Penn's Bicke is a vulnerable, halting man who never, somehow, connects with the rest of the world. Success eludes him. The fat lunkheads he works for far surpass him in income and mastery of all circumstances. Bicke lives a raging interior existence. He is not a glib man. When he finally speaks out, it percolates up unfiltered, an unsorted jumble. (He blows his loan attempt simply by talking for too long.) He can't win for losing. So is the failure his or The System's? He can't answer this, but arrives at the interpretation that is for him inevitable: The Man is keeping him down, getting over on him by lying and cheating and stealing. In short, it is because he is the moral better of those held out as shining representatives of The System that he can't beat them at their own evil game. Physical violence, he decides, is the only way to avenge the emotional violence that's been heaped on him.
The direction is masterful. The oppressive, Kafkaesque scene between the Bicke brothers (after Sam is caught stealing from his older brother), alone, shows up the work of many Hollywood veterans with the effectiveness of its stark simplicity and emotional directness. This film not only throws most multiplex junk films into the trash can with insolent ease, but reminds you of the depth to which American Film can still aspire successfully, on occasion.
The direction is masterful. The oppressive, Kafkaesque scene between the Bicke brothers (after Sam is caught stealing from his older brother), alone, shows up the work of many Hollywood veterans with the effectiveness of its stark simplicity and emotional directness. This film not only throws most multiplex junk films into the trash can with insolent ease, but reminds you of the depth to which American Film can still aspire successfully, on occasion.