The most striking thing about debut writer/director Patty Jenkins's biopic "Monster," the story of prostitute and serial killer Aileen Carol Wuomos, is the degree to which it actually does seem to be a biopic.
While many films of this genre have a tendency to wrap up the lives of their subjects in neat packages, complete with well-delineated and easy to digest morals (a certain "best picture" featuring an idiosyncratic yet ultimately loveable math whiz leaps to mind),"Monster" revels in the ambiguities of Wuomos's choices and situations.
The centerpiece of the film is Charlize Theron's startling performance as the tough, highway-bound prostitute Wuomos. Theron, normally cast as the quintessential "pretty face," is unrecognizable in the role. Besides an extensive make up job replete with false teeth that would make even Prince Charles howl, Theron packed on the pounds, transforming her usually Maxim-ready physique into that of a beer swilling, ham sandwich munching barfly.
But this physical metamorphosis would have been useless had it not accentuated Theron's completely immersing depiction of Wuomos. From the puff-chested strut to the perfect Florida accent, Theron, the starlet, seems to evaporate before she hits the screen. The only evidence left is the damaged and confused Wuomos.
Christina Ricci too gives what is probably the best performance of her career by ditching the sarcasm she often uses as a substitute for depth. Her portrayal of Selby, Wuomos' girlfriend, is densely layered, yet retains a subtlety that leaves it to the viewer to decide how much of Selby's love is real and how much is an act of desperation.
As a director, Jenkins stays out of the way. Fancy camera work and directorial tricks take a back- seat in order to highlight the performances of two actresses at the top of their respective games. The dialogue is simple and occasionally eloquent (barring the unnecessary final voiceover) and exhibits confidence in the caliber of acting.
In telling the story of a prostitute's murder of seven men, Jenkins could have fallen into one of two common traps: deifying its subject as a feminist heroine in the line of "Tank Girl" and "Joan of Arc," or alternately vilifying Wuomos as the devil incarnate. Rather, Jenkins refuses to moralize or make the story into a simplistic lesson exemplifying "right" and "wrong." She even avoids taking a pitying stance, deciding instead to do what a good biopic director should do: Tell the story of a character and allow someone who was never heard in life to be heard in art.