In recent years, Paul Schrader has reached the unenviable position where his career has become at least as horribly compelling as the movies that he makes. After the frying-pan of directing Lindsay Lohan in The Canyons comes the fire of Dying of the Light, a punch-drunk terrorist thriller that wound up being confiscated by the backers and re-edited behind his back. The finished film is a hobbled orphan, disowned by its director and often wheezing when it should be raging. If its heart still beats, that’s solely thanks to Nicolas Cage’s barnstorming performance as rogue CIA operative Evan Lake, battling dementia as he pursues an old tormentor. Voice hoarse, hands trembling, Lake burns bridges with abandon, alienates supporters and proceeds to sail off the map in pursuit of his lost cause. I’m seeing him as a fairground mirror image of the man behind the camera.
