In interviews promoting the movie, Paul Schrader stated that making Dog Eat Dog was a chance at redemption for him and Nicolas Cage, given that their experience with their previous collaboration resulted in a movie that neither of them endorsed. As a result, there is a manic energy and sense of throwing caution to the wind in this picture that may stem from the beliefs of Schrader and Cage that this may be their only opportunity to create something unique enough to warrant this partnership fruitful. The result is Cage is able to find a middle ground between sociopathic cunning and the more expected Cageian outlandishness audiences have come to identify him with. It certainly is an unusual performance from Cage, given that he often swings between impulsive violence and careful rationale in situations where only one would be useful. However, the real source of energy and excitement in the story is certainly that of Willem Dafoe’s “Mad Dog,” who is wild and threatening enough to cause mayhem and destruction from the opening scene as well as act so impulsively and without understanding as to be the only member of this criminal trio that will give most viewers that entertainment quality that many movies, including Schrader’s recent projects, lack. Still, perhaps the most fascinating character is the third of the group: a quiet, intelligent, beefy convict with the longest fuse of the three but also the most malicious named Diesel. Played with a real mixture of charm and intensity by Christopher Matthew Cook, he looks like an ex-football player or one of those white supremacist gang members populating prisons. Yet, the movie intimates he also possesses a brain and a strong sense that the activities he is engaged in are beneath his abilities and perhaps he should not have joined up with these two who are more casual in their approach to violence. Or, perhaps these tendencies also are latent within him and merely needed to be awakened by the company he keeps.

It might be a difficult argument to make that Dog Eat Dog possesses any real deep truths about human violence, psychopathology or crime as it relates to an inner sense of accomplishment and peace. Then again, it is not clear that this is Schrader’s attempt. He may simply be trying his hand at a genre he usually avoids and going at it with the gusto and implusivity of these characters to make a bloody, gritty crime drama. On that level, many scenes do work, although a number, including the too-ambivalent ending, do not. The violence, which begins right from the opening sequence, is meant to cause discomfort and squirming as the camera hardly flinches at the graphic brutality when one of these criminals attack their (often) completely innocent victims. Yet, there is also a dark undercurrent of comedy running through the interactions between these three, especially given Cage and Dafoe’s lack of awareness and common sense when they encounter women or fellow criminals. This startling blend of violence and humor is, of course, inspired by many previous movies and filmmakers, not the least of whom is Quentin Tarantino. Yet, in true Schrader fashion, there is little time to be wasted talking about the minutiae of life; there is a plot to pursue. So instead, we are taken from one anxious, tension-filled sequence to another, in which not only are you unsure of who will survive but also what chance is there that an innocent person will be involved? Despite being involved in pulp, Dog Eat Dog makes sure this pulp goes down smoothly and keeps you coming back.

For most directors, the need to remain disciplined and pull back on their wildest inclinations is often a key component in making a movie digestible to the audience. However, in Schrader’s case, because his style can often feel claustrophobic and stilted, to see him go for broke and abandon inhibition can sometimes be liberating. The opening scene immediately replaces the look and feel of his previous seven projects with a zesty energy and defiant nihilism that certainly feels like a young man’s kind of game but is also pursued with the kind of recklessness only a veteran could possess. As one sequence flows into another, loosely connected by Cage’s off-beat narration, we get the feeling that all Schrader wants to do is follow these characters to their logical conclusions. This leads into the aforementioned ambivalent ending, which leaves one scratching their heador maybe even shaking it. Perhaps it just stops because Schrader had nothing else to say or observe. It is not clear that any of these characters can stand for anything but sociopathy and its ugly consequences. But, of course, this does not necessarily benefit the audience. Still, for about three-quarters of the way, Dog Eat Dog more than holds our attention; it feasts on it. There may not be anything of real substance to take away, but Schrader ensures the journey to nowhere is marked at clear intervals with memorable throes of violence and all its discontents.