Imagine a dead serious
“Network” written in the darkest pit of humanity, all humor strangled by an utter
lack of empathy, with the journalism game run by any dick with a camera. That’s
“Nightcrawler.” Jake Gyllenhaal plays Louis Bloom, a petty thief who one night
finds his calling: Filming accidents, murders, house fires, and drive-bys, the
fresher the gore the better for a top TV news slot. His “employer” is LA’s
lowest-rated station, a bottom feeder with the mantra of fear sells. His “boss”
is the vampire-hour editor (Renee Russo) who knows her middle age means job
death. Bloom speaks in Internet PR babble, product comments, and tweets, using a
deflated voice and spouting his love of accounting. He vibes Leo Bloom from
“The Producers,” if Bloom had no soul. (Not Joyce Bloom.) Looking starved with bulging eyes,
Gyllenhaal is a monster of success as he places civilians and police in
harm’s way for a sell. Director/writer Dan Gilroy never judges, he
shows us a mirror of journalism endlessly sinking in its race to hit ratings
and print money, where cameras are as dangerous as guns. This is the world
“Network” warned us about. A-
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