Trance starts with an art heist that goes terribly (and mysteriously) awry. But Simon (James McAvoy), an art auctioneer and key eyewitness to the heist finds himself clueless as to what happened. Elizabeth Lamb (Rosario Dawson) enters the fray as a hypnotist who attempts to restore Simon’s memory. What follows is an elaborate and overall compelling jigsaw puzzle of misty recollections and suppressed memories.
There is no question that Boyle has employed a number of clichés to propel the plot forwards. For instance, Elizabeth’s role as the mysterious, racially ambiguous and sexually charged love interest with questionable morals reflects a trend seen in many recent James Bond movies. Additionally, the amnesiac slowly piecing together his forgotten memories is a trope repeated in one too many psychological films.
The lead performances hold their ground: James McAvoy deftly goes back and forth between charming and unhinged, and Rosario Dawson plays the sexy, semi-unethical (make that “unethical”) therapist pretty well. In fact, her character sheds many of her stereotypes as the movie progresses and assumes a sense of empowerment. However, the heist henchmen are vanilla-bland meatheads. And all of the actors, to varying degrees, fall prey to that somewhat histrionic but almost indispensable component of psychological thrillers: they grip their heads, hallucinate, dream, remember traumas and spin around in attempts to just make sense of it all.
Despite these shortcomings, the movie is a success. Boyle’s accomplishment in Trance is his fusion of these conventional tropes in acting and filmmaking with more subtlety and intelligence than is normally found in a psychological thriller. He makes ample use of repression, suppression, hypnosis, transference, counter-transference, and more to lend the characters psychological depth and mystery. These Freudian psychoanalytic tidbits are engaging and often quite delicious. The art auctioneer’s amnesia is expertly represented by a liberal use of visual montage, and spliced and distorted cinematography. The ending, too, is especially arresting—loose ends are skillfully tied up without over-explanation.
Of course, Trance will mislead some and annoy others in its portrayal of modern therapy. The picture it paints of hypnotherapy is unabashedly sensationalistic and sexed-up. Elizabeth does things with her client that would, in the real world, get her debarred. This is not necessarily a problem, however; considering Boyle’s wish to make a popular commercial film, a little bit of erotic and romantic subtext is worth an ethical sacrifice here and there. And the ending alone justifies the occasional intervals of tedium and excessive explication. The twists take you by surprise, and Boyle keeps them coming. It’s a little too long, but not egregiously so.
Best of all, Trance continues what looks to be a positive trend in mainstream filmmaking. It plays to an attentive, relatively smart audience, while also supplying a level of Hollywood polish that leaves room for commercial success. It leaves you wondering, but not scratching your head. It begins with pretty unlikable characters who remain, through the end, pretty unlikable characters—which is actually quite brave for a film of this commercial caliber.
People do not normally gush about a film being challenging and sometimes uncomfortable, but these qualities are what make Trance a breath of fresh air. Its brisk pace puts to shame the interminable, labyrinthine period dramas regularly trotted out as Oscar-worthy. At the same time, it does not have to rely on sex and gore (at least, not too much) as so many action movies and thrillers do. There is no doubt that a talented director has made an imperfect, yet smart and worthwhile film that merits serious attention.