Many reviews of A Vigilante inevitably get to the point where they inform the reader that it is not Death Wish, referencing the original 1974 Charles Bronson film that essentially institutionalized the lone civilian (non-superhero) vigilante trope. Death Wish transformed Bronson from a character actor operating mostly on the fringes of the story into a bona superstar who would subsequently be charged with carrying multiple films as the lead character. It is a necessary reference, perhaps, for the purpose of reflecting upon what is still a fairly unique addition to the genre: the female vigilante without superpowers who brutalizes and terrorizes men. What seems more appropriate, however, is pointing out that A Vigilante is also not Sympathy for Lady Vengeance.
That film is the third entry in what is known as the “Vengeance Trilogy” by Korean director Park Chan-wook which also includes the more well-known Oldboy. The comparison to the final film of that trilogy is necessary for any movie about a female vigilantes because Sympathy for Lady Vengeance remains the gold standard by which all such additions to that sub-genre will be judged. The judgment here is not made on the basis of quality, however, but rather for the purpose of pointing out the influence of Sarah Daggar-Nickson’s direction to creating its standard of quality. And the comparison is apt because what Nickson does is studiously avoid replicating what Park Chan-wook does in his film. Take note of the titles of the two movies for in that distinction lies everything.
One film is about a very specific vigilante while the other is quite specifically not. Death Wish and Sympathy for Lady Vengeance both focus on the character seeking vengeance and provide adequate justification for their revenge. But in both cases—though in distinctly different ways—the vengeance is intensely personal. Both films focus on the person committed to carrying out revenge as individuals driven by emotions and circumstances. As a result, the direction is grand and operatic in Lady Sympathy’s case while it reflects the urban paranoia of the 1970’s in the other.
Because this film is not about the vigilante as much as it about why such actions are required, its direction is geared toward cementing the idea that its heroine is merely a vigilante; she may well be one of untold hundreds or thousands. Her story is not presented with the cinematic artfulness of a master director working at the top of his considerable game nor it is designed to turn the protagonist into the pop culture hero a terrified metropolis has been waiting for. Nickson has chosen to strip down the film to its cinematic essentials: no pounding soundtrack, no innovative camerawork, and in most cases not even particularly memorable framing or composition. (Though, admittedly, there are some shots that stick in the mind.)
The most significant visual aspect of the film is its reliance on close-ups of Olive Wilde’s face, but since she adopts so many different disguises even the lingering shots of the features of a glamorous movie star have the effect of presenting her not as the vigilante but several different women who individually are a vigilante. It is the singular quotient of the title which defines the qualities of its directorial influence. This decision seems to be adopted—and, of course, this is mere supposition—almost as if the film is trying to send a subliminal message to any actual domestic abusers among the audience to take a moment and look around because any woman seated in that theater could just possibly be a vigilante who knows more about their abusive nature than they might suspect or want.
