a crowd. He flat-shares with a friend. He has tight monthly budget. He shops in Tesco-like supermarket. He is self-centred, constantly nagging his flatmate for help and counselling. He is not a particularly interesting character. He is mediocre. He is ordinary.
Yet he is intrigued by this murder. He wants to write. He wants to make a good story out of it.
His misery is that he seems to know a little more and aspire a little more than the general crowd, yet he does not have the strength to take himself through it. His flatmate takes him to hiking in the Sierra. He is so exhausted that he gives up just before they reach the peak.
But who can blame Hugo? In real life how many of us can pursue something at all cost? How many of us are really up to the challenge? To go berserk? If all those heroes/heroines who never fail to solve one after another mysteries are dazzling stars, Hugo is weak. Weak but realistic.
Having given up his investigation. Hugo still has to finish the book. All he can do now is to make something up to connect all the dots together. He finishes it in 2 weeks, send it out, get the rest of the books’ money, go to buy a roast chicken, celebrate with his flatmate and at the same time announces that he is giving up writing. He will go back to work in the book shop.
“Yes, maybe you’ll be happier with a full time job.”
His flatmate concurs.
Movie still: Mireia checking if they are being watched
The cinematic design has made Berserker’s graphic subdued and bleak, probably intentionally. The compositions use simple, near-geometric lines from our daily settings to break the scenes down to blocks of earthy hues.
Looking plain and almost monotone at a glance, they are nevertheless very well designed. There is almost no wallpaper on the wall, no decorative furniture (but a lot of references to IKEA), no gadgets to tell you more about the characters’ personalities, no old and charming, winding streets and trendy cafes you usually associate with European towns. Everything is bare and basic. Even the food Hugo eats is bare and basic — a bag of potatoes, the food for him to survive between books.
Yet somehow, such bare and basic compositions deliver the thriller’s atmosphere just right. It is as if those excess of muted spaces have created a vaccuum to allow the overhanging danger, the cold sweat of fear to creep into.
Movie still: home of one of the deceased researchers
Reaching the end of the movie, we see Hugo visiting the print house to oversee the production of his new book. These printing scenes are cold and unemotional. We see a rather passive Hugo in and out of the shots. The gigantic machines are running at a mono rythm, paper in and paper out, stacks of post printed books piled on the floors, faceless except for a roughly scripted note on top of each stack. Workers move about with no expression. No dialogue. The factory scenes render the whole idea of creative publishing into mere manufacturing. It emits no more energy than a factory for canned food can do.
Perhaps, at the end of the day, this is manufacturing after all. Book shops, publishing houses also need to look at numbers. Hugo’s third book is clumsily put together in 2 weeks. It is not about creativity but about linking the bullet points together with tonnes of cliché to meet the deadline. Nevertheless, the book receives good comment from his flatmate. She is going to ask for a review from El País.
There is an empty feeling in the whole creative/writing industry.
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Berserker is a movie with layers of stories for the audience to read. You can use it to read Hugo as an archetype of someone who wants to but is also too afraid to do something different, or, you can just stay with the mystery. Yes the ending is open, but it does provide an abundant amount of hints for the audience to solve the case themselves. Everyone can have his or her own version of truth.
Or, you can use it to read life.
Life can be monotonous. Excitement dies fast. In the film, time is counted down by a bag of potatoes, just like our monthly wages. But Hugo has a theory: yes it may be just potatoes, but we could still use them to create a lot of varieties: boil it, smash it, fry it, or mix it with chips (also from potatoes).
At least it can be crunchy, sometimes.