"Spiv " is a word the British use for someone who gets by on their wits (Americans might say "hustler" or "con") and could describe Dean Page's struggles with upward mobility in Duncan Roy's AKA. From the true story of Page's intuitive rise to comfort and privilege Roy has spun an affecting fable on self-respect, wealth, aristocracy and true class. Think of merging Pygmalion, The Talented Mr. Ripley and Catch Me If You Can, but resulting in a film successful on its' own terms. AKA is foremost about the caste system that makes self-esteem difficult if you must earn your own livelihood. Compared to the didacticism of Brecht and Shaw it is subtle and surprisingly revelatory, without the usual depiction of the moneyed class as depraved and menacing. On the contrary, in AKA we find unlikely heroes, numerous villains, plenty of blame to go around and spivs at every plateau.
Early in the film, Dean's father kicks him out, ostensibly because he is gay, or perhaps because he piques his dad's sense of inadequacy, but as we suspect, crucial information is withheld and his mother is either too scared or subjugated to intervene. Spurred by desperation and a keen desire to move up in the world, he soon learns that his youth and fetching appearance are a currency that will carry him far. Finding legitimate attempts to better himself thwarted by those who only wish to degrade him, he learns the ropes of confidence and expediency, appropriating the identity of a nemesis in the bargain. When applying for a position at a Parisian Art Gallery, his chances look pretty bleak. He finds by changing his lineage that a job is secured, even if his qualifications haven't changed.
A masterstroke of plotting is the charming American hustler named Benjamin. He is a character foil, to be sure, to Dean and to David Glendenning, who employs him for diversion and recreation. Benjamin is a hustler, to be sure, and Peter Youngblood Hills plays him with great finesse and allure. Benjamin falls in love with Dean, and as he points out much later, they have more in common than Benjamin realizes. Though when Benjamin insists that Dean move into their upscale Island of the Lost Boys, he tells Dean it's because "You're one of us." And it's okay, it works when we don't know if he means, rich, queer or on the make. Probably all three.
Benjamin's character is essential because he begs the question of choosing between self-esteem and survival. When you're repeatedly told your worthless, you learn to subsist on jobs others are too proud to accept. When Dean has learned how to turn the trick, and pass himself off as Lord Gryffoyn, it's Benjamin who triggers his despicable conduct, who shows us the cost of Dean's transformation. Hills himself is exceptionally cute, but far more than a pretty face, he takes what could have been another excessive, pathetic stereotype and makes Benjamin unforgettable. His climactic scene with Matthew Leitch is positively wrenching.
I expect much will be made of AKA's triple image technique, and rightly so. (Ironically the multiple screen is only optional on The DVD) It is projected on a single screen, as usual, but with three centered, adjacent, horizontal images. You could compare Carrie, where DiPalma used double and triple images at the payoff sequence and completely blew it, or The Pillow Book, in which Peter Greenaway used inset images to tremendous exponential effect. Duncan Roy uses this device successfully, I believe. There were times when I thought some of the photography redundant, but others when it brought in parallel information that made the events more intriguing. Chiefly it serves to show us differing points-of-view at the same time, an effect presumably not possible with a traditional two-shot. Roy also uses the multiplicity to chart various distances between camera and subject, usually Dean. Could it have worked just as well with a sequential shuffle of single, persistent images? Possibly. After the first twenty minutes it no longer called attention to itself and that is reason enough for validation.
AKA transcends the underpinnings of its' predecessors. It is not funny, like Pygmalion, or jaunty, like Catch Me If You Can, or grim like The Talented Mr. Ripley. It surpasses melodrama with intense clarity and pathos. It does not seek to drag the sorrow from us, but picks its' instances of confrontation and trauma carefully, appealing to the audience's recognition of the deeper truths. And, strangely enough (considering that Mr. Roy is telling his own personal story) it doesn't deal in moral relativism. When he has his epiphany he returns home and pays his debt to society. The tagline could read, AKA: The last place you'd expect to find a moral compass.