The conclusion to an epic trilogy, based on an even more epic quartet of novels, arrives with the reigns in the hand of Anand Tucker and with it a mountain of information, explanation, revelation and some shocks to bring to an end the nine year tale of corruption, murder and greed in West Yorkshire.
Foregoing the previous plot method of making inroads into the mythology of the story by way of a single, unknowing protagonist, this time we are treated to three major character arcs of varying significance, size and literal method.
The three men in question are the long silent, conflicted and guilty Maurice Jobson (David Morrissey), series survivor and escapist BJ (Robert Sheehan) and rotund, good hearted solicitor John Piggott (Mark Addy).
The film opens with a flashback, one of many to appear throughout the film, and takes place at the wedding of a high ranking officer's daughter, where a group of officers including Jobson, and led by head honcho Bill Molloy (Warren Clarke), thrash out the building blocks of their scheme, putting themselves into the pocket of ambitious developer John Dawson (Sean Bean) in exchange for the dividents of a hugely prosperous retail park on their land, one which will be the largest in Europe and make all of those involved hugely rich.
Back in the present, Jobson is placed in a bind when yet another young girl disappears, in identical fashion to Dawson's victims back in 1974. Given responsibility for clearing up the matter quietely and conveniently, Jobson is partenered by dirty copper Dick Alderman (Shaun Dooley), and his enquiries lead him from a psychic medium (Saskia Reeves), to jailed fall guy Michael Myshkin (Daniel Mays) and constantly back to his own illegal practices.
Meanwhile local lawyer Piggott finds himself morally bankrupted by Myshkin's mother (Beatrice Kelley) into launching an appeal against her mentally challenged son's incarceration, since the latest disappearance seemingly puts him in the clear. Although hugely reluctant to become involved in a case of such magnitude, and attempt to free a man who had confessed to the crimes, he finds himself drawn further in by curiosity at the inconsistencies in the initial trial and also at the constant involvement of a dodgy lawyer he knows personally.
Amidst all this, BJ makes his way back to his old haunt of Fitzwilliam, a garage for a home and a sawn off shotgun for company, with his poetic voiceovers outlying his own revenge mission against the source of his long term suffering.
Jobson, always the reluctant participant in the schemes concocted by G-man Harold Angus (Jim Carter) and Molloy, continues to crumble morally and emotionally in the face of yet more brutality and illegality in his line of work, brought to a head when Myshkin's old friend Leonard Cole (Gerard Kearns) is tortured into a confession in a police interrogation room. While Jobson embarks on an ill-advised romance with the medium, Mandy Wymer, he also spends much time thinking back on the original case, during which we learn of the involvement posed by Reverend Laws (Peter Mullan) and the other officers. His protests at the time, much like those now, are shouted down by stronger men.
Piggott's continuing efforts see him run into Leonard Cole himself, whom he intends to represent, but an endeavour cut short when Cole 'kills himself' in his cell, seemingly putting a nice convenient end to matters. More and more suspicious and cynical, Piggott hastens his efforts, taking him down the trail left by Eddie Dunford (Andrew Garfield) and ultimately leading towards men in the community such as his high standing father. As the truth is finally revealed, a shocking web of cruelty and perversion that spawned murder and subterfuge as a method of enforced silence in the pursuit of money, the three protagonist's stories come to a brutal, clarifying end, redemption and retribution mixed with limited closure.
As the final chapter in the story, much of 1983's responsibilities are explanation and, in an unfortunate neccessity, exposition. Therefore it is easy to get lost in the thick plotlines that occasionally lapse into flashback and chronological free flow without a great deal of warning, with certain scenes requiring some time to decode and some hints and answers being almost lost in the tale. Despite that, the scripting is able to both carry off this series of answered questions while retaining a strong part three story that pits three hopeless men into a war that is almost over, one final effort to bring to the surface years of despair, greed and shocking secrecy.
And what better way to reach this endgame than with men sidelined in previous installments. David Morrissey and Robert Sheehan take centre stage with gusto, bearing the heavy weight of significance on their shoulders with ease and delivering pained, tragic performances at different ends of the spectrum. While Morrissey's Jobson is a man destroyed by regret, little more than a shell before finally reaching his own event horizon, Sheehan's BJ is a long term sufferer who's life has been left so empty that his only goal is a bloody payback against a man who was once his shepherd. Both are terrific performances, and they are backed by a great turn by Mark Addy, as his character develops from chirpy and ignorant to angered and crusading by events he is caught up in.
In the flashbacks, we see a great deal of old faces, with Warren Clarke showing a different side to the ultimate corruption incarnate Bill Molloy, and Sean Bean returning to shed more light on the mysterious and depraved Dawson. Both past and present, Peter Mullan enjoys greater and greater significance until he is ultimately revealed to be one of the series's most vital characters, in essence the wolf of the Red Riding Hood parable. There is further good support from Saskia Reeves and particularly Daniel Mays, in a warts and all perfomance as tragic and disheartening as any other seen before.
As well as finally learning the truth beyond the riddle, we see a number of minor plot questions answered in well scripted fashion, such as the revelation that Jobson tipped off Dunford to the burning of the gypsy camp in 1974, and the explanation for 1980 character John Nolan's betrayal. Other hints and tips ("under the beautiful carpets") are finally addressed and, although some details are left open to speculation, the bulk of the story is brought to a close. There are however, some frustrating elements to this. On the whole, Peter Hunter is ignored despite his leading status in 1980, while other characters are never heard from again.
With the progressing use of camera, 1983 has a distinctively different look to it's predecesors, and the set design and general production is excellent and in keeping with the times. Music is again top notch, as is the editing. Tucker's direction, though, does on occasion leave something to be desired. When it veers into creative license, it causes confusion more than anything else. One particular flashback sequence which is experienced by Piggott is almost infuriatingly hard to work out.
Despite this, 1983 is able to avoid becoming too convuluted by it's labyrinth story and turns, giving some degree of finality and bringing to light the truths of the series in an episode packed with raw intensity and emotional power. It ultimately becomes a tale of redemption, and the victory over a long standing culture of closed doors and unwilling ears. An appropriate and satisfying finale to a deeply unsettling, highly memorable and superbly constructed trilogy.
8/10
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