Editor’s Note: This was originally published for FANGORIA on May 27, 2005, and we’re proud to share it as part of The Gingold Files.
One of the commendable things about the supplements on Paramount Home Entertainment’s The Machinist DVD is that they don’t make a huge deal about the weight loss Christian Bale undertook to play the title role. Back when the film was released theatrically, the actor’s physical alteration seemed to be the only thing anyone discussed (and became the focus of the advertising), obscuring the fact that Bale’s haunted performance as troubled machine-shop worker Trevor Reznik is so good, he probably would have been just as convincing even in his buff Batman Begins shape. His skeletal appearance is certainly striking, but the Brad Anderson-directed, Scott Kosar-scripted movie has plenty more to offer, and most of it is touched on in the disc extras.
The title of the making-of piece is “The Machinist”: Breaking the Rules, and beyond Bale’s slimming down, the reference seems to be to the necessity of shooting an American-set story in Barcelona, since no U.S. companies would touch the project. The half-hour featurette is more satisfying than many such supplements—no doubt because it was directed by another genre filmmaker, Spanish provocateur Nacho Cerdá (Aftermath)—and is sprinkled with cool behind-the-scenes glimpses throughout. We see Spanish signs being altered with English variants, a prosthetic hand used for gruesome shots that were largely cut from the movie and Anderson directing from a gurney after throwing his back out. Along the way, there are interesting observations from Anderson, “Kossar” (one of the occasional misspellings in the subtitles), who quips that he has “a whole other movie about guilt I could write” after seeing Bale self-transform for the role he wrote, and producer Julio Fernández (chomping on a big mogul’s cigar), among others.
Anderson contributes a commentary that is more academic than anecdotal, and touches on all the aesthetic aspects of what he considers more a “dark drama” than a horror film. Here too, doubling the U.S. in Spain is a frequent subject, with the director noting that, as the only American on the crew, he had to keep an eye on the location details. Of equal importance was the movie’s visual scheme, and he talks in depth about his use of images and settings to convey emotion, revealing at one point that unlike many similarly themed films, this one was intended not to be claustrophobic; instead, Anderson used wide shots to suggest the world overwhelming Reznik. The director also points out his influences, from Hitchcock to Dr. Caligari, and gives plenty of love to the cast, script and locations, from an actual machine shop to an abandoned asylum—the latter a common thread from his previous chiller Session 9.
Anderson also provides commentary for a couple of the deleted/alternate scenes that round out the disc package. Most of these are unremarkable, and two set in a cemetery were wisely trimmed—one since it would have given the game away too soon, the other because it plays too melodramatic in a movie that serves as a showcase for compellingly controlled emotion. These clips are of the most interest for technical reasons: to see how the footage (which appears to have been hi-def or 24p video) appeared before it was treated to achieve the movie’s compellingly grim look.
That visual scheme is beautifully captured in the disc’s 2.35:1 transfer, which replicates cinematographer Xavi Gimenez’s gloom-drenched images, sickly color palette and high contrast with dead-on accuracy and razor sharpness. Fine Dolby Digital 5.1 and 2.0 soundtracks help to plunge the viewer into Reznik’s tormented world—one that wouldn’t be much fun to visit in real life, but is highly recommended as a home-viewing experience.
