Alice (Rachel Weisz) is in China cut open by a magician, in an ER room telling a patient to breathe, in Tanzania researching insects, and in a parked car spying on a suburban house. Complete Unknown begins by showing what it is to live as someone who, at the very least, is running from their past and has not developed an adult capacity to deal, and at the most, is inhabiting a semi-psychotic state addicted to deception. The montage,
This snapshot of Alice’s world is interesting but not enough for us to care about her first family then runaway story, nor about a clichéd story of ex-hunting; in this case the ex is Tom (Michael Shannon) and she shows up at his home for a dinner party. The film is missing a narrative – even a vague sketch of one would work, if that opaqueness was conveyed with an intentionality – to show how its protagonists, Alice and Tom, value themselves and their intimate relationships. What we know is Alice left home when she was young, in response partly to being harshly broken up with by Tom, but why she kept running is unclear.
Had there been fireworks between Ms. Weisz and Mr. Shannon, I might have been convinced this was a torn-apart love story along the lines of The Notebook (no one questions why Noah went on to build that huge house himself), but Mr. Shannon seems befuddled, and frankly, bored, by Ms. Weisz that rooting out her intensity for fleeing is both a difficult and an un-compelling task. The problem is, without that insight, Alice becomes silly and Tom even sillier for following her around. What he is trying to suss out is unclear, which makes for uninspired (and uninspiring) film watching.
Being perceived as a complete unknown may be different than being one, and maybe for a brief moment in the 1990s it was a sexy thing to be, but identity compiling has changed with social media and constant connectivity. Alice comes off as unstable, aloof, deceitful, and criminal. To say she is not contributing to society through a more normative sense of responsibility would be too preachy for this film, but Complete Unknown does not shy away from showing us Alice in her eerily quiet moments of identity transformation. A complete unknown runs the risk of becoming completely disposable to herself and to others, for which, likely, no amount of post-known can make up for.
Dina Paulson-McEwen
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