You Were Nev­er Real­ly Here

Lynne Ram­say likes to take her time. In the space of 18 years she’s only made four fea­ture films, the last of which – We Need to Talk About Kevin – was released what feels like a life­time ago back in 2011. She almost made a female-front­ed west­ern called Jane Got a Gun, but con­sid­er­ing how that one turned out, it was prob­a­bly best that she scarpered ear­ly on.

Final­ly our patience has been paid div­i­dends, as Ram­say teams up with Joaquin Phoenix for the first time to deliv­er a bru­tal mas­ter­class in sen­so­ry over­load. Based on the novel­la of the same name by Jonathan Ames, You Were Nev­er Real­ly Here might have tak­en its time, but it is unequiv­o­cal­ly worth the wait.

Mar­ry­ing bru­tal­i­ty with a curi­ous gen­tle­ness, Phoenix’s Joe is an ex-marine turned hit­man who car­ries out retrieval oper­a­tions across Amer­i­ca, peri­od­i­cal­ly return­ing to New York to check in on his elder­ly moth­er. Tasked with res­cu­ing a teenage girl from a sex traf­fick­ing ring, things take a turn for the worst when he realis­es how deep the rab­bit hole goes. Joe leads a soli­tary life which we glean through glimpses. His demons are nes­tled deep but claw con­stant­ly beneath his skin.

He’s unflinch­ing and harsh, yet seems some­how afraid to dis­turb the atoms that sur­round him when he doesn’t have a ham­mer in his hand and mur­der on his mind. There’s no bet­ter fit for the role than Phoenix, who presents Joe as simul­ta­ne­ous­ly vul­ner­a­ble and imper­vi­ous, a sol­id mass rid­dled with keloid scars that tell a sto­ry his voice can­not. Far from being a Dolph Lund­gren-esque hired hard man, Joe’s a ful­ly-realised vision, the embod­i­ment of inter­nalised trau­ma cast adrift in a world he’s come to see only in black and white.

In con­trast, the film sings with colour: the sien­nas and ochres of a city sky­line at sun­set; the pur­ple halo of a fad­ing bruise; the lush green lawns of a sub­ur­ban man­sion. Every­thing is ampli­fied only to the extent of fine tun­ing, invit­ing you to notice details that might oth­er­wise escape the eye. Ramsay’s vio­lence is nev­er gra­tu­itous or over­stat­ed, and beau­ti­ful­ly ren­dered shots of Joaquin’s weath­ered body remind the audi­ence the film is much more a char­ac­ter study than any­thing else. It’s a haunt­ing glimpse into a frayed psy­che shaped by years of relent­less hor­ror, from child­hood abuse to wartime hell.

With a lean run­time of 85 min­utes, Ram­say has shaved all pos­si­ble fat from the bone, leav­ing behind only the raw, sinewy morsels. A lin­ger­ing moment of soft­ness amid the chaos shows Joe fuss­ing over his friend’s cat, pro­vid­ing a glimpse of some­thing gen­tle peek­ing out from behind the brute force, but the moment is fleet­ing. Respite is only ever tem­po­rary before you’re thrown face-first into the con­crete, sent reel­ing by Jon­ny Greenwood’s elec­tri­fy­ing, unset­tling score, a dif­fer­ent ani­mal from the sear­ing strings of his past com­po­si­tion work.

There’s always been a sense about Ram­say that she doesn’t pour half mea­sures. Being selec­tive with her projects ensures each one is a per­fect­ly-craft­ed vis­cer­al expe­ri­ence that shoots straight for your gut. You don’t watch a Ram­say film – you’re con­sumed by it. You Were Nev­er Real­ly Here is the great­est tes­ta­ment to that.