You probably haven’t heard the name J.C. Chandor. You will.
In the past three years, his first two films have debuted to near-universal critical acclaim—he received an Oscar nomination for the screenplay of his first film Margin Call, a film that earned him the respect of Robert Redford, who agreed to star in Chandor’s second film, All is Lost. Margin Call is a fast-paced, witty ensemble drama about the first hours of the 2008 banking crisis, driven by a vast array of characters spouting wordy, intellectual, Aaron Sorkin-esque dialogue back and forth for two hours. It’s a fantastic, woefully underseen film, which made it all the more surprising when Chandor announced All is Lost. This is because All is Lost is a film with, quite literally, one character—an elderly man, listed in the credits as “Our Man,” played by Redford—and less than five lines of dialogue over a 106 minute runtime. If Margin Call was a study of the spoken word, All is Lost is a study of silence.
The Man is an experienced sailor on a solo voyage across the Atlantic Ocean. After a short, vague opening monologue over a shot of a shipping crate wading in the ocean, the film begins in media res as The Man’s boat hits said shipping crate, puncturing the hull, and sparking a series of events that eventually lead to him facing a storm, abandoning the boat for a raft, and staring his mortality in the face as he struggles to survive.
I know what you’re thinking. “Oh, come on. I already saw Gravity. I think my quota for beautifully shot survival dramas with minimal characters and epic existential themes has been filled for about the next twenty years.” Hold your horses. I get it. This movie, through no fault of its own, will inevitably draw comparisons to Gravity, and, yes, All is Lost is essentially Gravity with less characters, without space, and in which the main character’s background is implied rather than explicitly stated.
Thrilling, right?
It is. All is Lost is a film about survival, pure and simple, in its most visceral form—in which an individual physically and metaphorically dwarfed by nature fights back. The title, of course, refers to the feeling of hopelessness Redford’s character is feeling, but, in addition, any introductory screenwriting teacher would, while examining script structure, discuss the “all is lost” moment referenced in Chandor’s title. In screenwriting, the “all is lost” moment refers to the end of the second act of a story, where the main character, by some mistake or fatal flaw, is at his or her lowest possible point, only to find a will to keep on going which leads to the climax. By this definition, the entirety of All is Lost can be seen as one long “all is lost” moment, with one crucial twist: The Man doesn’t make any mistakes. Everything he does to survive works, but proves too small and insignificant to combat the vastness and meanness of the sea, both natural (the storm) and man-made (the shipping crate). This becomes Chandor’s way of infusing the film with a terrifying reality—this is not your typical cinematic fare, where good choices will automatically result in good outcomes. This is life. There are greater forces at play. This is the spine of the film, and what makes it an exhilarating watch.
One of the main criticisms slung at the All is Lost is that we know basically nothing about The Man, and this renders his journey almost pointless. While this criticism is certainly valid—we do not know much about the character who literally is the movie—and would usually bother me, it didn’t bother me here. The reason is simple: the film doesn’t pretend like we should ever know anything about The Man. There’s no emotional fanfare, no dramatic speeches, no pleading or catering to the audience. We like The Man because he knows what to do next, because he tries so hard, because he is there. All this allows All is Lost to function purely as an allegory, and what a thrilling, beautiful one it is. And the truth is, pretty much everything you need to know about the guy can be implied through the action of the film (seriously, think about it… why would a near-octogenarian go on a voyage across the Atlantic Ocean alone?).
This sounds good in theory, but it’s harder in practice, where it’s up to the actor to make it a character worth watching. Fortunately, Redford is more than up to that challenge. Robert Redford has been in the business for over 50 years and is one of the biggest movie stars of all time, but this is, bar none, the best performance he’s ever given. He is at his most everyman here, his baby blue eyes that other directors have tried so hard to capture seem old and weathered and hidden, and Chandor pushes him to emotional and physical extremes. One must commend Redford for testing himself as an actor at this point in his career, and he deserves even more commendation for grabbing our attention from the opening frames, holding it for 106 minutes, and never letting go once. It takes an actor of Redford’s talent to not just pull off a one man show like this, but to create a character from nothing—a character we feel for and give ourselves to, a character whose face displays decades of pain and experience without uttering a single word.
This film is a triumph in every respect of filmmaking—beautifully acted, cleverly written, keenly directed, stunningly shot. It is a masterclass in character work, in pacing, and, especially, in silence. Chandor’s use of silence is a constant reminder that The Man has no volleyball to chat with, no George Clooney with whom to pass the time and dissect old memories. He is alone. But he has himself. He really is “Our Man” because he is the perfect canvas of projection for the audience to experience the innate human will to survive. The Man is small and silent in the grand scheme of things, alone in a devouring world, but he will do anything to go on living, even as the most essential things in his life disappear. Even as he feels that all is lost, as he is hit by that “all is lost” moment again, and again, and again, he has the impossible drive to keep on living.
And if this is Chandor’s terrifying reality, perhaps it’s not that bad after all.
GRADE: A+
WHAT TO WATCH NEXT: Whether or not you feel as strongly about All is Lost as I do, I would definitely recommend checking out Margin Call. It’s different enough (and good enough) that it warrants your viewing.
(‘17, Symbolic Systems, Film & TV Editor) is from Los Angeles, California. He does theater and writes screenplays, and if you ever need someone who knows a weird amount of Academy Awards trivia, he’s your guy.