The Missing Person
By: Amy Nicholson
Writer-director Noah Buschel has made a throwback film that also starts a new genre: the 9/11 noir. He’s got a detective, John Rosow, a grieving, grumbling drunk played to perfection by Michael Shannon, a handsome kook whose turns in Revolutionary Road and Bug have earmarked him to be the next Jack Nicholson (or at least the next Christopher Walken). He’s also got two mysterious bosses (Paul Adelstein and Amy Ryan) and a target (Frank Wood) who looks like a bland balding businessman but has a Mexican child in tow. It isn’t giving too much away to reveal that the man is a World Trade Center survivor (Rosow’s wife wasn’t) but his near-death escape has triggered him to drop out of the life of someone who’s willing to pay $500,000 to get him back. Buschel lets the intrigue unfold slowly, placing the men on a train from Chicago to Los Angeles and, like it, taking needless detours that make the most memorable scenes in the movie. As the drama shudders to a stop it goes off the rails, scrapping the soured coda it established so calmly in its initial stretch. But Shannon makes the trip worthwhile. He jitters, squints, drinks, dreams and growls, toughening his square good looks with the beaten face of a hunting dog with no better options. It’s a hell of a performance and as ever, I can’t wait to see what he does next.
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