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Tony (2009)

Dir: Gerard Johnson

Tony (Peter Ferdinando) is a misfit, a loner and a total outcast from society.
He has no friends, no acquaintances, no social structure, no plans, no dreams…and he’s also a serial killer.

So come and spend some time with the most dangerous nobody in London…..

 

Birthed from a short film (that basically just took in two scenes of the extended movie) this feature debut from director Gerard Johnson is a mixture of the sublime, the grimy, the bitingly realistic and the blackly comic (in its utterly astute observations on life) in its essay of a faceless nothing in a big city.

Filmed in 16mm and shot almost completely on location in London (and parts of Manchester) “Tony” perfectly captures that gritty, dirty, desperate and schizophrenic existence of low lives in low places and with its cast of mostly new and amateur to film (though very good) actors this look and feel to the visual aspects of the movie is backed up by the drama of the piece.

With various aspects of Tony’s personality and traits based on real life serial killers and with a screenplay completely embedded in everyday realism, even the generally insignificant aspects of that reality, “Tony” not only draws the viewer into its world almost to the point that you truly could be an invisible being following Tony around, but from a purely cinematic point of view it’s the closest British horror cinema has come to that grimy exploitation aesthetic not only of its own late 60’s/early 70’s output (including a spot on title card throwback to the days when the copyright always appeared under the movie’s name) but it’s also the first time ever that a British film has truly captured that fascinating underground, everyday life, vibe of something like “Driller Killer”.
Modern London this may be (and it captures that perfectly), but dear reader we are also amazingly transported back in time to 70’s New York.
But Abel Ferrara’s deranged artist with his Warhol groupies is a social giant compared to Tony.
Even Henry from “Henry Portrait of a Serial Killer” (another close relative to the film) had Otis and a girl, hell even Travis Bickle (briefly) had Cybil Shepherd and of course a proper job and work colleagues.
Tony, literally, has nothing, no one, and never, ever, will do.

This grimy realism and closeness to underground cinema of yesteryear is pulled off by all aspects of the movie in general but by two things in particular.
First is the utterly wonderful screenplay (by Johnson) that not only captures the most mundane, tacky, tragic, desperate, sleazy and dangerous moments of Tony’s existence but the finely attuned observations as well about the people he comes in contact with.
Tony himself has so much added to his psychological make-up by the simple idea that the only scraps of entertainment in his flat (indeed, outside of aborted visits to prostitutes and calls to prostitute cards stuck up in phone boxes, in his life) are a tiny old TV hooked up to an old VHS player and a stash of 2nd hand action movies in a drawer. This perfect observation shows us exactly how out of step, how lost, Tony is to almost all aspects of a growing, evolving, society.

Second is the truly amazing, almost genius in its observational detail, performance by Peter Ferdinando.
From his look (the shaved at the sides, straggly and greased on top, hairstyle, the bad moustache, the old charity shop clothes, the unflattering glasses) , his mannerisms (weak attempts at bravado and awkward attempts to engage others, the often despairing contemplation, the shuffled walk and utterly lost, head down, uncertainty of his body language) and his schizo personality where the dreary awkward misfit and victim suddenly explodes into a clinical killer who briefly becomes the most dangerous person in the room, all is magnificent.
His dialogue deliver is perfect as well as every little nuance and tone is finely crafted to give us perhaps the least flashy but genuinely unsettling and realistic serial killer essay seen in cinema. Truly.

There are numerous wonderfully observed sequences here, the opening accidental hook-up with a couple of drug addicts becomes the only time in the film where Tony actually works his way into any kind of social group and that’s purely because he offers to chip some money in for the drugs they plan to buy. But we are never under the delusion of any kind of acceptance of Tony here.
As such Tony is shown to be even outcast from societies outcasts…and even more alone.

The blackly comic aspects of the screenplay’s perfect observational skills come into play during a scene where Tony is picked up by a bombed, obviously desperate for any easy offers, guy in a (wonderfully) cheap and tacky gay dance club.
Once back at Tony’s flat though any sexual ideas that Tony may have had are now completely gone as reality smashes briefly glimpsed fantasy to pieces. Tony is utterly at loss with his own sexuality, having no idea about whether it’s men or women he craves and is ultimately unable to do anything with either.
So as Tony tries to get the guy to leave, the man simply wants to grasp any benefit from all the trouble he’s gone through and proceeds to dance loudly, creating his own beat by stamping on the floor which results in an increasingly frantic Tony pleading for quiet because of his neighbours in the flat below.
By the time the guy has ingratiated himself into Tony’s bedroom Tony has already locked himself in the bathroom, now completely powerless, hopeless and desperate…which is when he is at his most dangerous.
Again, astonishingly low key and realistic in its entire set-up. So much so that you can truly believe you are watching a microscopically accurate recreation of a court transcript during Tony’s trial about what happened that night.

The strangest moment is one that seems to be out of that realm of realism the rest of the movie exists in.
Out of the blue a female neighbour knocks on Tony’s door asking for a plaster as she has none and has cut her finger. Tony, having no untoward plans as he is simply not in that mindset at the moment, awkwardly lets her in and gets her a plaster.
This seems so weird and unlikely because she is a lone woman willingly going into a strange man’s flat and accepting a drink and having a chat with him. But it is the viewer, not the film, that creates this barrier between us and this (never mentioned again) sequence.
We have already seen Tony adrift and alone, cut off from society even though he has, as far as any of those that ignore or abuse him go, done nothing to anyone.
This woman is the opposite of this prejudicial judgement based on nothing. Why shouldn’t one neighbour seek help from another and strike up a friendly conversation (even an invite to dinner one day to meet the family) for someone who seems alone and who they live right next to?
Is that actually an alien concept? No, in fact it’s grounded in reality, even if it’s one we perhaps rush to judgment to condemn as fantasy.
An attitude that perhaps goes some way to moulding and forming a damaged, but not necessarily violent, psyche into one that becomes a serial killer as we become part of the environment that helped nurture the brute, even if we did it unknowingly and with what seemed like good reason.

The film’s only real failings are that this brilliantly low key approach that helps to create the masterful drama of the plot needs to be ditched (at least in part) as far as many of the grotesque and brutal aspects of Tony’s serial killer existence go.
We have followed Tony through his ‘normal’ moments and daily grind in such a realistically subdued fashion that we have almost been in his skin. A such we need to be with him when he cuts up bodies in the bath, arranges the rotting corpses in his bed and cracks open a man’s skull.
All of which occurs in the film, but all of which (a great looking severed foot in the sink and a couple of briefly glimpsed limbs put in a bin bag aside) we are never truly party to.
The dissection of a corpse is filmed from outside the bathroom through the open door…where once we were with Tony so minutely we are now kept at bay when it comes to that other part of his existence. The death, the gore, the reality of what it all means.
As such the film lacks that bite (for the most part, not always) it should have as far as the serial killer aspect of the plot goes. We needed to feel the saw struggle through dead flesh and bone just as Tony feels it. But we don’t.

That’s not to say the film does not have a couple of effective moments of (essentially sudden) violence though.
The throttling of a man with an electrical cord is made to look as painful, drawn out and hard as it would be to accomplish, an asphyxiation is pretty disturbingly crafted and an offal scene where Tony puts the guts into plastic bags is suitably in your face (though again, with no corpse to link them they could indeed be what they of course are…animal offal) but we film barely scrapes into it’s ‘18’ rating and for an otherwise superbly realistic serial killer film that’s a slight let down.

But although that’s a problem, it is a small problem compared to everything else that is so damn right about this movie.
Expertly acted (especially by the brilliant Ferdinando), astutely observed, microscopically astute, technically sharp, brilliantly directed and wrapped up in a magnificent, haunting, score (by ‘The The’ frontman Matt Johnson) “Tony” could do with a bit more dripping meat and perhaps an extra 10 minutes onto it’s quite short running time, but otherwise this is the finest, most frighteningly, essentially low key and believable serial killer film we have perhaps ever seen (even beating “Henry: POASK” as far as realism goes) and as such has nothing but my full admiration and wholehearted recommendation.
Another gem in the crown of modern British horror.