One of the most prolific psychological thriller films of all time, David Fincher’s Seven (sometimes stylized as SE7EN), is often seen as one of the most bleak, nihilistic films ever created, and with a downer ending to match. If you have not seen this film yet, it is one of my favorites. Highly recommended. Now, I will address what you are most likely saying to whatever screen you are currently reading this on: “Zach, you are supposed to be writing about comedy! Why bring up a film that functions as a depressing insight into the world’s cynical realities?” Well, good friend, I will explain: the way that this film utilizes something that I have affectionately titled “mood whiplash.”
The film’s premise is as dark as they come. Hardened and apathetic Detective William Somerset, portrayed brilliantly by Morgan Freeman, is one week away from retirement. He lives in Ambiguously Always-Raining Town, likely a nod to the noir films that appeared in the 1940s and ‘50s, where crime is rampant and ridiculously violent. Joining him is a new detective on the block, David Mills, played by Brad Pitt, whose passionate fire and quick mouth ends up creating a perfect opposite to his partner. Together, they attempt to track down a megalomaniacal serial killer who murders people according to the biblical seven deadly sins. Not exactly a fun family outing. However, despite this bleak setting, the film revolves just as much around the relationship between these two as it does around solving the crimes. The dynamic of a stone-cold Somerset and an immature and excitable Mills creates some legitimately funny pieces of dialogue.
The initial murder of the seven occurs to a victim of gluttony. A morbidly obese man is found dead and alone in a dark, disease-ridden apartment, with his head smashed lifelessly into a bowl of spaghetti. After brief investigation, Mills discovers that his hand and feet are bound tightly, and there is a bruise in the back of the man’s head; a perfect indentation of the muzzle of a pistol. What is Mills’ reaction to this brutal scene? He puts on his best TV-announcer voice and says “Ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a homicide.” Could this be an example of Mills dealing with grotesque realities through the usage of dark humor? Possibly. Is it funny regardless, despite its insensitivity? Completely.
Mills often finds himself being the only ray of hope in the entire movie, most of the time not realizing it. Though he’s easily angered and very rarely in a good situation, he is always the one cracking jokes and trying to lighten things up, even if those around him don’t always respond with open arms. Lines like “Come on, man, just don’t jerk me off,” after his removal from the gluttony crime scene, showcase his odd sense of building analogies. My favorite example of this, though, is in a scene after the third death, in which Mills, Somerset, and the police captain sit discussing the killer’s cunning and intelligence. In response to the others’ seeming admiration of a murderer’s intellect, Mills responds with this gem: “Just because the fucker’s got a library card, it doesn’t make him Yoda.” Who thinks of that analogy? The combination of its abruptness and surrealism makes me laugh out loud every single time.
The initial murder of the seven occurs to a victim of gluttony. A morbidly obese man is found dead and alone in a dark, disease-ridden apartment, with his head smashed lifelessly into a bowl of spaghetti. After brief investigation, Mills discovers that his hand and feet are bound tightly, and there is a bruise in the back of the man’s head; a perfect indentation of the muzzle of a pistol. What is Mills’ reaction to this brutal scene? He puts on his best TV-announcer voice and says “Ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a homicide.” Could this be an example of Mills dealing with grotesque realities through the usage of dark humor? Possibly. Is it funny regardless, despite its insensitivity? Completely.
Mills often finds himself being the only ray of hope in the entire movie, most of the time not realizing it. Though he’s easily angered and very rarely in a good situation, he is always the one cracking jokes and trying to lighten things up, even if those around him don’t always respond with open arms. Lines like “Come on, man, just don’t jerk me off,” after his removal from the gluttony crime scene, showcase his odd sense of building analogies. My favorite example of this, though, is in a scene after the third death, in which Mills, Somerset, and the police captain sit discussing the killer’s cunning and intelligence. In response to the others’ seeming admiration of a murderer’s intellect, Mills responds with this gem: “Just because the fucker’s got a library card, it doesn’t make him Yoda.” Who thinks of that analogy? The combination of its abruptness and surrealism makes me laugh out loud every single time.
Over the course of the film, Somerset learns to not only lighten up about Mills and become a compliant and respectful partner, but actually begins to change his darkened worldview due to Mills’ constant optimism in the face of danger and hopelessness. When Somerset joins Mills and his wife, played by Gwyneth Paltrow, for dinner one night, he discovers that their apartment room is located directly beneath the city’s subway system, and every five minutes or so the entire apartment shakes violently. Somerset manages to address the issue by referring to it as, “A soothing, relaxing… vibrating home,” before he, and eventually the Millses, burst into collective laughter. This sign of positivity located in a vast expanse of negativity, both brought on by the immediate problem and the overarching problem in the story, shows that proper and effective placement of humor is present, even within a serious context.
Mills has other moments of note, for example: After getting enraged at the amount of reading Somerset is requiring him to do, Mills throws copies of Dante’s Inferno and The Canterbury Tales around in his car, before a mailman delivers a package. It contains Cliff’s Notes of the books, also sent by Somerset, to which Mills provides a “Oh, thank God.” Another case shows Mills pointing out the word ‘bondage’ in a piece of text, which Somerset immediately shuts down with a “Not what you’re thinking.” Lastly, directly before engaging in the climax of the film, all the pressure of locating the killer’s final kills is on, and Mills starts casual conversation with Somerset in the bathrooms, asking “If I were to shave off a nipple, would it be covered by workman’s comp?”
Even the killer gets a dark joke or two in the end, but I will not spoil that. Just watch the dang movie, ya dingus.
I have always thought the horror and dark films share a good deal in common with comedy. This is not just because there are good opportunities for incongruous moments of joking, but also because horror often features a kind of incongruity which could be seen as either funny or dark depending on the perspective (also tragedy and comedy, of course).
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