User reviews

My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done is a complex, hypnotic drama starring Michael Shannon, Willem Dafoe, and Chloe Sevigny. The film starts with homicide detective Havenhurst (Dafoe), and his partner Detective Vargas (Michael Peña) being called in to investigate a recent murder. After scanning the scene for the basic details, Dafoe and Peña are made aware that the main suspect, Brad McCullum (Shannon) is across the street. After making contact with McCullum, the situation turns hostile when McCullum declares that he has two hostages.

To help facilitate the process of capturing McCullum, two close relations are interviewed. His fiancée Ingrid (Sevigny) and his former theatre director and close friend Lee Meyers (Udo Kier). Each person gives their own history about McCullum to Havenhurst in order to try and figure out what would make him kill this woman. The most disturbing park, aside from slaying the woman with a sword, is that the woman is also his mother.

The stage is set for Herzog to investigate the psyche of an intelligent, deranged man. The film is based on a true story where an actor who was performing in a Ancient Greek play about a man who kills his mother to avenge his father's death, does just that and kills his own mother. Herzog and fellow screenwriter Herbert Golder interviewed the actual man in an attempt to try and tell this remarkable story accurately. At the screening of the film, Golder said that the man was highly intelligent. I can't imagine what would posses someone to do this hideous act, but this movie tries to put together some sort of rationale as to what would lead a person to do this.

I thought that Shannon's character would be the most interesting, but after thinking it over I found that the other people in his life were even more peculiar. How could they put up with his radical behavior and outlandish thinking? Ingrid says that two years prior Brad embarked on a rafting trip to the Amazon with some of his friends. He was the only one who survived. After he returned Ingrid said he was different. Very different.

Why did she stay with him for so long when clearly he was mentally unstable? Why did Meyers, the director of the Greek play, put up with him that long? These people are more intriguing than a man who clearly is not all there in the head for one reason or another. I had a hard time getting past these questions.

What helped was the entrancing camera work and film composition that Herzog put together along with cinematographer Peter Zeitlinger. The slow tracking shots along with eye popping sets and locations create this feeling of foreboding. The eerie score composed by Ernst Reijseger, whose score is heard almost entirely throughout, gives the film a much needed boost by ingering in the background.

Shannon might have been a little over the top or under the top. It's hard to describe. He played it kind of flat but to a point where it was a bit much. I think he is really stepping into his own as a serious actor and roles like this are good for him. Very brooding and psychologically complex. The rest of the cast does a decent job, but nothing too dramatic, with the exception of Brad Dourif in the small role of Shannon' uncle. He plays a fiery ostrich farmer who does not approve of the lifestyle his nephew has chosen.

There is always something to like about Herzog's movies and sometimes there are things I very much dislike. I think this one needed a little more boost in the action to keep the audience fully interested, but there is still something here to take away.

Directed by Werner Herzog, produced by David Lynch - quite a lot for any film to live up to? The question is does "My Son, My Son..." meet expectations? The answer is probably not. Although it's an interesting misfire. Although the film was directed by Herzog it often displays Lynch's hallmarks; the constant foreboding music humming low in the soundtrack, the moments of quirky humour, the mannered dialogue and the weird characters, most notably Lynch regular Grace Zabriskie as the mother. It's almost as though Herzog is intentionally paying homage to his fellow left-field director, while incorporating some of his own personal concerns such as a crazy central character, weird animals, dangerous nature and, most specifically of all, a river trip in Peru! The film is like a collision of two of the most fascinating film directors of the past forty years. But for some reason, it never truly clicks together, which is of course enormously unfortunate.

The film is basically about a psychologically troubled man called McCullum who one day kills his mother with a sword. He holes up in his house with two hostages while a detective arrives on the scene and talks to his two closest friends, his fiancé and theatrical director. From here we are told various things in flashback about McCullum, while still observing events in the hostage situation.

The set up is quite promising really. There is potential for an interesting story. And the film does have some good oddball actors at its disposal, like Zabriskie, Willem Dafoe, Brad Dourif and Udo Kier. But maybe Michael Shannon is a weak link in the central role, as it is very difficult to empathise with him. This may not be entirely Shannon's fault of course as the character he is playing is somewhat hard to like; nevertheless, Shannon is often too over-the-top and it becomes tiring. Funnily enough Nicolas Cage was also completely OTT in his central performance in Herzog's recent Bad Lieutenant but for some reason he was brilliant – so go figure. Anyway, for whatever reason, the characters never really draw us in so that we care enough. On a more positive note, the film looks great and has quite a lot of moments of the surreal, often humorously so.

This is a film only for those who appreciate Herzog or Lynch at their weirdest. To not put too fine a point on it, it's not for everyone. Not an unqualified success by any means but bizarre enough for some respect.

And where is the answer, you might ask too. But then again, if you have seen at least one Herzog movie, you might know, that it isn't that easy with him. Michael Shannon gets a deserved major role (he was great in The Runaways for example). Other great actors fill in the rest of the cast. It's a great cast overall, even in the smallest parts. Which goes to show you, that Herzog indeed has something fascinating to offer for an actor or actress.

And the movie is very complicated with rich characters and strange events and turns. The narrative being either it's stronghold or weak spot (depending on your own feelings towards this movie). It is difficult to describe what I felt watching this. On one hand I was amazed, by what he did, on the other hand I was wondering if I really wanted to watch all that ... But again, that's Herzog for you.

Based on a true story where a young man with mental illness is involved in an old play about a man who kills his mother, who then kills his mother. The police are called and the man holds up in his house with two hostages while the police surround and try to begin negotiations. At this point the film appears like it will focus on this but instead we get a story constructed of flashbacks which mostly come from the perspective of Brad while also get nothing from him in the present. The flashbacks involve some that appear relevant (his experiences in Peru, his involvement in the play) and others than have no context (Brad wandering round China). The police action and interviews outside the house form the structure for all this but while in another version they would be the "all", here they seem to exist almost like a necessary evil.

I say this because the film seems much more interested in the flashbacks and in particular using them as a tool to bewilder, set a very strange tone and generally make the viewer feel on-edge. It does this very well and even stories which seem relevant are given a weird tone. This matches most interaction with Brad in the film, he is intense, makes no sense and his anger is often as sudden and unjustified as the moments that give him peace. I guess that the goal was to replicate the inside of his mind, of the delusions and the feelings that within himself make perfect sense but to everyone else is either bewildering or frightening or a combination thereof. If this is the goal then it is achieved and the only remaining problem is that achieving this goal is not the same as making the film work – perhaps it could have been but in this case it is not.

The structure doesn't allow us to experience Brad's mind, if anything it puts us in the minds of the police who have shown up from the outside. As such we think we know the score (because we have seen this genre like they have done this job) but yet what we then experience not only doesn't fit this expectation, but ultimately we are left none the wiser in terms of our understanding; the man and the crime remain an enigma with only the very obvious link to the play's themes being the "reason" (if there even is such a thing approaching that word). It is frustrating in this regard.

The delivery is mostly good but doesn't make it worth it. As director Herzog delivers lots of striking images and scenarios but I felt myself constantly pushed away by the heavy use of music – most of it caterwauling to my ears. It seemed to be trying to present a profundity that wasn't there (which I guess is how it appeared to Brad) but all it did was grate and alienate, because again I was already on the outside – the music just made the walls higher and the gates stronger. Shannon is great though – he has a marvelous intensity that he brings to each role and it is just a shame that the film doesn't help him much. He did a similar role recently in Take Shelter, where the film tried to bring us into his mental illness – that one did that much more effectively than this. Dafoe, Sevigny, Kier, Zabriskie, Hall, Peña and others all provide solid support and add the sense of a deep cast, but they are just structural supports for a film which prepares the base well but seem to have much to actually hold it together from there. That said, I did like that so many of them linked to other films from Herzog, Lynch or both.

It is a shame because it is rare to find myself so pushed away by Herzog as I was here. This is not to say that I always "get" him, but usually what he is doing has enough of interest and curiosity behind it that even when I'm outside his shop, he still draws me to put my nose against the window. But here it seemed deliberate to push me away, to prevent me understanding and I'm sure that was not the goal, just the side effect of the method of trying to achieve the goal.

"It's all a little confusing." No kidding. When you get a movie that says "David Lynch presents a Werner Herzog film", you know you'll be in for some weirdness. Though by the film's end I was under the impression, perhaps from being such a geek about both director's work (I've seen all of Lynch, most of Herzog) that it was more the Bavarian's doing and that Lynch wanted his name with it. Which is fine, but fans will find their interpretations as they will. For me it's a continuation not so much of a crime genre story like Bad Lieutenant Port of Call New Orleans, but of Herzog's oeuvre in general about man's plunge and practical capture by madness due to nature (i.e. Peruvian jungle). And for fans of the director, it should be quite an event to be able to possible walk from one theater in NYC or LA playing Port of Call New Orleans to see another playing My Son My Son.

And yet, for all of the good stuff going on in this film, I might be more inclined to recommend the crazy-but-lucid head-trip of Port of Call over the hit-or-miss affair of My Son My Son. In this case we get the story of Brad, a sometimes-actor who takes a cue from a Sophocles play he's acting in to kill his mother one morning with a sword he used as a prop for the play. As the cops surround his house (not knowing that he really has flamingos as hostages, naturally, named after Secretaries in the Johnson administration), his girlfriend and play director expound about his decline in his mental capacity. Some of this comes from his unhealthy relationship with his black jello making mother, and some of it from his disillusioned trip to Peru, surrounded by health freaks. Or, perhaps, something else triggered it that Herzog intentionally leaves a mystery.

Which, the mystery part I mean, would be perfectly fine. But the problem comes in the screenplay, and some of the acting, both counts that from time to time have given trouble in Herzog's work. The set-ups of the flashbacks are often unconvincing, and there's a disconnect I felt between Michael Shannon's character and his girlfriend played by Chloe Sevigny (I don't often beg for explanation, but really, why are they together, how did they meet, WTF man). And, sad to say for someone who always admires the weirdness, it almost goes to extremes into becoming meandering, a facet of Herzog's work that comes up from time to time, such as Even Dwarfs Started Small or Invincible.

But oh, such parts that make up this whole! When Herzog is able to really relay to a willing audience about Shannon's frame of mind through images, and how to construct the shots and landscapes of San Diego city or a Calgary interior "tunnel" or just random images like a piano playing by itself, it's truly wonderful. Hell, we even get images I hadn't recalled since Fata Morgana, where he has his characters intentionally (ala Brecht) stand in a frozen pose as if it's a freeze-frame, with eerie music accompanying them, and every so often you'll see an eye move or control of the body start to waver. What kind of balance is there for this character, or for the story about him? That the cinematography from Peter Zeitlinger is top-notch and surprising also should go without saying.

And yet saying it's somewhat of a disappointment from such a massive genius of cinema- and whether you like him or hate him Herzog's place in modern movies is wildly unique- I hope would mean as a compliment. Like, say, Synecdoche, New York, it's got incredible sights and moments, things of this world we haven't seen in a film in a while (or maybe ever) like ostrich farms and a 1920's gospel song put over cops with their hands up in a hostage scene. I just wish it didn't get TOO weird for me.

After lying in production limbo for almost fifteen years, director Werner Herzog finally managed to make his film, loosely based on the story of Mark Yavorsky, with the help of producer David Lynch. You would think a collaboration of two such instantly recognisable auteurs may cause problems or lead to a clash of the two directors' film-making ideals, but My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done is distinctively Herzogian, continuing the prolific German director's fascination with the quirky corners of the American South. By showing us the murder and the murderer within the first five minutes, Herzog removes any element of mystery surrounding the crime, and instead focuses on the mental disintegration of its protagonist, as well as placing his own spin on the familiar hostage crisis drama.

Detectives Havenhurst (Willem Dafoe) and Vargas (Michael Pena) arrive at the scene of a recent murder, where an elderly lady has been stabbed with an antique sword. Outside the crime scene, a man drinking coffee says something strange to Havenhurst, and shortly after, the detectives realise this man is Brad Macallam (Michael Shannon), the son of the murdered woman and also the murderer. Brad shacks himself up in his own home with two unseen hostages and a shotgun, so Havenhurst begins to delve into Brad's story, with the help of Brad's fiancé Ingrid (Chloe Sevigny) and his drama teacher Lee Meyers (Udo Kier). What they discover is a man changed by a recent trip to Peru, where he pulled out of a kayak trip at the last minute after hearing the voice of God telling him not to, only for everyone else to be killed.

This is certainly one of Herzog's 'smaller' films, following the almost mainstream and outlandish (but hugely entertaining) Bad Lieutenant earlier the same year. Yet Herzog is no stranger to budget, location and equipment constraints, and has made some of his best films under these conditions, and manages to tell an absorbing, sometime hypnotic tale of a wild man at odds with his surroundings. This is a recurring theme for Herzog - civilised man's struggle against the aggressive, unpredictable forces of nature - and here Brad seems to be isolated from society after witnessing the full force of nature at work. Why exactly does he kill his mother? No questions are truly answered, but the film is more interesting at showing you the factors that may have lead to this horrific act.

For the film to work at all, it must have an actor capable of delivering such complexities of the mind into his performance, and Shannon pulls it off perfectly. Quickly becoming my favourite working actor, Shannon is a towering presence, appearing uncomfortable in his own body, all mad eyes and slurred voice. At times it's almost hard to watch him, terrified at what he may do at any given time. Given that any mystery surrounding the murder is removed by Herzog at the beginning of the film, it's a real achievement that the film managed to be as exciting and absorbing as it is, with Herzog's unpredictable approach mixing flashbacks and faked freeze-frames with some of his familiar quirky topics such as wild animals, scarred terrains, dwarfs and a haunting score. A little gem, and as Herzog and Lynch discussed in their successful meeting, "a return of essential film-making" for the director.

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I'm a bit confused by this movie. Not by the narrative, as its quite simple, but by the purpose of it. Despite being directed by Werner Herzog, it feels almost like a self-aware David Lynch film - and I know Lynch was the executive producer, but from what I understand, he wasn't too involved. This movie has an interesting premise. A son goes crazy after a trip to Peru and ends of killing his mother who he loves dearly (so much so that he still lives with her as an adult).

A few unique characters are introduced, in addition to the very unique son and his very unique mother. A girlfriend, an uncle, and a theatre director, who all have unusual personalities, begin to fill in the holes of how the son came to murder his mother. It's not so much of a mystery though because there isn't really anything to find out. There's no catalyst that made him go crazy.

I'm confused by this movie because I don't understand the climax (if there was one), and I don't understand any of the characters (if they had any kind of development). I found the movie to be quite funny in certain parts, which is apparently uncommon according to a number of pretentious online reviews. Now that I think about it, it reminds me a little of Wes Anderson, because there are parts to this movie that are just plainly absurd - that's what's so funny. Still, the acting is fantastic and I felt fairly entertained through pretty much the whole thing. This movie's probably closer to a 6.5, but I can't give that, so it's a 7 for now.

A man, Brad Macallum, murders his mother and then holes up in a house with two hostages. During the standoff the police piece together what lead to this turn of events.

This movie initially looked very interesting, Directed by Werner Herzog, starring Michael Shannon, Willem Dafoe, Chloe Sevigne and Michael Pena and with an intriguing start, the potential was there for an intense, gripping psychological drama.

However, it was not meant to be. The plot meanders, the intrigue wears off very quickly, Macallum's motives aren't explained very well and the whole thing just feels superficial and empty. Despite the great cast, the performances feel very stagey and overly melodramatic.

Disappointing.

OK, maybe you have to be a Herzog fan to get this one. In its small and quiet way it's a classic Herzogian study of visionary madness and obsession, played out this time with mordant irony against the blandness of suburban San Diego. Brad, a brooding man-child who lives with his mom, gradually goes nuts, saying and doing increasingly unhinged (and funny) things to his clueless loved ones, played by goofy character actors like Udo Kier, Grace Zabriskie and Chloe Sevigny. Willem Dafoe plays the equally clueless detective called in when Brad, inevitably, explodes in a single (off-screen) act of violence. All the usual Herzog flourishes are here, though often played small: odd animals, oddball people, grimly threatening nature, useless bureaucratic procedures, civilization and its hapless inhabitants struggling to maintain order and etiquette in the face of the world's natural madness, violence and chaos. It's a wacky, Herzogian comedy of manners, very much in the tradition of many of his films from Dwarfs through Stroszek to Grizzly Man. If you like Herzog you'll probably like it; if not, maybe not.

One good thing to be said about Werner Herzog, he is certainly NOT predictable. I almost always enjoy his non conventional approach to whatever material he chooses to tackle. His stories are fascinating. Most of them are about madness, this one included

My Son My Son What Have Ye Done, can be considered a good film OR almost a good film. The question is how much you will be bothered by a sense of pretentiousness, which distorts story telling and leaves the viewer with questions. If you were to ask me what this film was about, I would say it is about madness. But if you were to ask me to explain it in a sentence, what the film is about, I'm not sure that I could. You get the impression that a message is trying to be delivered, something Oedipal related, but you are never entirely certain what that is. I liked the film on a more superficial level. Michael Shannon's performance is credible, even though he doesn't get enough to do. Ninety minutes is not enough time I think to tell this story, but one of the benefits is that it is never dull.

I've seen most of Werner Herzog's work, and it has taken me until this movie to notice, but he seems to have bizarre uses for animals. Take for instance, the monkeys in Aguire: the Wrath of God, the cows in Heart of Glass, the jellyfish in Invincible, and The lizards in The Bad Lieutenant. Here, Herzog offers us a farm load of ostriches. What it means is not automatically obvious. Perhaps Herzog simply admires the creature for its aesthetic beauty, but I think the idea is that the ostrich looks fragile and delicate, but can actually be quite vicious. Such a description certainly applies to Shannon's character, hence a connection

In various Herzog movies, you sense that he has a very dry sense of humour. It can be detected fairly distinctly in The Bad Lieutenant, and in a similar fashion, he spikes My Son My Son with three or four laughs. Brad Douriff's appearance in the film is almost a comedic element in itself

I think when all is said and done, what this movie needs more than anything is a bit more space to be fleshed out. The central character feels rather underdeveloped, and the story material seems a little unorganized, and given the related lack of explanation, it doesn't have quite as much to say as I think it intends to. My Son, My Son, never feels very important. It is supposed to be a deep psychological movie, but ironically it ends up feeling more like a very direct, literal experience with nothing to hide. By those standards, I think the movie can be enjoyed, but only if you like art cinema.

I, like many reviewing this film, are a BIG fan of David Lynch and Werner Herzog. I was greatly disappointed by this non-event of a film. Maybe it would have fared better as 1/2 hour television drama, but after an hour and 33 minutes, I walked away with an empty feeling. This movie never takes off nor goes anywhere. I'm saddened that two film geniuses got together and created this mediocre movie. The film looks good, the acting is competent, but what could have been a fascinating character study turns out to be an empty story. Lynch and Herzog always capture the attention of fans and critics, but this one slipped under the radar for good reason.

A compelling look into one man's slow decent into madness. Brilliantly directed and featuring a stellar cast, - including Willem Dafoe and Micheal Shannon - this film is both horrible and fascinating. It concerns a man whom, after acting in and becoming obsessed with a Greek play, chooses to do that which his character does; kill his mother with a sword used as a prop in the production. Although it cites David Lynch as producer, it's unclear what the director's actual involvement was with the film. The viewer gets the idea that Herzog is more paying homage to Lynch then anything. Watching this film is like watching a train wreck; it feels awkward and odd, but for some reason, you can't look away. I'd recommend this film for any Herzog or Lynch buff (the reference to 'Blue Velvet' is worth it) and anyone who likes bizarre, horror films. Otherwise, the average movie-goer might find this film pretentious and boring.

The credits haven't finished rolling, and I find myself racing to my laptop to warn moviegoers to avoid this colossal ostrich egg.

Werner Herzog, once my favourite director of all time, has for the last 20 years been slowly piling the dirt on his own grave. Let's face it, without Klaus Kinski's feverish madness to balance Herzog's drowsy nihilism, his films miss the mark by miles.

MYMYWHYD is no exception. We begin with a compelling plot and a potentially riveting storyline with potentially profound themes: A woman is found dead, apparently run through by a sword wielded by her mentally unbalanced son. It is slowly revealed that the son had been suffering some sort of stage-based psychosis, fancying himself the center of a Greek tragedy. Reading the DVD box, I was thinking to myself, "How could this not be awesome?!"

I'll tell you how. Despite its promising beginning, the film quickly devolves into one passionless ramble after another, punctuated inexplicably by Werner Herzog's vacation movies to South America. Apparently we are to surmise that something in South America drove the young man mad, but aside from that there is no substance. It's as if European/American audiences are supposed to be dazzled by the mountains, clouds and unfamiliar native faces into thinking something significant happened.

Kinski would've been able to pull this off, and he certainly has. This is precisely the same recipe used in "Aguierre the Wrath of God" and "Fitzcarraldo", two of my top films. A man tangles with the crushing power of untamed nature and loses his mind. I repeat, Klaus Kinski was da man. But how long can Herzog try to milk this same formula with sub-par talent? It's like your favourite 70s rock band (Genesis, Foreigner, Journey, etc) having lost its passionate frontman and trying to carry on for 20+ years with some new weakling in the saddle every album. At some point you have to accept that the band is dead. Or at least they should move on to a new sound altogether (like Toto. Now that band has released some kickass stuff in recent years!).

Enough of Klaus Kinski & classic rock. I was just trying to make a point that Herzog's latest efforts are falling flat due to his obsession with the old Kinskian themes that made him once great. Mr. Herzog should change the act altogether. Despite my utter disappointment in Herzog, I will continue to watch his films hoping one day he'll either find his new Kinski or move on. Just like I keep buying the new Genesis albums. Unless you're stupid like me, you should probably avoid both.

Roger Ebert said about My Son that it "confounds all convention and denies all expected pleasures", and this is partially true because there's a murder but we know who did it and we know where he is, right across the street, and the hostage situation that develops outside the suspect's place is perfunctory at best (which means Willem Dafoe as the homicide detective has very little to do here, no this is Mike Shannon's film), but in place of the tired conventions of the detective movie Herzog invents new pleasures, strange and mystifying and sometimes completely mindbending and hilarious, like the mental image of a midget on a baby horse being chased by a 45 pound chicken that is taller than both rider and horse, an idea for a commercial Brad Dourif explains wide-eyed with fascination, but a commercial to what how should he know!

This is an amazing film on the poetics of madness using the real story of a man who slew his mother with a sword to tell us about absurdity in the world. It's like jumping over the fence of an insane asylum to mingle with the inmates and pay attention to what they have to say because there might be truth there, and if there isn't they always make up the best of stories. Herzog's most famous characters have been romantic madmen indeed, and Brad McCulloch fits right next to Cobra Verde the slavetrader bandit, he's the cynic who rebels and leaves his rebellion incomplete, without a grand message for the world. He goes rafting in Peru then gives up on it, tells his friends he won't go to the sweat lodge where the 104 year old shaman smokes Kool cigarettes and reads Hustler, that he wants to stun his inner growth and become a Muslim. He berates his hippie friend who meditates on a rock facing the river, and tells him to open his eyes, reality is around him.

As with other Herzog films, I like this so much because it celebrates insane human behaviour, monomania and folly, dogged human pursuit for transcendence against a yawning futile universe. I like how this is punctuated by some amazing images; like the dinner scene at Brad's house with his girlfriend and mother, where all three of them simply stop moving and freeze in position. People who love to hate David Lynch, will find plenty of room for maneuvre here to call My Son strange for its own sake, nonsensical and pretentious. In a meeting between Herzog and Lynch before the film was made, they both expressed a desire for, in Herzog's words, "a return to essential filmmaking" with small budgets, good stories, and the best actors available. This is all that, except in the way very few people can make it.

"My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done" comes across as some sort of hobby project of Wernor Herzog that caught the attention of David Lynch as evident of the mise-en-scène and general capriciousness. Yet, at its worst, the film feels like a pale copy of Lynch's trademark surrealism and dreamy atmosphere. At its best, "My Son, My Son..." is a descent entry in Herzog's filmography with some absurdist dialogues and quirky moments. The main murder plot could have been utilized far better in order to generate interest from the audience as the movie is rather flat, despite attempts on a non-linear narrative. When the final climax is eventually reached, you can't help but feel like you've been trolled by Herzog the whole time. A trolling I don't necessarily oppose.

In many ways, this film reminds me of the Claude Chabrol film "L'enfer"--though I think the Chabrol film was superior because it was much more subtle. In both films, the leading man would be diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic. But, in "My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done", it seems much, much more obvious. Now I am not saying WIlliam Shannon did a bad job in the film playing this disturbed man--it was a lovely performance of a madman. I just think I liked the more subtle leading man, as often someone with this disorder appears pretty normal (though they can be like Shannon's character as well). My advice--see both films.

The movie begins with two detectives (one is Willem Defoe) being called to a murder scene. A woman has been stabbed repeatedly with a sword--and obviously this is no ordinary murder. Folks at the scene identify the son (Shannon) as the killer. Soon, Shannon announces that he's got hostages inside the house and the police are forced to wait. In the meantime, the man's fiancé and leader of an acting troupe both talk with the police--giving their insights through flashbacks. All this is very interesting but I had one problem--the guy they were talking about was clearly insane and had been that way for some time. There were TONS of signs he wasn't right--but both these folks acted surprised when they heard he'd killed and felt it was not possible!! Huh?! I think these two characters could have been handled better. I read on IMDb that this is based on a real story. And, if that's true and the man's friends saw he was THIS sick and did nothing, then THAT is truly shocking. All in all a good film (except for the god-awful score)--with the sort of weirdness you'd expect from a David Lynch production and the quality direction of Werner Herzog. Worth seeing.

By the way, although he's only in a small portion of the movie, the uncle (Brad Dourif) is entertaining. Also, note the interesting story parallels inserted into the film such as the Greek chorus and play and in one scene as the cops approach with their arms outstretched, its an interesting allusion to Christ--as the killer was religiously obsessed and was talking about Jesus at the time.

I'm pleasantly surprised by the movie thanks to people's negative comments. Good acting, good rhythm, the dialog doesn't knock you out of the mood that the film has going. Willem Dafoe and Chloe Sevigny are especially comfortable in this one. Didn't like the ending. But that's always the case with arty movies about something vague. For the most part the thing was not pretentious. Art-house viewers keep expecting that legendary moment of cinematic epiphany to hit them. And it never does. I mean it's a movie about acting, directing and pretty landscapes. Maybe the disappointed viewers wanted a smart SWAT thriller or something.

Of all the films I saw at the 2010 Edinburgh International Film Festival, this is the only one (apart from Savage Messiah) that deserved, for me, repeated viewings. I'm not implying it's the best ever Werner Herzog film. Or the best David Lynch film (if you feel his 'producer' role influenced it that much, as many did.) But I was captivated by what 'My Son' had actually done. Even though it is obvious from the start. Less obvious though is the Greek tragedy playing out in his mind which, in his head, is mostly what he's actually doing. Apart from that, I wanted to re-watch so many scenes. Crazy stuff that is made believable simply by the conviction with which it is presented. The first viewing had me gripping my seat in open-jawed amazement throughout, only to breathe a sigh at the end and wonder what I was getting so excited about. Flamingo hostages? Give me a break! (Even if you are supposed to call them 'eagles in drag.' Or ostriches.) God is in the kitchen. On a tin of oatmeal to be precise. But this isn't comedy (though you may laugh) and consider, if you will, that, "The cruel bitch of female passion can break apart the yolk that joins a pair; and force apart the dark embrace of beast and man alike."

Now we're getting somewhere, and it's hypnotically arty, fiendishly funny, upsettingly evocative of nasty dread around the corner, and aren't you pleased that dreams are only dreams and this is only a film.

Story One. The Truth.

The film is based on the true story of Mark Yavorsky, a San Diego man who stabbed his mother to death, inspired by his recent role as Euripides' Orestes in a production of The Eumenides at University of California, San Diego. Or was it Aeschylus' version. Or maybe it was Electra, by Sophocles. (The Truth isn't very interesting anyway, so you can skip this bit.)

Story Two. The Cinematic Truth.

Brad McCullum (Michael Shannon) is maybe in his late twenties but lives with his eccentric and overbearing ("You know you like your jello!") mother. Brad adores mum (played by Grace Zabriskie) with a Norman Bates –like unhealthy shine. This being a Herzog movie, it goes with saying that he's crazy, although the line between 'crazy' and 'madly inspired actor-artiste' is deliberately nebulous. He is engaged to a very normal girl (played by Chloë Sevigny, whose characters do seem to specialise in dubious boyfriends, don't they?). Their shared passion for theatre somehow makes this believable. Willem Dafoe and Michael Peña are bizarrely and beautifully caricatured Lynch-style detectives for whom the unusual is just another day's work. Rather more interesting for them is a tale of the plain clothes policeman getting busted for speeding by another plain clothes policeman. They're about as normal as the blood-related cops in Tarantino's Deathproof. If a murder won't fit on the report sheet, it will by the time they've finished with it. They are also about the sanest thing we've got short of lovesick Sevigny or an exasperated theatre director.

So Brad doesn't get to kill mum on stage cos he's far too 'inspired' to be managed by the director and gets kicks off the cast. He runs the stage sword (which is meant to be Greek but isn't, because Brad prefers it that way) through his mother several times as they are sitting down for morning coffee with their nice neighbours. This occurrence is treated in a fairly routine way near the beginning of the film, so we can enjoy the rest of the time in extended flashbacks to understand what really happened and why.

Story Three. The Real Truth.

Orestes (with whom Brad identifies) is the last link in a bloody line of godly nastiness. Tantallus had been hard done by, and invites the gods to dinner to see if they are real. When they turn up, he serves his son in a stew (They didn't have jello in ancient Greece). The gods puke, but the bits of half-chewed flesh live on to father more cannibals. Only Orestes can lift the curse, but has to kill his mother to do it. If that sounds crazy, it probably was. But Orestes is something of dramatic symbol for anyone whose crime is mitigated by extenuating circumstances. Mad or not, you do what you have to do. "At least some people act a role," says Brad, "others play a part." Historically, it's about replacing matriarchy.

This is a film where you are entranced throughout, awaiting the dark brooding fury or the mother's 'vengeful hounds from hell.' (Or at least an ostrich that steals yours glasses while you're cleaning them.) It even has a dwarf. At the end, you might wonder what on earth you were getting so worked up about, but it's hard to deny you enjoyed the ride. Analyse it too closely and you might not like the extended freeze frames which are ludicrously pretend (you can see Sevigny moving, understandably, as she tries to eat her horrid jello). I did, but for someone people who spotted it the first time round, the joke had worn off. For others, it might be a re-hashing of Lynch/Herzog staples without breaking radical new ground. I suspect I may have to change my 'rating' to five stars if I slink back and see it yet again.

Detectives Havenhurst (Willem Dafoe) and Vargas (Michael Peña) are called to a crime scene. Mrs. McCullam has been stabbed to death. Her son Brad McCullam (Michael Shannon) is the prime suspect and he has taken hostages in the house across the street. The police interviews his fiancé Ingrid Gudmundson (Chloë Sevigny) and director Lee Meyers (Udo Kier) who reveal past incidents and his mental deterioration.

This is Werner Herzog and therefore it must be a masterpiece. He is taking the familiar cop crime drama and mixing it with a character study of a disturb mind. He has created his own language and a wonderful new form of cinema. What if this is not Werner Herzog? Then this would be a confusing, boring piece of crap. The constant reliance on flashbacks drains any immediacy and tension from the movie. These are great actors. The structure of the movie really let the whole thing down. Instead of his voice, his vision is a mess of the traditional genre.

Please, don't listen to the under-educated reviews; "David Lynch never set foot in the studio". Regardless of whether or not David Lynch had his hands in this film, it shines with his awkward characterization. For those who are familiar with David Lynch's works, specifically Twin Peaks and Blue Velvet, you know that he likes to make social situations very awkward and uncomfortable. Any given Twin Peaks episode felt like there were a herd of elephants in the room for every scene.

I would go as far as to say that this is a modern episode of Twin Peaks. Granted Herzog was in control; Lynch fans won't be disappointed. The acting is brilliant; and THE SCORE! Dear God the score is wonderful. Foreboding, intriguing, smooth at times, and critically dissonant at others.

Worth your time.