Wall of Paul

Both Philip Seymour Hoffman and Ethan Hawke are outstanding as the panic-stricken brothers, and Albert Finney also has a couple of heartbreaking moments as their distant father. But the pivotal factor in this equation is Lumet, an 83 year-old filmmaker who’s developed what can politely be called a bleak worldview in his old age. Lumet and screenwriter Kelly Masterson tighten the screws on their characters with such vigor, it’s often difficult to watch. The non-linear narrative, which is a bit reminiscent of “Reservoir Dogs,” unfolds like a bad dream that gets repeated at another angle each time you wake up and fall asleep again.

Hoffman plays Andy, a self-absorbed, relatively affluent accountant at a New York City realty firm who - for reasons that will become abundantly clear as the story progresses, regresses, and progresses again - is in dire need of a pile of cash. Andy’s younger brother, Hank (Hawke), is in a more routine financial bind, but it’s still crushing him. His job isn’t anything special, he’s paying for his daughter’s private schooling, and his ex-wife (who hates his guts) is constantly riding him about catching up on his child support payments. Both brothers are feeling the heat of simply staying afloat in the modern world, and Andy comes up with what he considers to be an easy fix to the problem. It’s illegal, of course, but no one will get hurt.

Andy convinces Hank, who actually possesses a moral compass, that they should rob a small “Mom and Pop” jewelry store up in Westchester. The only catch is that the store, which is located in a generic strip mall, belongs to their own mother and father! Andy explains that Hank can enter the shop with a hood over his face, wave a toy gun at the old lady who works there in the morning, and take the cash and jewelry. Then they’ll unload the jewelry for a portion of what it’s actually worth, and their parents, who weren’t in the store during the robbery anyway, will collect the insurance money.

It’s all so neat and tidy...except that Hank doesn’t follow the plan. A couple of guns end up getting pulled during the robbery, and they get fired. And Hank isn’t the hold-up man. And the Andy and Hank’s mother, unbeknownst to her scheming sons, is behind the counter when the shooting takes place. I’ve read a couple of critics who felt that this is all a satire of some sort, but I’ll be damned if I was laughing. Both the brothers are tragic figures, but the more you learn about Andy, the more grotesque he becomes.

I once ran into Hoffman in a Manhattan department store, and asked him when he was going to play a character who isn’t miserable. Although he took what appeared to be genuine offense at the suggestion that he’s drawn to such roles, the perky little assistant who was with him almost busted a gut when I said it. Still here he is again, reaching crescendos of self-loathing that verge on the operatic.

As Andy, Hoffman marches through a parade of New York-style depravity that includes on-the-job coke-snorting and periodic visits to a swank penthouse where he pays an ambi-sexual attendant to inject him with heroin. He also, perhaps even more shockingly, is shown in-the-buff, banging away at an equally naked Marisa Tomei, who plays Andy’s philandering wife. Guess who looks really, really hot and who looks like a fat guy who’s about to have a heart attack in that particular pairing. Although you don’t see them in the shot, Hoffman definitely has balls as big as his talent. He’ll do anything for a role, and he does it very convincingly.

And Hawke is every bit as persuasive. I’m amazed to be saying that, frankly, because he’s always annoyed me in the past. He forever looks like he needs a shave and a hot bath, and he seems way too pleased to simply strike hipster poses. But he’s damn-near remarkable in “Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead.” Hank isn’t a dim bulb, necessarily, but he’s just slow enough on the uptake to believe anything his pseudo-suave big brother says. Hawke’s repeated freak-outs during the quick unraveling of the robbery and cover-up can make the back of your neck burn. He truly seems like an average Joe who’s suddenly so deep in shit, he’d be much better off dead. I wouldn’t be surprised if he received an Oscar nomination for his work here.

So how on earth did Lumet manage this? When he directed “Dog Day Afternoon,” I was 12 years-old...and there’s a solid chance that you weren’t even born yet. He’s made 45 movies at this point, many of which, to be honest, aren’t all that interesting. But when he connects, he can pull performances out of actors that stick with you forever, and he’s exceedingly tidy with his camera work. I’d give anything if he’s still managing the trick with this much verve when he’s turned 90. Or 100. Or 105.

There’s bad language, sex, nudity, drug use, and bullets to the head in “Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead.” The concept of “family” also takes one hell of a beating. If you’re looking for something more lighthearted, rent a mid-1960s Ingmar Bergman movie. 117 taut minutes. Rate R.

- Paul Tatara