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Aug 16, 2012 By John Everhart Web Exclusive

David Cronenberg, once pigeonholed as the progenitor of “venereal horror,” has neatly eschewed that fatuous label in recent years. Be it his vitriolic take on man’s wanton impulse for destruction in A History of Violence, the relatively straightforward mob flick rife with astonishing character development Eastern Promises, or his nefarious riff on Jung’s nascent development of psychoanalysis A Dangerous Method, Cronenberg’s challenged not just the audience but himself for the past decade.

His newest film, Cosmopolis, is a rather faithful adaptation of Don DeLillo’s 2003 novel of the same name. But while DeLillo’s novel seems downright prescient now, Cronenberg takes the subject matters addressed-namely gaming the market and the pitfalls of globalization-and transmogrifies them into something distinctly his own, reflecting his highly idiosyncratic style and facility with rearranging gross caricatures into deeply affecting allegorical statements.

The film follows billionaire asset manager Eric Packer, portrayed with steely cold resolve by Robert Pattinson, as he traverses Manhattan in a hermetically-sealed limo in search of a haircut. What follows is a litany of interactions with the abject and privileged alike, with opulence colliding with dilapidation in a manner that reflects both the gross income disparity in America and a callous antipathy towards the poor.

The film’s denouement is open-ended, but one of its more salient scenes finds Packer engaging in a gruesome act of self-immolation. Is it for attention? Self-destruction? As any armchair psychiatrist can tell you, it’s out of a desperate need to feel something different. Sociopaths get their kicks in cruel and twisted manners, and Cosmopolis is an indelible illustration of this endlessly fascinating phenomenon. (www.cosmopolisthefilm.com)

Author rating: 8.5/10