For most directors, getting one film into the Toronto International Film Festival is reason for unabashed celebration and maybe a dance of joy, but then again most directors aren’t Werner Herzog. Not only did Herzog have the aforementioned Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans in the Festival, but the smaller more personal drama My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done as well. Oddly enough both films deal with police officers in difficult situations, but My Son, My Son’s Detective Hank Havenhurst (Willem Dafoe) finds himself inadvertently drawn into an unusual situation when he’s called to a crime scene in an upscale, San Diego neighbourhood.

The underappreciated Michael Shannon turns in another great performance as Brad, a traumatized man that becomes the centre of a hostage situation and the suspect in a murder. Detective Havenhurst and his partner Detective Vargas (Michael Peña) are called to a murder scene where an elderly woman is found murdered by sword. The immediate suspect his her son, who’s held up in the family home across the street, claiming that he has two hostages. As the police hunker down for a drawn out negotiation, Brad’s friends and family arrive on scene to shed light on his deteriorating state of mind, including his finance Ingrid (Chloë Sevigny) and a local theatre director Lee (Udo Kier). Eventually the facts that led Brad to such drastic actions are revealed.

I can’t deny, it’s a potent combination the bringing together of Werner Herzog and David Lynch, who produces the film. My Son, My Son is definitely in keeping with the latter filmmaker’s tendency to be non-linear and sneaky in his storytelling technique. That’s not to say though that Herzog is aping Lynch, but that the course of the movie just doesn’t run as smooth as other Herzog narratives like Rescue Dawn or Bad Lieutenant. As if trying to have the best of both worlds, it seems that Herzog is being philosophical as he’s trying to tell a straightforward story, and sometimes you sit there just wanting him to get on with it rather than take these long dramatic pauses as if putting some kind of ethereal emphasis on specific scenes.

The performances were good though. Shannon plays crazy without playing it as “Hollywood crazy.” He’s hurting and you sense that in every line and action, but he seems to lack the emotional vocabulary to talk about it. His mother doesn’t help matters, but what’s bizarre is that there were times in the flashback scenes where I wasn’t even really sure if she was real. I could have sworn for a moment there that the mother was completely a figment of Brad’s imagination, and it wasn’t until another character acknowledged her that I was certain. Was that intentional, I wonder? Or was I simply mistaking a slight to the meddlesome for something more imaginary? Sevigny is wonderful and heartbreaking as the steadfast girlfriend that plays completely against type as these roles often go; she’s not a hysteric and she’s not a victim, but a loving and concerned partner that wants the Brad she knows back.

So the actors were at least thoughtful and compelling, which was one of the reasons I kept paying attention. The story itself seemed to meander back and forth without any real kind of immediacy despite the situation, and it sometimes seemed that the characters themselves were sitting there waiting for all the pieces to come out before them. The film is ably led by Dafoe playing a diligent Joe Friday trying to collect all the facts, but the one thing he fails to manifest, or maybe that’s Herzog’s job, is a reason to believe. As an episodic story, My Son, My Son can be rewarding, but I’m not sure what it adds up to on the whole. As the down to earth companion to Bad Lieutenant, I enjoyed My Son, My Son in the broader context, especially seeing them both back to back. I have a feeling though, reaction to this film will be somewhat divided.