It appears that as Jake Gyllenhaal ages, his eyes are consuming the rest of his face. As Lou Bloom in Nightcrawler, Gyllenhaal looks skinny and wan and greasy, but those gigantic eyes are taking everything in, calculating how he can transform himself from a small-time crook to a Somebody. Gyllenhaal has been making excellent choices as an actor lately—he was the best thing in Prisoners, his performance in Enemy held that weird little smoggy smear of a movie together, and now Nightcrawler is probably the best thing he’s ever done.
When we first meet Bloom, he’s a total freak, a thief who speaks in a too-chipper series of self-help aphorisms and corporate-speak he’s gleaned off the internet. But soon enough, he’s discovered a legitimate career that appeals to him, and he decides to become the best in this field. Wait, did I say “legitimate”? Maybe not so much: The career that appeals to Bloom is a stringer cameraman for TV news, a professional voyeur who trolls the police scanner and then shows up on the scenes of accidents and murders to capture footage in the hopes of selling some gory B-roll to the local morning news shows. Bloom’s particular blend of sociopathy is drawn to this role as a paparazzi of the damned, and he’s plenty amoral enough to twist the situation to his benefit.
Bloom finds a kindred spirit—or at least someone desperate enough to help him—in Nina, a news producer played by Rene Russo. Nina used to be a news anchor, but now she’s old and presumably not acceptable for high-definition video—Russo is fearless in the role, feistily playing her age—and she’s clinging to legitimacy by the tips of her press-on nails. She notices that Bloom has an eye for pain and heartbreak, and she encourages him to get more video for her morning show, creating a symbiotic relationship. Crime is on the decline in Los Angeles, but Nina needs fresh blood—preferably the blood of wealthy white people, spilled by scary people of color—to shock her viewers over their bowls of breakfast cereal. What’s a moral monster to do?
Nightcrawler is a dark ride, a pervy little nephew to Taxi Driver and Network. Occasionally, the media commentary is a bit too on-the-nose, but the movie never stops being entertaining, thanks mostly to Gyllenhaal’s electric performance. With his smarmy topknot and his nervous giggle, Bloom is a monster wearing human skin like a Halloween costume, and something about Gyllenhaal’s warm smile and flashlight eyes make you want to cheer for him even as he’s videotaping injured and dying people with naked ambition oozing across his face.
This is a movie that could only take place in Los Angeles, and Dan Gilroy, directing from his own script, is adept at bringing out the loneliness of LA in every shot. Bloom drives around the vacant streets at night, a vulture looking for fresh carcasses, and you get the sense that this city goes on forever, that it’s one giant ribbon of tarmac, stretching down into hell’s lower intestine. Why would anyone live in this wretched place? Because there’s nowhere left to go. Los Angeles has swallowed everything. 
