Summary: With organic, character-based storytelling and artful technique, ‘Hanna’ is the way genre thrillers should be made.
Review: If you want to make a genre film, such as an action thriller with familiar espionage elements, there exists a principle that serves to prevent your story from being a stale retread: Character depth. From characters and relationships should grow, organically, the plot and action you want to see. ‘Hanna’ is a brilliant example of this principle in full effect. Every scene in the excellent screenplay serves to flesh out the titular character, in an oblique way that subverts genre expectations as often as it fulfills them. The filmmakers deliver a moving human story that works as a kickass action movie, too. This is doing it right.
Director Joe Wright exploits the close relationship between film and music, which renders aid to the dramatic theme of music as a critical part of human life. The action sequences play out perfectly with The Chemical Brothers’ genius score, a visual-for-sound beat synergy that locks the twain together in your mind. It pleases me to no end that I can now imagine the action in ‘Hanna’ with just the score playing as well as I can ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’. I hope The Chemical Brothers stay open to future collaborations with Joe Wright in particular, and film scoring in general. They’ve got a knack for it.
Visually, the filmmakers work both old school and inventively, as they use Steadicam wisely and lend the frame clarity and focus, instead of, say, kinetic obscurity ala Greengrass. Joe Wright notably executes a particularly badass tracking shot that lasts for about five minutes, the centerpiece of which is a brutal fight with Eric Bana. The whole film is beautiful, even when it’s dwelling on violent subject matter. When the composition and editing coalesce into something this gorgeous, there’s not much I can do but watch with a silly grin on my face.
What’s truly brilliant about the story is its subjectivity, as we experience the film from primarily Hanna’s perspective, and even when we divert to other characters it’s interpreted through her worldview. She grew up on Grimm’s fairy tales, an encyclopedia and Finland’s unforgiving wilderness — the scope of her experience colors even mundane objects like tea kettles and fluorescent lights. The villains morph, symbolically, into witches and wolves, teeth and claws and dark magic. As she evolves, so does her world, and while her lingering childhood innocence vanishes, it’s replaced with powerful self-knowledge, the apotheosis of the film’s tagline: Adapt or die. The fact that the filmmakers allow us to share her perspective so intimately makes this transformation powerful, regardless of whether the plot surprises us. As Eric Bana’s character simply observes, “Kids grow up” — and it’s best when we can grow up with them.