In the Hood

Three directors tackle the Yorkshire Ripper in the Red Riding trilogy.

by Sam Adams

RIP HER TO SHREDS: Andrew Garfield is an intrepid reporter in Julian Jarrold’s 1974, the first entry in the Red Riding trilogy.

[ movie reviews ]

[ B ] Red Riding: 1974 | Directed by Julian Jarrold

[ B+ ] Red Riding: 1980 | Directed by James Marsh

[ B- ] Red Riding: 1983 | Directed by Anand Tucker, An IFC releaseOpens Friday at Ritz at the Bourse

To an extent unseen since the days of The Perils of Pauline, cinematic serials reign resurgent, and with the sagas of Harry Potter and Bella Swan dominating the box office, it's past time for the indies to get in on the act. The Red Riding trilogy, adapted from a series of novels by David Pearce, offers some of the satisfactions of its more costly cousins; it's not a heroic coming-of-age tale but a dense, sprawling tapestry that finds its way into every dark and seamy corner of the north of England.

The three films, chronologically subtitled 1973, 1980 and 1983 and directed, respectively, by Julian Jarrold, James Marsh and Anand Tucker, cover a decade in the history of Northern England, pivoting on the hunt for the notorious Yorkshire Ripper, who was convicted of murdering 13 women between 1975 and 1980. The Ripper himself, however, makes a cameo appearance only at the end of the middle film. (A fourth novel, covering the bloody year of 1977, was omitted for financial reasons.)

The trilogy's Yorkshire is a wild outpost ruled by lawless policemen and a corrupt church, a seething cesspit where even a prolific serial killer is only a symptom of a larger disease. In 1980, Paddy Considine's detective Peter Hunter is brought in from Manchester to jump-start the Yorkshire police's fruitless search for the Ripper, but he finds the locals more interested in protecting their turf — and their secrets — than catching the killer. "How deep does the rot go?" he asks. "Who stops it?"

Taken as a whole, the trilogy's films suggest that the former question is more the province of philosophers than lawmen, and the answer to the latter is, simply, "No one." As adapted by Tony Grisoni, each film follows a protagonist or two's attempt to uncover the truth: In 1974, ardent but overmatched reporter Eddie Dunford (Andrew Garfield) tracks a string of child murders to the doorstep of a powerful real estate magnate (Sean Bean); Considine's Hunter goes after the Ripper and the unscrupulous cops who have botched the manhunt, in 1980; and 1983 splits its story between John Piggott (Mark Addy), a solicitor trying to free the mentally retarded man scapegoated for the first film's crimes, and Maurice Jobson (David Morrissey), a corrupt detective who helped botch the initial investigation and now seems inclined to make amends. But for the most part, their proddings only roil the depths, stirring up actions as nasty as those that set them on their paths. They may briefly command the spotlight, but Warren Clarke's brutal police chief and Peter Mullan's unnerving priest persist through all three films, as does collaterally damaged rent boy Robert Sheehan.

PADDY CAKE: Paddy Considine’s morally upright, spiritually adrift detective from James Marsh’s 1980 has the richest part in the Red Riding trilogy. (CLICK IMAGE FOR LARGER VERSION)

The three films are visually distinct: 1973 is shot on 16mm, 1980 on 35mm and 1983 in dingy HD, but they rise and fall largely on the strength of their central characters. Considine has the richest part, a morally upright but spiritually adrift man whose professional ethics are more secure than his marital fidelity. There's a sense of personal anguish mingled with his righteous crusading that gives the film a depth the others lack. All three impart a sense of fetid moral decay, a place where the police proudly boast that "we do what we want." But their unleavened squalor begins to feel monotonous, even sophomoric, over time. After a while, it doesn't feel like there's anything left to be lost.

Each film is enriched by their collective detail. Recurring minor characters, some mentioned only repeatedly in passing, create the feeling of a world larger than any one story, which adds to the sense that every lone crusader is hopelessly overshadowed by the enormity of his target. But it would have been a richer experience had they played off each other rather than simply extending the argument. It's one story in three parts rather than three complementary stories, and is probably best experienced as such. (The Ritz is showing all three films back-to-back this Sunday and Thursday.) For all its scope, Red Riding could have stretched much further, and been broad rather than merely big.

(s_adams@citypaper.net)