There is nothing more common in human life than banality itself, a losing battle we insist on waging with the most hidden and less obvious ghosts that inhabit our most inaccessible depths. Useless thoughts about whether we use the time that life reserves for us most diligently, and this is the door to a cornucopia of questions that are so much more tiresome and even more meaningless, about the wild possibility of returning to where we were. Hours of sleep are consumed, which usually spill over into the workday, where, going beyond what reason and prudence advises, we contemplate, we weave the most insane digressions about how our journey would have been if we had taken this or that decision regarding such or such a matter; a powerful energy is expended in wandering meditations—which, though absorbing, do not withstand the flame of life outside—on what we would be if we were not, what we have become, and since every inconvenience can always hurt a little more, It does not take long to disappear how it came, and we also end up letting ourselves disappear into the maze of madness that makes us dizzy, full of passages that preserve the mysteries that we shall never reveal even to ourselves. At the end of so much self-sacrifice, after the relentless suffering to which we dedicate ourselves with gusto, we reach the end of a path that leads nowhere, filled with many more questions than when we started the crossing, without to know for sure what we want. And completely exhausted.
Certain individuals have a slightly sharper talent for suffering the minor and major ailments that life throws at us and escaping the abyss thanks to luck that is also out of the ordinary, as if they had the few tricks at their disposal at all times , as human nature can, if it takes care not to let yourself down – in many situations even without speech – and stay in the game. These creatures, made of a very different clay, prove that hapless people, women and men, in the world’s silent nonsense, can do anything they want – as long as they don’t get lost along the way and know how to complete their journeys on it least traumatic way. The protagonist of “Security” might have had everything to be one of Nietzsche’s supermen, one of those unbreakable types, steadfast in their mission to never throw in the towel, not even after the fight is over and lost, the lights out, the beginning of night, abandoned by the audience. Directors Alain Desrochers and Les Weldon never tell us for sure what terrible evil befell their hero – who the evidence points to is a classic anti-hero – but anyone can see the weaknesses that lead him to ask for help, even if the admission never crosses your restless head.
It’s impossible not to feel sorry for men like Eduardo Deacon, for those rare specimens of macho men from Antonio Bandera’s illustrious career. Almodóvar’s eternal muse, through the lens of someone who became world famous for productions in which he literally allowed himself to be stripped of prejudices – the case of “The Law of Desire” (1987) – pleads for employment with the social worker. Shari Watson. Eddie, a former army captain, unemployed for over a year, sits in an old can and runs all over town looking for a job, doubly desperate not to have his daughter around and his now-possible ex-wife. This lack of concreteness in strictly everything that concerns Bandera’s character is really annoying at first, but it is soon softened by the magnetic charisma of the actor, a complete scene stealer, and obviously by the excellent writing by John Sullivan and Tony Mosher, who far from solving any of the many mysteries surrounding Eddie’s character, it adds even more secrets to it, leaving the public with the delightful function of a detective.
Still in the first act, the main character, who has already been given the position given to him by the character Watson, as a security guard in a shopping center in a remote location, faces the challenge that will redefine his life forever. After overcoming his distaste for Vance, the boastful and vain boss played by Liam McIntyre, Eddie is approached by a girl, desperate for help. Jamie, by Katherine de la Rocha, manages to be even more enigmatic and disgraced than her would-be savior, and the partnership between the two is arguably what challenges the reader to know what it will all lead to, after all. The icing on the cake in a story whose noir is very well accentuated by Anton Bakarski’s photography, where blue-green and lead gray are dominant, is Sir Ben Kingsley as Charlie, an almost elementary villain, but according to everyone else also full of impenetrable gulfs.
Direction: Alain Desrochers and Les Weldon