A dark comedy about suicide is a risky proposition for any filmmaker; the sheer amount of possible tonal whiplash could overwhelm and render the piece unsavoury and in dubious taste. First time director Jerrod Carmichael manages to avoid any such potential pitfalls by creating a piece that is grounded foremost in empathy and selflessness.
The film begins in a jarring manner. Two men stand outside a strip club in the early morning with guns pointed at each other’s heads. These men aren’t enemies, they’re actually best friends who have entered into a suicide pact. The camera cuts away, but the audience hears only one shot. What happened?
Going back to events earlier in the day, we see Kevin (Christopher Abbott) in a psych ward trying to convince a therapist that despite his extremely recent suicide attempt he should be let out. Elsewhere, Val (Jerrod Carmichael) attempts to strangle himself in his work bathroom after being recently promoted but is interrupted by a co-worker coming in loudly singing a cheesy uplifting ditty.
Val decides to break Kevin out of the psych ward and takes him to the place where the film begins. He shows Kevin that he has two guns and admits that the idea of suicide brings him great peace. Val is confident that Kevin will agree to the suicide pact as Kevin has been suicidal for years. The moment comes and the men stand opposite each other professing how important their friendship has been. Just as Val shoots, Kevin knocks the gun off target and suggests that they have just one more day and at the end of it they can do the deed.
A buddy comedy with suicide as the final payoff may not sound enticing, yet Ari Katcher and Ryan Welch’s script manages to make the film a magnificent representation of mental health, life-long friendship, the nature of masculinity, and an exercise in catharsis.
On a cold day in New Jersey, Val and Kevin decide what they will do with their last day above ground. Kevin’s goal is to kill a paediatric psychiatrist who molested him as a boy (played against type by Henry Winkler). Val goes along with Kevin to Dr Brenner’s office but as chance would have it the doctor won’t be in until late in the afternoon. That gives the pair a timetable by which to schedule their day.
Although the trope of a movie traversing only a day isn’t new, what Carmichael does with the idea is sincerely interesting. The audience only has a set amount of time to get to know these characters and understand their decisions before a tragic conclusion. It’s a testament to not only the script but the outstanding talent of Abbott and Carmichael that it is achieved.
Val and Kevin’s depression stems from different causes. Val has suffered violence in the past but is currently brought down by a failed relationship and a job that verges on exploitation. Kevin spent his early life in institutions and the only person he could rely on was Val. Their bond is unbreakable, but they are very different characters. Val is reticent and repressed, Kevin is all emotion all of the time. Kevin has no idea of boundaries whereas Kevin has been living inside them for years. The difference between their personalities makes for some excellent humour but also reinforces how important their bond is.
Val and Kevin’s last day on earth together seems chaotic and random, but in fact is calibrated in the script to give the audience maximum insight into the men. Kevin runs into a callous ex-classmate who violently bullied him but now finds the whole thing hilarious and inconsequential. Val receives life-altering news from his ex-girlfriend Natasha – played by Tiffany Haddish who proves once again after Paul Schrader’s The Card Counter that she’s a fine dramatic actress. Val and Kevin veer from indulging in a final dirt bike ride from a place they used to be employed to robbing a convenience store (well not really), to personal visits to people from their lives. In an especially scene-stealing turn, comedian J.B. Smoove plays Val’s abusive father who Val goes to see not for reconciliation but to collect a financial debt owed to him. The scene is violent and unsettling but proves Kevin’s loyalty to his friend.
Loyalty is fundamental in making On the Count of Three part of a necessary conversation about masculinity and trauma. Kevin and Val not only would put a bullet into each other’s heads, they’d stand in front of one for the other. It makes some of their uneasy but naturalistic banter both comic and heartfelt. Kevin indulges in a lot of white guilt about how society has treated his black best friend, but Val’s eye-rolling response elicits genuine laughs whilst being a pertinent criticism of the “white tears” narrative.
Carmichael’s skill behind the camera is evident from lensing kinetic action to capturing small moments of emotion. Rarely do filmmakers come out of the gate with such a mature eye. Almost every aspect of the film is pitch perfect; from the go for broke performance by Abbott to the ironic use of Papa Roach’s suicide anthem ‘Last Resort.’ On paper, On the Count of Three shouldn’t be as entertaining and moving as it manages to be. It’s admittedly not an inspirational film, how could it be? It doesn’t suggest that deep wounds can be solved even by making the decision to end it all. What it is, however, is a strikingly crafted piece of cinema that confounds expectations and delivers a grace note to two people who have been systematically downtrodden by violence and trauma by instead concentrating on how they have managed to sustain and uplift each other.
