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UK/France 1999
Reviewed by Charlotte O'Sullivan
Our synopses give away the plot in full, including surprise twists.
Glasgow, the 70s. A dustmen's strike is on. Two boys, Ryan Quinn and James Gillespie, fight in a canal. Ryan drowns, James survives. James notices an older girl, Margaret Anne, being picked on by Matt Monroe's gang and the pair become friends. One day James decides to follow his sister Ellen when she takes a bus ride. Instead of finding out what she's up to, he discovers a new housing estate being built in the countryside. James' friend Kenny falls into the canal and is rescued by James' dad. Plans are afoot to relocate some of the families on James' estate to the new houses, but when the inspectors visit his house is in chaos. James' dad receives a bravery award for rescuing Kenny. Going home, he's beaten up by a gang of boys and at home hits James' mother.
The army arrive to clear up the refuse. James returns to the estate in the country, but the houses are no longer accessible. Back home he discovers Margaret Anne having sex with the older boys and begins rowing with Kenny, who blurts out that he saw James "kill" Ryan. Later James jumps into the canal, but images also show the family arriving at the new house with their possessions.
You can't help liking Ratcatcher. Like the canal that dominates so much of the film, Lynne Ramsay's painterly portrait of childhood drags you in. You believe in 12-year-old James, all Prince Charles ears and snappable wrists. You adore his mousy mother. You're glued to his sister Anne Marie (her bouts of giggles erupt like the foam around a shaken bottle of pop). But does it work? Ultimately Ratcatcher is most successful when scribbling in its own margins. The beginning, for instance, is a triumph, precisely because it isn't a beginning but an end. We follow the progress of Ryan, an intense little boy who all of a sudden dies. James' mother hugs him, saying, "I thought it was you," her skin shining with relief. The audience might say the same thing: we are temporarily dumbfounded, assuming our hero, our narrative centre, is dead. Ramsay has shown us a horrible possibility right from the start. We obey the Darwinian principle: we want to back a winner.
It's when the film tries to be linear that problems arise. James' father's rescue of Kenny leaves him in a stupor. As a result, when the council inspectors pop by, he and the flat are a sorry sight. And for some reason this jeopardises the family's chances of relocation. Why this should be so is never quite made clear, but Ramsay seems desperate to push home a grim message: good deeds are rewarded only by punishment. In the same way, Mrs Quinn's sweet request for James to have Ryan's shoes results in destruction (a box of possessions is smashed). Still more importantly, when James' dad helps a little girl by holding her kitten, he attracts the jeers of some macho lads and is beaten up.
Another message seems to be that good people are masochists. When James saves his friend Kenny's mouse Snowball from Matt Monroe's gang, Kenny himself then tries to impress the boys by attaching the mouse to a balloon and letting Snowball drift into the sky. Unprotected, doomed Margaret Anne also chooses to go with the older, abusive boys rather than stay loyal to James. Most crucially, James' mother takes back his dad after she's battered. Not only is the world a predictably bad place, but everyone in it seems wilfully self-destructive. In justifying the grim ending, the plot feels contrived. As central narratives go, it's just too neat.
Even more disappointing is James' relationship with Margaret Anne. In a scene in which they share a bath the pathos feels strained and she fails to become distinctive - she could be any giggling, uneasy-bodied girl. So when we see her betray James with Monroe's gang she really does seem a faceless victim, the "poor cow" that Kenny dubs her. (The reference to Loach's 1967 film seems particularly inappropriate. In Poor Cow, Joy's need for leery male attention is allowed to exist as a banal, pleasurable kink in her character, not a pathetic flaw.)
This is a shame, since James and Margaret Anne's relationship begins so well. There's one gorgeous scene, for instance, where Margaret Anne, having been poked by all the other boys, receives young James. In one of the film's many powerful silences we see him lying on top of her, as if he'd been there for ever, his brain as well as his body at peace. And yet the real tension in his character remains intact. As usual, his small-adult desire is to protect - he's covering up Margaret Anne's body from the other boys' lecherous gaze, keeping her warm, like a rug or an extra layer of clothing.
This brings us back to what Ramsay's feature debut does best. Ratcatcher makes you see the world with bigger eyes, revealing the layers beneath every surface. We're frequently asked to notice materials in conjunction with each other: flesh beneath curtain fabric, a bathtub beneath plastic, a toe beneath nylon, spectacles beneath water. These textures don't cancel each other out, they just add mystery, blurring our perceptions. The pugnacious Ryan, who begins the film twisted in a net curtain, is visible but we don't know whether he's in pleasure or pain - from the twists and turns of his dancing mouth, his mood seems enigmatically extreme.
The film works in the same way, providing an impression of intensity without judgement. Thus what might appear to be an easy distinction - contaminated rubbish versus pure countryside - is made complex. The rubbish is dangerous, but it's not aberrant. It's merely another layer, partially but never entirely obscuring the view. The council workers make us realise this when they judge the Gillespies' flat negatively. They assume the family are also rubbish and can't see the mess as simply the surface of the Gillespies' existence. And it's the council people, therefore, who are exposed as superficial.
In the radiant scene when the mother cleans the flat we fall into the same trap, assuming this is the start of good, wholesome things, but the family is just as fractured as before. Similarly, and most importantly, the dream that closes the film - a dream of life, wealth and nature - is as real (or unreal) as James' possible death. Ratcatcher has two beginnings; it also has two ends. The dream is a layer of James' consciousness that neither covers up nor is covered by the matter of his drowning. A layer of material can be read as a shroud: a preparation for, and protection from, the ultimate nakedness of death. William Faulkner would have loved the slow burn of Ratcatcher, a film that won't choose life or death, but makes perfect sense of the phrase As I Lay Dying.