In Paul Schrader’s latest film The Card Counter, William Tell (Oscar Isaac) could be the inspiration for a Lana Del Rey song. Meticulously dressed in shades of gray with dark sunglasses that hide his piercing brown eyes, he gambles in the casinos of middle America and sleeps in musky motels where he drapes the furniture in white sheets and twine. For a certain type of woman, Tell’s the type of guy who could make your eyes burn. Adding to this air of mystery, we learn through voiceover that Tell learned to count cards in prison where meditation was eventually achieved through routine just as Marcus Aurelius predicted. Now, Blackjack in places like Sioux Falls and Panama City serve as a form of penance. The casino and its congregation of outsiders work as Tell’s Church of choice, but these spaces feel closer to purgatory rather than a place of worship.
Through observation, we learn that Tell prefers lurking near slot machines and roulette tables to human interaction. Isolation is sustainable while connection is not. Most of his conversations are sparse and to the point, which is why Schrader relies so heavily on voiceover. Still somewhat withholding despite the profuse dialogue, it soon becomes evident that Tell’s gambling obsession is an escape from his own head. It’s not really about counting cards. If he meticulously focuses on his bets and his probabilities of winning, then he can evade whatever demons cloud his mind. It’s never about the money. He doesn’t try to beat the house or go for big wins. It’s about survival or at least a temporary high that provides some peace. This is why he adorns all of his motel furniture with white sheets. It’s a form of sensory deprivation. A homemade isolation chamber that Tell can exist in without any distractions from the outside world. A temple of sorts or even better a cage.
Schrader is perhaps best known for his collaboration with Martin Scorsese on Taxi Driver, but The Card Counter is no Casino. The usual gilded glitz and glamor associated with the grifter genre is omitted for the doldrums of the USA. Lonely sports bars and swampy motel pools are frequented but look as flavorless as a rubbery continental breakfast from a Super 8. Schrader, who leans towards harsh minimalism that borders on asceticism, provides his viewers with a window to local gambling communities that are not plastered with prestige, so much so that we never even make it to Vegas, which for a gambling film, feels sacrilegious. But that’s partially why the casinos of middle America work. Despite Tell’s uniform dressing and cool and precise game, he doesn’t draw too much attention to himself. People question him, but no one presses too hard unless you’re Paul Schrader or Lana Del Rey. He’s just another guy counting cards.
Despite Tell’s honest efforts to hide himself from the world, he can’t help but flirt with disaster. He meets La Linda (Tiffany Haddish), who hires Tell for her poker stable, basically a team of players who are backed by a single investor or organization. Haddish is perhaps one of comedy's most effusive performers, and she works her charm as La Linda despite downplaying her comedic timing. She cracks jokes when needed to cut the edge, and unlike Tell, who generally withholds his emotions, La Linda expresses joy openly. She’s an anomaly in a film of outsiders and much needed. It’s easy to see why he would fall for her, but this slippage in character leads to his downfall.
At a poker tournament in Atlantic City, Tell attends a lecture by Major John Gordo (Willem Dafoe) where he meets Cirk with a C (Tye Sheridan), who asks bluntly, “do you remember him?” Through Cirk’s eventual exposition, we learn that William Tell is actually PFC William Tillich, a soldier who was tried and convicted for his role in the Abu Ghraib prison scandal. He and Cirk’s father were trained by Major Gordo in the art of “enhanced interrogation techniques.” The two PFC’s served time for their crimes against humanity while Major Gordo walked free. Photographs of Lynndie England and Charles Graner are evoked by Schrader through nightmarish flashbacks of Tell at work. These scenes are meticulously researched and Hellish with loud metal music that is almost as disorienting as the abuse. Feces is painted on prisoners who are beaten with canes by United States military personnel. These are the demons that Tell lives with and Schrader does not provide us or his protagonist with much relief. Tell works hard to keep these nightmares at bay until Cirk reveals his plan is to kill Gordo.
Despite being flabbergasted by Cirk with a C’s audacity, Tell becomes a surrogate father to the Kid, who quickly establishes himself as a novice vigilante with an intense gaze. During their time on the road, Isaac slowly unwinds as Tell due to their interactions. Formally trained at Julliard, Isaac is at his best when he’s playing a reserved man slowly seeping at the edges. According to Shonni Ennelow in her piece “The Great Recession: American Acting Today,” Isaac doesn't usually go for big reactions or loud moments, but instead focuses on presenting a single persona rather than a bifurcated one. For the most part, this analysis of Isaac's style is correct, but with The Card Counter there are a few exceptions. During one scene in a motel breakfast room, Cirk explains his plan to torture Major Gordo with great delight. Beyond frustrated with Cirk’s stupidity, Isaac subtly breaks Tell’s hard as nails exterior. “Nothing can justify what we did,” Tell explains through exasperated gulps. “If you were there, you could understand that. Otherwise there’s no understanding.”
The problem with Tell is that he thinks he can change Cirk. Tell thinks that he can get the Kid back on the straight and narrow with routine and guidance, but Cirk could care less. He’s not trying to simply survive in the world by gliding through endless rows of poker tables, which is exactly why he decides to leave Tell and La Linda on their casino pilgrimage. He has one goal and one goal only. He just needed Tell’s help. He thinks that redemption is possible through violence, but what he fails to realize is that for someone who has committed crimes like Tell, suffering is the only option.