Chameleon (2019) Review
A parole hearing. Locked on the blank, bearded and attractive face of Patrick (Joel Hogan). Restrained and outfitted in a jumpsuit, he’s addressing his unseen parole board. Director Marcus Mizelle’s camera is locked in on a blank expression. As he says all the right things in a gratingly familiar Australian accent, there’s something off about the entire exchange. His delivery feels rehearsed, and his conviction isn’t there. It’s really from this moment that we can assume that something is amiss in Mizelle’s “Chameleon”.
An ex-con stuck in the grind of a menial job fitting the brief for his parole. He encounters a fellow inmate on the outside. His former protector Dolph (an increasingly frustrating single-dimensional Donald Prabatah) feels that he’s owed a debt. They hatch a money-making scheme that turns into an ongoing criminal partnership. Their plan, use Patrick’s attraction as a honey trap to dissatisfied trophy wives. While on an adulterous getaway, the enforcer Dolph stages a kidnapping. This leaves Patrick to awkwardly contact their wealthy partners and collaborate on complying on the demands to secure their joint spouse’s freedom.
Writer/director and cinematographer Mizelle shows technical aptitude that significantly elevates this tale of morally bankrupt crooks preying on the dysfunctional relations of the wealthy. The time unfolds in a free-associative and non-linear way. As the story progresses, we see a series of scores revealing and our leading man’s looks, hair, and fashion adjusting as well as interviews between victims and police interlocking in an assembly triggering accounts of trauma.
The targets here pose conflicting questions to the audience. Are these privileged people obsessed with image and consumption, disconnected from authentic experiences of love, really the worst marks? Perhaps not. Is the mastermind Dolph, a black man institutionalised by the suffocating racism implicit in the American justice system, righteous in his vengeance? Perhaps not. Nonetheless, preying on the vulnerable women has a pang of mounting guilt for Patrick.
After our criminal duo seemingly operating unabated, Mizelle opens the tale to the cops in pursuit, which I don’t want to divulge, to avoid spoilers. In the film’s single terrific action sequence – a pursuit to a roof that turns the L.A skyline into a stage is filled with tension and inertia. Understated searches, life and death stakes, giving air in the film to cope with a consequence, very underrated.
While I know that I’m inherently programmed laser focus on Michael Mann’s influence on American crime films, it’s not a stretch to say that Mizelle, is a fan. The most obvious a moment of Patrick’s moral contemplation with a mark in the hours proceeding another staged kidnapping; bathed in a “Manhunter” inspired blue light. As he’s focused in a moment of internal turmoil, his mark feels like the ocean depths are consuming her. There’s also another moment that Patrick is running on a treadmill in an opulent gym. He feels like he’s running above the ocean. This static run, toward but never reaching a boundless sea – feels like the same existential isolation evident in many films in Mann’s catalogue.
“Chameleon”’s performance chemistry is the single element of the film that reins in the entire experience. Reflecting on the film, it doesn’t feel right to say that there are elements of the story that aren’t well-articulated or could expand beyond a brisk running time. Joel Hogan is attractive and must be a mirror for the desires the characters to be the most perfect and seductive con-man. The relationships with the women targets didn’t resonate with me. None of the marks had a sexual tension that made you believe that they had relaxed their defences. Donald Prabatah’s idles at amoral, and it would have been nice to get more time (layers) of the character.
“Chameleon” and Mizelle’s command of the craft lingers in your mind. The story threads fade quickly, but formal decisions have a way of coming back in your mind. Framing of silhouettes in sunset runs. Voice over transitions to dialogue and back again. Time passing in familiar repetitions - new marks, new victims; and finally running on a treadmill into oblivion.
