It’s hard to talk about this movie without giving too much away. Mostly because it culminates in one of the Big Twists that so many films of the past ten years have driven to cliché. That’s not the only gimmick employed here, as lead actor Christian Bale whittled himself down to a walking skeleton for the role. He hurts to look at, all ribs and spine and sunken eyes, and you believe his character Trevor Reznik when he says he hasn’t slept in a year. Anyone watching Trevor shambling in his hollow state will likely spend the entire movie wondering what brought him to this condition. The high-pressure machine shop where he works is the last place he should be, especially considering he’s possibly hallucinating one or more of the shady characters following him around. And that leads us to the Twist. I don’t think I’ll give it away any more than the story does by narrowing it down – Trevor’s not a ghost, nor is he in a coma, dreaming the whole story. Despite all its familiar groundwork, I did enjoy The Machinist. The menacing atmosphere works much better than in other recent psycho-dramas (The Jacket being a prime example). Paired with a creepy, theremin-infused score, it evokes a real Hitchcock vibe. Things get downright surreal near the end, and although the surprise is predictable, the conclusion is fitting and satisfying.

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