Mark Reviews Movies: MASS

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Review by Mark Dujsik | October 7, 2021

At the start of Mass, a meeting is to happen in a small, isolated room in the basement of an Episcopal church, somewhere among the fields and mountains of some part of the United States. The people participating in this gathering and the discussion at hand are a mystery initially, but from the way a church employee and the woman, from some counseling organization or service, who arranged the meeting speak of it, this will not be an easy or comfortable time.

Everything has to be perfect, but it cannot look as if it's perfect. The snacks that the church worker bought are nice, but the four people gathering here probably won't notice or want to eat anything. A box of tissues is almost certainly going to be necessary, but if they sit on the table, the sight might make the four feel awkward or uncomfortable.

While making these preparations, we note that even the conversation between the church employee and the woman from the unspecified organization has a pleasant, apologetic, and choppy set of qualities. It's as if the matter at hand can only be referred to in vague ways, and the vagueness itself is a cause for contrition. Some things have to be said, and some of the matters that seem vital simply cannot be spoken. To say it aloud would be to admit, accept, and confront the unthinkable. Statements are left unfinished, and those ellipses possess a noticeable weight.

This surprisingly lengthy prologue begins writer/director Fran Kranz's debut film, and the effect is mysteriously engaging. On a dramatic level, all of this talk and, more importantly, talking around what's about to happen in this tiny room offers a sense of suspense. What topic could possibly require so much caution but be so essential that this meeting has to occur?

In another way, the opening scenes set up a kind of dramatic promise. These are the things of which ordinary people refuse to speak or are incapable of saying. Once that meeting begins, though, they will be said, because these characters, whom we have yet to even meet, know better and need to speak more than anyone else.

It almost feels a bit like cheating to reveal the subject of Kranz's story, because broaching the topic is a challenge even and especially for the two couples at the heart of this meeting. When the four finally meet, they introduce themselves, even though they had met in passing at least once and years ago before this gathering, and talk about travel, ask how things are going in their and their families' lives, and sit in heavy silence.

The pleasantries, the apologies, and the choppiness are here, too. Then, one of them brings up some photographs. Each of the couples was asked to bring some pictures of their respective sons. Jay (Jason Isaacs) and Gail (Martha Plimpton) have brought photos of their son Evan. Richard (Reed Birney) and Linda (Ann Dowd) look at them, smiling and laughing with the other couple. Richard and Linda brought photos of their son Hayden, but she cannot bring herself to show them after all of this. She did bring a jar, in which her son used to keep snails as a kid, until he realized captivity wasn't good for them.

There was caring in Hayden once, the gesture pronounces. Linda needs to people, especially Jay and Gail, to know that, because her son is now only known for one thing: the fact that he murdered multiple people, including Evan, in a mass shooting at school, before shooting and killing himself.

The film, then, is mostly composed of an extended conversation between these four people—all of whom have suffered unimaginable loss and have no idea how to explain, rationalize, or find meaning in such unnecessary violence and suffering. That understanding is one of the main reasons this series of dialogues and monologues works, as unwieldly and cumbersomely crafted as some of its specific topics, transitions, and simplified resolutions may be.

Franz doesn't want to assign blame, either personally or politically (although there is an early debate about gun control, which speaks in such broad terms that it feels like getting the issue out of the way), or to put one character's grief above another's or one couple's loss over the other's. Indeed, grief and the absence of comprehension are the great equalizers here. It doesn't weigh more on Jay and Gail, who want answers about what in Hayden's life brought him to commit such an atrocity, just as it doesn't weigh less on Richard and Linda, who have been asking the same questions—of how and why their son could and did kill Evan and those other people—without coming to any clear conclusions.

The answer here—that there isn't an answer—is painfully honest. So, too, are the four central performances, which Franz wisely captures mostly in close-ups—so that we can observe how these characters' thoughts and emotions control the discussion—and two-shots—so that we can see the unspoken interplay between the couples.

A few pieces of trickery and technique (switching from static shots to handheld ones, cuts away to an empty field, and a change in aspect ratio) are distractingly calculated. None of it is enough to divert attention away from how these actors establish their own characters (Jay playing peacemaker, based on counselling tips, and Gail almost searching for reasons for confrontation) and the respective dynamics between the couples (how Richard and Linda seem a bit hesitant and distant, after years of attorney advice and training).

Even if some of the film's specifics risk working against its best qualities, Mass ultimately and in general succeeds. It's a tough and honest film about the work of grieving, healing, and reconciliation, with others and with oneself.

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