A self-evident cash-in on the new wave of films based on slick, action-filled books aimed at readers still in high school, Divergent is set in a post-apocalyptic society based in the ruins of Chicago, where everyone is allocated a secure and suitable “faction” based on their most essential character trait. How Divergent plays out this idea results in some unpleasant connotations. On the surface there’s regulation celebration of the heroic misfit, whose “divergent” characteristics make her at once a danger to the system through her irrepressible individuality, and also a noble defender of her society’s supposedly balanced values. In the last act, the warrior elite, dubbed the “Dauntless” faction, is sneakily brainwashed and used for murderous repression by a regulation band of snooty would-be dictators. Scratch deeper, though, and one could argue that Divergent advocates intensive, quasi-fascistic training of suitably inclined young people in a manner reminiscent of Heinlein’s original Starship Troopers novel, as long as that training is restricted only to people whose inner nature desires such testing, and that their talents aren’t misused by powers that be for nefarious ends. The brainwashing angle feels unnecessary however, because the Dauntless progeny are rigorously schooled in unquestioning obedience anyway: the script, by Evan Daugherty and Vanessa Taylor from Veronica Roth’s novel, raises but eminently fails to investigate the moral problems of creating refined watchmen but failing to equip them with internal moral compasses, as it suggests most people are happy to function as drones in whatever sector of life they fall into. There’s also a distinctly anti-intellectual angle to the story, as the “Erudite” or hyper-intelligent faction plots malevolently to seize control from the “Abnegation” or selfless-service faction on the basis of a belief system that sounds like the modern American right wing’s wildest fantasies of the liberal elite’s Machiavellian intent. Erudite are all suited technocrats, whilst Abnegation dress in dowdy linens that makes them look like they’re going to a Hutterite picnic.
Heroine Beatrice, or Tris (Shailene Woodley), finds she’s a Divergent when she’s customarily tested on her 16th birthday; her tester (Maggie Q) urges her to conceal her multiplicity of talents and choose whichever faction she feels suits her best. Although she belongs to an Abnegation clan, of which her father, Andrew (Tony Goldwyn) is a respected member and community administrator, Tris is attracted by the boundless jock energy and poor danger-processing skills of Dauntless, and she decides to join the warriors at the big communal rite of passage that decides each teen’s future. Finding company with fellow new initiates like Christina (Zoë Kravitz), Tris is put through her paces by asshole tutor Eric (Jai Courtney) and his subordinate, the skilled but more amenable Four (Theo James), who becomes Tris’ adviser and, eventually, lover, as each learns about the other’s complex identity and place in this rigid society. Hallucinogens seem to be really big in this future, as Tris is sent into mental fantasy landscapes and forced to play out fear-inducing scenarios, as part of both her initial trait testing and her later mental training as a Dauntless. She discovers that as a Divergent, she can easily circumvent these scenarios, requiring her and Four to work closely on learning how to pass the tests without giving away her nature. Meanwhile Tris is vaguely aware of rumours and plots swirling about Abnegation’s supposed habits of misrule and abuse of its children, and you don’t have to be Von Clausewitz to work out such misinformation is being propagated by Erudite über-bitch Jeanine (Kate Winslet) as part of her plot to seize control of the state and exterminate Abnegation.
Divergent is very easy fare to pick holes in: the speculative social set-up is ludicrous, the values inherent in the work are confused, and much of the film is essentially one good strong training montage stretched out over an hour or more of running time, whilst the actual plot is compressed into the last third. The similarity to The Hunger Games franchise is irresistible, featuring another seemingly ordinary young woman catapulted to martial glory in a futuristic state, and also regulation similarities to Harry Potter – like Harry, Tris, because she’s not a native Dauntless, is for a long time tagged as a hopeless Johnny-come-lately who needs exposition drip-fed to her. Still, author Roth was at least canny enough to create a future society that, although unworkable, surely feels instantly recognisable to high schoolers, where caste is based in essential personal characteristics and behavioural quirks, and the peculiarity of Tris’ lot lies in not belonging entirely to any camp. Equally relevant and well-conveyed is the film’s implicit understanding of the moral bullying so often levelled on young people by society, the leverage, both crude and subtle, worked upon them to fall into convenient or satisfying patterns of behaviour. Nor is the film entirely ignorant of its own problematic foundations. Dauntless is packed with both brave and ardent young things and also callow thugs, proto-fascists, and cheap bullies, all exemplified by the malicious Eric, who could be described as Fatso Judson with tighter pecs, douchebag face studs, and trailer-trash tattoos: as in Jack Reacher (2012), Courtney’s lumpen Aussie skate-punk aggression and pineapple head are much more appropriate for playing a bad guy you just want to kick silly than they were for playing a McClane. Eric is a natural collaborator with the villains, of course. Meanwhile, Tris is almost murdered by a cabal of fellow Divergents when her surging abilities put their fates on the line, led by Al (Christian Madsen), whose taunting conceals crippling fear of flunking out and being forced to join the vagrant factionless community.
In spite of the aforementioned worrisome points in its outlook and lumpy story development that threatens to grind pace to a halt more than once, ultimately I found this much more enjoyable than the popular but consistently mishandled Hunger Games films. Director Neil Burger, who’s made a couple of profitable but instantly forgotten romantic dramas since breaking through with the superior The Illusionist (2005), has a crisp, no-fuss shooting style and an easy way with actors, making for a movie that’s better-looking film than either Hunger Games entry so far, with a cleaner and brighter colour palette, courtesy of DP Alwin Küchler. Much like The Hunger Games films, Divergent pointedly lacks any convergence of conceptual largesse and visual power that could shock its style and audience presumptions out of writ-large TV and into the realm inhabited by Logan’s Run (1976) or Rollerball (1975) as genuinely, cinematically powerful variations on this theme. But the setting, a Chicago that seems mostly intact apart from a little urban decay and skyscrapers standing about like idle shells studded with wind turbines, is described with only as many CGI flourishes as strictly required, and is instead a lo-fi landscape where clunky, utilitarian future trains ride the old El tracks. One of the few expansively visualised sequences sees Tris, for her second and more permanent initiation to Dauntless, sent for a ride down across the ruined skyline from a skyscraper roof on a flying fox, rocketing through shattered buildings and twilight voids at exhilarating speed. One disappointing aspect is that, for a film built around daredevils inhabiting a blasted urban landscape, Berger makes no use of parkour aesthetic and athletic potential, a la Banlieu 13 (2004).
Once Divergent finally kicks off its actual plot, about half-hour late, it works up effective, basic melodramatic force, with breathless rescues, deaths, mayhem, and comic-book plot twists, heartily tossing out strained significance in favour of slick if watered-down thrills. Tris is saved from execution by her own mother (Ashley Judd) who was, natch, a former Dauntless, and later she’s pitched into a death-match with a brainwashed Four in the best pulp tradition of depicting perverse emotional extremes through absurd metaphors. Nor does the film pussyfoot half as much as some of its YA ilk in letting Tris evolve into a badass: after being cockily informed for second time that she won’t shoot the person she has a gun on, she declares irritably, “Why does everyone keep saying that?” before kneecapping her prey. Woodley is a blue-chip asset: following up her effective, show-stealing performance as the truculent grieving teen in The Descendants (2011), she inhabits Tris with intelligence and humour, with a discordant gentleness that conflicts with her inner bravado, ably maintaining a dialogue between impulses that should clash, or which her society expects to clash, but actually bind her identity. Whilst Jennifer Lawrence has been increasingly hamstrung in repeating a watered-down version of her Winter’s Bone (2011) performance as Katniss Everdeen, Tris is far less dull and stoic, and that makes Woodley’s evolution from willowy maiden into a poised, almost exasperated heroine much more entertaining. James is marginally less boring than most of the handsome whelps paraded through these things to get tweener girls’ blood racing. More essential is Winslet’s gorgeously chilly villainess: Winslet does exactly what the story needs her to do – radiate haughty, arrogant self-belief and generate swift, intense antipathy in the viewer – to give the fight-the-power finale some kick. The climactic confrontation of Tris and Jeanine has a direct, elemental, happily nasty pay-off that ranks amongst the more satisfying of recent action films.
