THE CARD COUNTER
AN ASCETIC
outsider, alienated from his environment and from other people, roams dark, neon-slicked cities obsessively observing other outcasts from a distance while trying to remain true to his code. No, it’s not Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver but the character of William Tell—also created by screenwriter Paul Schrader—who’s likewise been crushed by a dehumanizing war and is just as driven in his search for redemption through a self-transformational act. Tell is a man who lives to play cards, in endless games and tournaments interrupted only for food and drink. Even bed isn’t restful or fulfilling, his sleep being invaded by images of the enhanced interrogation techniques he and his fellow warders had been trained to systematically inflict on prisoners at Abu Ghraib. Although The Card Counter is a more modest film than Taxi Driver, this Schrader-directed drama still provides powerful moments, with resonating personalities who exist in a fascinating world.
Detail in card faces appear sharp, as does the weave of green casino tabletops and individual streaks and strands in Tell’s salt and pepper hair. Scenes in the military stockade that Tell was sent to have a faded, almost monochromatic quality. There’s much better contrast in the garish casino gaming rooms: sunglasses and spade cards display a deep black while saturated colors like rich red hearts dominate. Shirts, table lamps, and the sheets Tell methodically and surrealistically wraps his hotel rooms’ beds and furniture in appear as a bright, punchy white tone.
Voiceover narration—as when Tell explains card counting, prison life, or Texas hold ’em—is clear and resonant, though dialogue occasionally gets lost due to whispering and mumbling or competition from the incredibly loud, rumbling, and ominous electronic score. This music, mostly written and performed by Robert Levon Been (member of the rock band Black Rebel Motorcycle Club) and friends is made up of the aggressive, distorted bass he’s known for, with a couple of additional ear-bursting death metal songs by Bejew’s Toxic Shock for the extreme fish-eyed nightmare scenes. All channels are engaged with instruments moving from the front into the surrounds and back, while casino-floor atmospherics immerse you with clanging slot machines, clicking chips, and whoops of victory.
The only extra is a short featurette. In it, Schrader muses on how an actor, like a poker player, can wear a mask and let others project on it, the player “patiently waiting in limbo to make a connection.” Just like a taxi driver.