"99 Homes" operates like a thriller (from its stunning opening one-take sequence), with elements of melodrama to heighten the stakes. (Some of the melodramatic elements don't work as well as the rest, relying, as they do, on coincidence, racing against the clock, etc; the reality is horrifying enough.) Held together with Antony Partos and Matteo Zingales' portentous original score, thrumming underneath almost every scene, "99 Homes" represents a shift for Bahrani. His other features have been small dramas, filmed accordingly: lots of hand-held camera work and a naturalistic approach. "99 Homes" has a strong look, a bold mood, with attention-getting shots like that opener, as well as a couple of aerial shots showing homes stretched out below. From that vantage point, homes look generic. To those on the ground, of course, it's a very different story.

Andrew Garfield, as a man who has "failed" in his duty as protector and provider, has an almost constant sense of panic throughout, catching his breath in his throat, his posture tight and alert. Tears threaten to overwhelm him, but Dennis does not have time for self-pity. Nobody does. His one goal is to get his house back, the crevasse of permanent instability opening beneath him and his family. Bahrani keeps that heat turned up in the machinations of the plot, as Carver seduces Dennis with offers of wealth (meaning, in Carver's world, self-respect). "America doesn't bail out losers," Carver tells Nash. "America bails out winners."

Michael Shannon is both ruthless and strangely tender in his seemingly irredeemable character. Carver explains his background to Dennis, his humble roots, his roofer father, his jobs in construction. Up until the crash, his job was putting people into homes. It's not his fault that his job has now become throwing people out. Any hard economic time will create a man like Rick Carver, determined to make more money off the slump than the boom. It's a very honest performance.

Reminiscent of the films of Jafar Panahi (which also focus on those on the margins), Bahrani's films are a critique of the very concept of "mainstream." If there is to be a mainstream, then the boundaries must be more inclusive. Bahrani's films represent an urgent demand that audiences pay attention to the world and the people around them. His films insist: Look. See. Bahrani accomplishes this not by making "message" films, but by focusing on individual characters, whether it be a Pakistani former singer who now pushes a food cart in Manhattan ("Man Push Cart,") a little Latino boy working in an auto-body shop ("Chop Shop,") or the optimistic Senegalese-American who drives a cab and dreams of being a flight attendant ("Goodbye Solo.") Through these characters, Bahrani critiques American life, its economics, its class divides, its assumptions and social strata. Like Panahi, he is a humanist. The dignity of the individual is all.

"99 Homes" is a ferocious excavation of the meaning of home, the desperation attached to real estate, the pride of ownership and the stability of belonging. The pace never lets up. Once a person slips below the mainstream, it is nearly impossible to gain a foothold again. These characters struggle like hell to survive.





