I have never been a part of a crowd so still and on edge as the audience for the new film Mass. I had the privilege of attending the Washington DC premiere of the movie (out this weekend in the US) where the tension in the theater was palpable. We were all there to share in the experience of this recent Sundance hit and hear a word from its stars and creators afterwards. What we were perhaps unprepared for as a collective was just how raw the emotions in that theater were going to get. What followed was a Q&A so tense and silent you could hear the crinkling of a napkin row behind you as it wiped away tears. What made this particular screening so intense? Undoubtedly, the film’s subject matter: mass shootings.
Mass follows a conversation between the parents of a child lost in a school shooting (Jason Isaacs and Martha Plimpton) and the parents of the perpetrator (Reed Birney and Ann Dowd). Years have passed since the tragedy occurred, and they have now agreed to meet together in person and clear the air. After several minutes of profoundly awkward chit-chat to break the ice, the four grieving parents finally gain the courage to put into words the complex feelings they have towards one another. The film plays out in real-time as these deeply wounded people sit alone in a room and discuss the events that lead to the horrible deaths of both their children.
As an American, I can say firsthand that the epidemic of mass gun violence has gotten to a place where everyone in the country has a strong opinion on the issue. It is a somewhat unavoidable topic. Unfortunately, it is also such a deeply politicized problem that it is near impossible to have a civil conversation about it. Mass manages to both address the political divide on the topic without getting lost in it. This is a movie about the conversation many of us can’t have, and it is riveting.
First-time writer/director Fran Kranz has taken a decidedly naturalistic approach to the making of this movie. Mass is in no way flashy. It is very somber and reserved in its pacing and cinematography, and yet Kranz has managed to keep it from becoming monotonous. The idea that this movie is almost entirely set at one table in one room is practically unheard of. That kind of claustrophobia is usually reserved for theater, and yet Kranz manages to make this feel both like a work of film and like it’s truly happening in real-time. All four performances are shockingly down-to-earth and deeply human as we watch these characters go through the many stages of grief together. As a result, my main criticism of the film is how brutal it is to watch.
Obviously a film on this topic has to be handled with reverence and care, but Kranz’s dedication to never breaking away from the discussion in the room cuts both ways. At a certain point the audience needs a release, and yet in Mass there is hardly one to be found. There is very little to break the tension in this movie, and that lack of levity makes for an exceptionally challenging watch. An important and necessarily difficult one, but difficult nonetheless.
Mass manages to be a powerful piece about a deeply political problem without feeling preachy or exploitative. If this is a conversation you are ready to hear, I strongly recommend you try. Its haunting dialogue and authentic performances will occupy space in my mind for a long time to follow. Yet through all of this, what’s most interesting about Mass is how it’s able to conclude on a message of hope.
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