by Michael Dequina
July 13, 2002
Better Late Than Never...
There's just too much to cover, not to mention I'm already running late as it is, so no cheesy intro this week. (That sound you may hear if you happen to be blessed with superhuman senses is the sigh of relief coming from my five regular readers.)
A Rough ROAD--in Every Sense
ROAD TO PERDITION is being touted as the first serious Oscar contender of the year, but if I were director Sam Mendes, I wouldn't clear off shelf space for a bookending statue just yet. The Academy is known for slighting films not released toward year's end, not to mention commercial considerations are more of a factor than those in the know would care to admit (remember how the universally acclaimed, heavily hyped ALMOST FAMOUS became an also-ran in the nominations race after it tanked at the box office?). And despite the presence of box office superstar and Academy favorite Tom Hanks, the financial prospects for this drama outside of opening weekend are one huge question mark.
The reason for this is also the reason for why this adaptation of the Max Allan Collins/Richard Piers Rayner graphic novel is, for the most part, an oddly intriguing work. ROAD TO PERDITION technically falls under the "gangster drama" category, but it doesn't deliver the traditional satisfactions; Mendes' woozy pacing and decidedly understated approach to violence is in direct contrast to its rawer, pulpier genre and source material. Furthermore, PERDITION the film is not entirely effective on a story level. The entirety of the plot is summed up simply and quickly--after a personal tragedy, mob hitman (Hanks) in '30s Illinois goes on the run for revenge with his eldest son (Tyler Hoechlin)--not to mention its resolution is easily foreseen and rather anticlimactic.
Yet PERDITION is fascinating when taken as a dark, brooding mood piece. What David Self's screenplay lacks Mendes and his cast and crew make up in style of execution (bad pun somewhat intended). While the larger context may not be entirely compelling, Mendes is able to craft some affecting and visually unforgettable sequences, aided immeasurably by cinematographer Conrad Hall, production designer Dennis Gassner, costume designer Albert Wolsky and the top-shelf cast. Hanks does a fine job playing against type as a laconic killer, but even better is the ageless Paul Newman as his boss/father figure. The central issue of the father-son dynamic comes through much clearer and more poignantly in their relationship than in that between Hanks and Hoechlin. Hoechlin does a respectable job, but Haley Joel Osment won't be losing any jobs, let alone sleep, over him. To say that he can't quite measure up to Hanks, Newman, Jude Law (as a assassin with a morbid photo fetish), or Stanley Tucci (as Al Capone associate Frank Nitti) is perhaps unfair, but he doesn't quite knock the role out of the park to make enough of a lasting impression. The same can be said of PERDITION as a whole; it's an immersive viewing experience, but it never becomes the profound emotional one it so obviously strives to be--as painfully indicated in its horrendously obvious sledgehammer of a final voiceover.
Creature Features
Tens of millions of dollars quite obviously went into the making of REIGN OF FIRE, yet all of it couldn't buy a spelling/grammar check: a prominently featured magazine article headline reads, "Europes' Capitals Destroyed." Okay, benefit of the doubt--maybe in the post-apocalyptic, dragon-overrun year 2020 A.D. in which the film takes place, there are two separate Europes. (Maybe not.)
Most people will be too busy marveling at the film's main drawing card--those flying, fire-breathing dragons--to notice such sloppy grammar, and indeed the digitally-created beasts are sights to behold: menacing, majestic, and completely convincing. If only director Rob Bowman's cast of paper-thin human characters were nearly as interesting to watch (for the right reasons, anyway). Quinn (a dour Christian Bale), the leader of a community in what remains of the English countryside, is haunted by his mother's years-ago death-by-dragon. He forms a reluctant alliance with Van Zan (Matthew McConaughey), the gung-ho Yank leader of a ragtag group of military types on the hunt for the sole male of the dragon species. His second-in-command is Alexandra (Izabella Scorupco), a helicopter pilot who... is just a helicopter pilot.
And, for the most part, the action sequences in REIGN OF FIRE are just action sequences, functional though hardly exceptional in any particular way aside from the CGI. In fact, it's more or less all downhill after the chilling prologue that sets up Quinn and the reptile infestation of Earth, for there's no sense of escalating danger or tension, and the delicious prospect of a mass confrontation with dragons is scuttled before it can even begin to take place. Perhaps the latter was an intentional cost-cutting decision, but it also robs the audience of some potential, if preposterous, fun. As it is, the only real sense of fun comes from the bald, buffed-up, and tattooed McConaughey, who serves up an amusingly hyper-rednecked parody of the classic American Alpha Male Action Hero, whether intentional or not.
There's no doubting the intentions of a film bearing the attention-grabbing title EIGHT LEGGED FREAKS, which has its own grammatical problem: the glaring absence of a hyphen between "eight" and "legged." That the error is front and center in the title is indicative of the "we don't give a fuck" cheesiness of the entire enterprise. And that attitude is infectious, for audiences won't give a fuck about its stupidity, either; after all, the movie is about a small town being overrun by giant spiders.
There's no use in going into more detail about various plot specifics--urban development, a mining engineer's (David Arquette) torch for the foxy single mom town sheriff (Kari Wuhrer)--for they don't matter. All that matters is whether or not director/co-writer Ellory Elkayem delivers the creepy-crawly goods, and in this throwback to monster movies of old he strikes the right balance between earnestness and self-aware camp. The sight of the imperfectly-CG'ed big bugs--and their goopy "blood"--is always good for a laugh, but Elkayem employs them in some genuinely exciting and suspenseful sequences. The balance also comes through in the casting. One doesn't exactly hire Arquette to play a straight-arrow, but he nicely modulates his natural hamminess here, camping it up Shatner-style only during the most appropriate moments for maximum punch. On the flip side, Wuhrer and Scarlett Johansson (as the sheriff's teenage daughter) lend the film its token cheesecake and a certain sense of levity. EIGHT LEGGED FREAKS is very much the brain-dead entertainment its title suggests, and in this case, that's a wonderful thing.
The Title Doesn't Lie
Unlike many films, the erotic Spanish import SEX AND LUCíA (Lucía y el Sexo) delivers exactly what its
title promises and then some. There's a whole lot of sex, a whole lot of Lucía and even more of them put together.
But the title is also misleading in a sense, for the film is less about all the sex the title character (played by
Paz Vega, who was nominated for the Spanish Oscar equivalent for her performance) has with her partner, writer Lorenzo (Tristán
Ulloa), than her deep love for him. When she receives word that he was in a severe accident, Lucía runs away to
Lorenzo's favorite island retreat, and as she stumbles into a hole so does the bottom fall out from under the
film--in a good way. From then on, writer-director Julio Medem moves between past and present to weave an
intricate and highly involving tale about fate, chance, loss, discovery, love and (of course) sex. The
relentlessly nonlinear flow of the film may make for some confusion, but Medem brings all the seemingly
random elements into a cohesive whole in the end. What keeps the film absorbing from moment to moment,
however, are the performances, particularly that of the stunning and gifted Vega--who, if there's a God, will
soon kick Penelope Cruz's homely hack-tress ass out of Hollywood.
NEVER AGAIN... Let Eric Schaeffer Behind the Camera
In the late '70s, Jill Clayburgh scored two consecutive Best Actress Oscar nominations. Now, nearly a quarter-century later, Clayburgh's first lead role in years finds her stuck in a strap-on sexual appliance, desperately trying to break or chop off the large dildo. It's indeed a truly sad statement on the quality of roles available for women over the age of fifty, but an even stronger statement supporting the ongoing cinematic case against Eric Schaeffer. NEVER AGAIN is the writer-director's attempt at a "mature" love story, but for Schaeffer that simply means plopping down 50-something characters in situations ripped from a teen sex comedy. Yes, middle-aged people are still sexually active, but certainly there are more effective ways of conveying this than, for instance, having one of Clayburgh's sex-obsessed best friends (played by Sandy Duncan--yes, that Sandy Duncan) give her a catalog for "Toys for Twats and Cocks." It's not all that funny to begin with, and it all smacks of cheap, precious would-be shock value: look, they're old, and they're kinky!
Schaeffer's fascination with such geriatric juvenalia with genitalia undermines any attempt he makes at sincerity in this romance between a lonely divorcée (Clayburgh) and a commitment-shy exterminator/jazz musician (Jeffrey Tambor). The simple premise (both have been burned too many times before, so they have both vowed to "never again" fall in love--guess where this is heading?) is formulaic but certainly workable, given Clayburgh and Tambor's easy-going chemistry. But leave it to Schaeffer (who, thankfully, doesn't set foot in front of the camera this time) to fuck it up somehow, particularly through the writing. The stars' rapport can't disguise how underwritten their characters' relationship is; basically their only common ground is their "never again" philosophy and hot (and, thankfully, unseen) sex. The film takes a torturous and time-consuming path to the pair's "meet cute," which stems from Tambor's short-lived doubts about his sexuality (never mind); and similarly labored are his rather desperate attempts to rejuvenate the story when it loses considerable steam in the third act--when in doubt, throw in a mucho-manipulative and completely arbitrary tragedy! But there's no greater tragedy than witnessing a pair of talented actors' abilities at the service of a filmmaker and project so clearly undeserving of them.
Sights Unseen
MGM cannot seem to mention the Ebert and Roeper "two thumbs up" enough in their TV commercials for THE CROCODILE HUNTER: COLLISION COURSE; after grouping that review with a rave from a nondescript quote whore, the "two thumbs up" runs one more time under the word "FRIDAY" on the spot's closing title card. Bear in mind Roger and Richard gave LIKE MIKE two thumbs up, so exercise caution if feeling even the slightest urge to buy a ticket to Aussie nature TV show host Steve Irwin's oh-so-anticipated big screen splash.
Slasher icon Michael Myers met a pretty definite--and appropriate--end at the hands of his long-suffering sister in the movie I like to call HALLOWEEN WATER, but since that made a pretty decent sum (if not exactly--bad pun alert!--a killing) four years ago, leave it to franchise producer Moustapha Akkad to milk the dry teet once more with HALLOWEEN: RESURRECTION. Somehow Myers is back and ready to kill off some foolish teens shacked up in his childhood home; somehow Jamie Lee Curtis returns in a cameo as the masked man's aforementioned sis Laurie Strode (though word has it her scenes were filmed during production of the last film as a "just in case" back door for a sequel); and somehow Busta Rhymes is toplining the cast.
Opening in New York and Los Angeles is the film festival favorite and César Award-nominated MY WIFE IS AN ACTRESS (Ma Femme Est une Actrice), a screwball romantic comedy centering around a sports writer (Yvan Attal, who also wrote and directed), his actress wife (Charlotte Gainsbourg) and her latest co-star (Terence Stamp).
Next Week...
...my take on K-19: THE WIDOWMAKER and STUART LITTLE 2, among others. In the meantime, as always, you can read more of my reviews at Mr. Brown's Movie Site.
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