Writer and director Paul Schrader continues his exploration of pathological loners with The Card Counter, an effective dramatic thriller that uses stylish, cool performances to hide disturbing ideas. Longtime fans of Schrader’s work will recognize many patterns: like First Reformed and American Gigolo, this is a riff on his “man in a room” series, where a solitary figure maintains a rigid code that remains obscure even to himself. If First Reformed is Schrader’s masterpiece – an opportunity to consider political and spiritual implications of his premise – then The Card Counter is a more traditional genre entertainment. Still, there are scenes of such raw pain and anger that their implications will linger long after Schrader’s familiar, convenient resolution.
Gamblers use card counting techniques to gain a modest advantage in blackjack. It is an easy concept to understand, although it difficult to master because it requires the player to maintain constant vigilance. Oscar Isaac plays William Tell, a skilled gambler who mastered the technique while he was in prison. He leads a modest life, earning just enough at casinos not to draw attention, at least until he meets Cirk (Tye Sheridan). Turns out William and Cirk’s father were acquainted at Abu Ghraib prison, where they were both interrogators/torturers under the tutelage of the civilian contractor John Gordo (Willem Dafoe). William was the fall guy, hence the prison term, while Cirk’s father died by suicide over what he had done. Cirk is a mess, drifting through life, so this spurs William into action. With the help of La Linda (Tiffany Haddish), he enters the competitive poker circuit so he can save Cirk from permanent ennui.
Control is the dominant force in William’s life. He asserts his control in scene after scene, while keeping his desire for it hidden. Sometimes the control is obvious, like when he dominates a poker table, but his other behaviors are more peculiar. In the seedy motels where he stays, he covers the walls and furniture with white linen, a kind of cleansing ritual that allows him the purity of thought. Like Ethan Hawke in First Reformed, he keeps a private journal and we hear his entries via voice over. The elegant, pristine composition of these scenes stand in contrast to the flashbacks to Abu Ghraib, where Schrader opts for sickly yellow and an exaggerated wide-angle lens that makes everything look like a grotesque funhouse. Sometimes William confides in Cirk, talking about his time here, and part of his ongoing guilt is that – at least on some level – he enjoyed what he did over there. Schrader suggests his hero is not seeking atonement, but patterns that keep those impulses at bay.
Oscar Isaac is one of our most charismatic actors, and here he strips away his inherent likability while he maintains a commanding presence. He is like a hero from a Jean-Pierre Melville film: stoic and reserved, yet ready to strike at the appropriate moment. This quality is also where The Card Counter finds its unexpected pleasures. He and Haddish share potent chemistry, and their scenes together are erotic in a way you would not expect from Schrader, who famously had a brutal Calvinist upbringing. Haddish is not merely a sexpot or love interest, but a shrewd professional who sees through William, respecting his privacy up to a point. Her character is a way for Schrader to take pity on his hero, since her absence would lead to a more serious, dire film. Then again, in films like The Last Temptation of Christ and The Walker, Schrader has shown us that no man is an island, no matter how much they resist.
Schrader is not known as a visual stylist, and yet his flourishes and choices here serve the material. Most of film takes place in casinos, with a mix of dim and garish light, and that sensory stimulation is at odds with William’s monk-like nature. Most of the dialogue is precise without sounding formal, and is only when William slips into passion that we sense Schrader’s rhetorical command. There are lengthy confrontations with William and the other people in his life, including John Gordo, and that is where Schrader’s themes click into something more cohesive and quietly frightening. He is a filmmaker teetering toward misanthropy, and it is only through the entertainment of his films that his philosophy can be absorbed.
The final encounter of The Card Counter is convenient insofar that it lets some characters off the hook, yet the scene immediately before almost suggests it is a fantasy. This is the true climax of the film, where William and John Gordo – at long last – show each other who they are. This kind of confrontation is common in thrillers and gangster films, yet Schrader stages it in a way that is intimate and without much catharsis. Control is a dominant force for these men, and in ways that will always escape Cirk and La Linda, pain is their only true currency.
Photo courtesy of Focus Features
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