Oscar Isaac Shines in The Card Counter‘s Lackluster Tale of Existential Loneliness

I’ve been thinking a lot about Paul Schrader’s The Card Counter, but probably not for the reasons you would think. The film is getting a lot of positive buzz—and I think there are elements really worth talking about in this quiet, contemplative drama—but I can’t help but feel its successes are parkouring off the back of its predecessor, 2017’s fiery and fierce First Reformed. Schrader is known for his meditations on loneliness; his storied history of projects—including script duties for Martin Scorsese films like Taxi Driver, Raging Bull and Bringing Out the Dead—always seem to follow tortured souls who could be part of the same bridge circle or fight club. It’s clear both The Card Counter and First Reformed are cut from that same cloth, though the latter sticks the landing better than the former.
Both of these films, in true Schrader style, are about something brewing under the surface—underneath the monotony, the loneliness, the minutiae of life. We follow the quiet life of William Tell, played with steady determination and precision by the incredible Oscar Isaac. He floats through life counting cards at lower stakes casino games, quite literally just passing the time among the tables. But he lets the audience know from the beginning that his demeanor stems from doing ten years of hard time. At first, it seems like he truly just wants to exist in the free world without any constraints, content to glide along by the edges of cards forever. Quickly, though, we learn that there is an anger building inside Tell and he is desperate to exercise it in the right way, the justified way.
Isaac’s character is easily a spiritual sibling to Ethan Hawke’s Ernst Toller, the pastor of the First Reformed church who grapples with the erosion of his faith amid a volatile realization within his parish. As The Card Counter’s plot plays out, Tell begins to spin out like a car, trying his damnedest to keep control of what has become of his life. Even his attempt to give up solitude turns against him—much like it does for Toller when he becomes embroiled with Amanda Seyfried’s Mary and her husband, Michael—when he meets Cirk (Tye Sheridan), a young man eager to inflict violence upon a mutual figure from both their pasts. Isaac is immensely good at quiet conflict, the internal struggle. It permeates the entire film and makes it worth watching. His performance gives us a reason to care that, once again, Schrader is taking us down the dark and amoral path he is known to tread.