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| BEING JULIA |
| 09.23.04 (5:46 pm) [edit] |
BEING JULIA
Cast: Annette Bening, Jeremy Irons, Shaun Evans, Juliet Stevenson, Miriam Margoyles, Maury Chaykin, Rosemary Harris, and Michael Gambon
Directed by: István Szabó
Written by: Ronald Harwood
Distributor: Sony Pictures Classics (US 2004)
Rated: R for some sexuality
As Reviewed by: Gabriel Shanks
Quaint art deco calligraphy, burnished architectural details, a perky, flapper-friendly score -- even before the opening credits of BEING JULIA finish, any viewer will know exactly where their next two hours will be spent: in Merchant-Ivory country. The period detailing will soon give way to the hallmarks of M/I drama, the loves, losses, and obsessions of early 20th-century British aristocracy. The small but important detail that neither James Ivory nor Ismail Merchant have anything to do with BEING JULIA is of little consequence, since the filmmakers seem satisfied to make a pale imitation of their work in Howard's End, A Room with a View, and Maurice. The director, Hungary's István Szabó (Mephisto), brings nearly nothing to Ronald Harwood's slim adaptation of Somerset Maugham's classic novel Theatre, itself a trifling story of a tempestuous actress and a doomed affair with a younger man. If A Room with a View expanded our view inside the repressed passions of its characters, BEING JULIA seems content to just put a frame around them and call it a day.
To be fair, there are themes running through Maugham's gently comic tale. The old crock of nonsense, that theatre imitates life and vice versa, is alluded to none too subtly and far too frequently. The question of whether we, the victims of life's cruel mysteries, are all actors in some way underscores much of the drama as well. Possibly, these were revolutionary premises a century ago, but today both ideas are hackneyed, oft-explored ideas. With nothing new to say about them, BEING JULIA quickly renders itself irrelevant even as a historical piece. Ronald Harwood, who so elegantly shaped The Pianist into an Oscar-winning screenplay in 2003, drastically simplifies the tale into a straightforward, no-frills narrative that retains little of Maugham's signature detail and nuance. He finally pulls it all together in the film's final act, but by then, we've been subjected to his 'updates' to Maugham (profanity, primarily) and a string of theatre clichés, including closeted gays, ambitious ingénues, impetuous divas, and philandering producers. There are few successful films about the theatre; the electric vitality of live performance is difficult for film to capture, and the world of the theatre is precariously insular. BEING JULIA, sadly, can be stacked on the heap of failed attempts.
Maybe it's not a total wash -- after all, the leading lady of the title is none other than Annette Bening (American Beauty), leading a truly stellar ensemble that includes Jeremy Irons, Michael Gambon, Juliet Stevenson, Bruce Greenwood, Rosemary Harris, Maury Chaykin and Miriam Margolyes. Fine actors one and all, and it is to their credit that Harwood's limpid text shows occasional flickers of life. Bening is often glowingly magnetic, clearly reveling in the role; she creates an infectious enthusiasm whenever she is onscreen. The part of Julia, alas, is too light and Harwood's text too threadbare to give any real context for her struggles; when she cries over her paramour after a single night of passion, one is justifiable in wondering whether she is a few cards short of a deck. It is the kind of role that, with the right push, might become an also-ran in an Oscar race...something that Bening, a two-time nominee, might be interested in pursuing. I suspect it will be an uphill climb.
Of special note is Michael Gambon (Gosford Park), a truly exceptional performer playing the film's most interesting part -- Julia's long dead acting teacher, who 'coaches' her through her affair (and its resulting revenge scenario) from beyond the grave. Although Thomas Sturridge and Lucy Punch -- as Julia's son and her personal Eve Harrington, respectively -- give wonderfully textured performances, the same cannot be said for the other young actor in the cast. Newcomer Shaun Evans, as the object of Julia's affection, is a blank, vacuous, and empty presence, deadening the film's vitality beyond repair. There's no doubt that drama is easy, comedy is hard, and BEING JULIA is even harder. But it doesn't even compare to having to sit through it.
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| BEHIND THE SCENES OF POLICE ACADEMY 8 |
| 09.23.04 (4:02 pm) [edit] |
[b]by Martin Scribbs[/b]
In the ten years since [i]Police Academy 7: Mission to Moscow[/i] wrapped, series producer and visionary [url=http://www.imdb.com/name/nm05...]Paul Maslansky[/url] has been deluged by requests to restart the franchise. No surprise, many of these requests have come from Hollywood's hottest directors, writers, and stars. With [url=http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0...]Police Academy 8[/url] finally slated to begin production, we've gotten exclusive access to some of the rejection letters that Maslansky has reluctantly had to pen over the years.(*)
[b]MEMO FROM[/b]: Paul Maslansky
[b]TO[/b]: Christopher Guest
[b]DATE[/b]: January 1, 1996
[b]RE[/b]: Your Police Academy 8 Proposal: [i]Mahowny, My Self[/i]
Thanks all the same, but ours isn't the gang for improv. I once asked Bubba Smith to ad lib, and he just knocked Steve Guttenberg unconscious.
That was the happiest day of my life.
All the Same,
PM
***
[b]MEMO FROM[/b]: Paul Maslansky
[b]TO[/b]: Vivid Video
[b]DATE[/b]: February 31, 1997
[b]RE[/b]: Your Police Academy 8 Proposal: Police Academy 8: [i]Hooks Loves Callahan[/i]
Thank you for your recent submission. While I have read your script several times, with vigor and keen interest, I must regretfully decline to produce it. A successfully production of your project would demand that I replace my entire cast of acclaimed comedians with hardbodied nymphomaniacs, which I am reluctant to do. Peter North may be a veteran woodsman, but he can hardly match the hilarity of George Gaynes, the one and only Cmndt. Eric Lassard. (George, interestingly enough, is a fan of your proposal, and says he's "up for anything as long as [he] get[s] to hold a goldfish bowl." That's professionalism!)
Police Academy fans expect, and deserve, sophisticated farce. There's no room in sophisticated farce for anal creampies. To take another, perhaps minor example, it's simply not my vision of Sgt. Callahan to have her engage in a competitive "all-midget gang bang." While we have always presented Callahan as a desirable and sexually aggressive woman, she has hitherto limited her predations to her fellow officers and cadets. Unless all of these little people can be shoehorned into a Police Academy program, these several scenes (and the flashback over credits) do violence to her backstory.
I won't address your merchandising proposals, which go beyond the pale. We've done very well thusfar without molding anything after anyone's orifice, and expect to continue in that proud tradition.
Sincerely,
PM
***
[b]MEMO FROM[/b]: Paul Maslansky
[b]TO[/b]: Spike Lee
[b]DATE[/b]: January 1, 1999
[b]RE[/b]: Your Police Academy 8 Proposal: [i]That's No Wallet, That's My Sweetchuck[/i]
Dear Mr. Lee,
Three flaws in your premise: (1) [now-Officer, then shopkeeper] Sweetchuck isn't black; (2) the thousand-plus rounds fired into his store ([i]Police Academy 2[/i]) didn't kill him; and (3) don't pitch Eddie Griffith to a man who's seen [i]Undercover Brother[/i].
Thank [u]You[/u] Very Much,
PM
***
[b]MEMO FROM[/b]: Paul Maslansky
[b]TO[/b]: Todd Haynes
[b]DATE[/b]: March 1, 1999
[b]RE[/b]: Your Police Academy 8 Proposal: [i]Close to Heavin'[/i].
What on Earth makes you think Captain Harris and Leiutenant Proctor are actually gay lovers? As the series demonstrates clearly, gay men are either (a) muscle-bound, leather-clad tango fanatics (as in the Blue Oyster Bar, [i]Police Academies[/i] 1-4) or (b) pervy foreigners (as in [i]Police Academy 7: Mission to Moscow[/i]). Harris and Proctor fall into neither category.
No, the humiliation these resolutely straight joes endure comes from being put into positions where they could be mistaken for gay. How humiliating! What a loss of face! But you obviously didn't get the joke.
And they say you people have a wicked sense of humor.
PM
***
[b]MEMO FROM[/b]: Paul Maslansky
[b]TO[/b]: Mel Gibson
[b]DATE[/b]: January 1, 2004
[b]RE[/b]: Your Police Academy 8 Proposal: [i]Heeb Hijinks[/i]
Dear Mel,
Much as the new recruits despise Captain Harris, I doubt even they'd flay him for an hour. Besides, I can only think of two good auto-da-fe jokes, and they both involve flatulence and floridation. Pass.
PM
***
[b]MEMO FROM[/b]: Paul Maslansky
[b]TO[/b]: Eroll Morris
[b]DATE[/b]: June 15, 2004
[b]RE[/b]: Your Police Academy 8 Proposal: [i]Excessive Force: The Eugene Tackleberry Story[/i]
Mr. Morris,
Unfortunately, [url=http://us.imdb.com/name/nm033...]David Graf has gone on to that great Police Academy in the sky[/url] . His dying wish was that no other actor play his character. I'm reluctant to jinx the franchise by breaking this blood oath. You understand.
By the bye, congrats on [i]The Fog Over Water[/i] winning the Oscar! I'm hoping that PA8 will be my ticket for Best Pic!
Knock Wood,
PM
****
[b]MEMO FROM[/b]: Paul Maslansky
[b]TO[/b]: Steven Speilberg
[b]DATE[/b]: August 22, 2004
[b]RE[/b]: Your Police Academy 8 Proposal: [i]Schindler's Squad[/i]
Respectfully, sir, I don't expect our styles would mesh. Remember in [i]Police Academy 5: Assignment Miami Beach[/i], when Hightower wrestled the alligator? Most people couldn't tell from the film, but that croc was a plastic toy. It cost $14.99, and I found it at a Weehawken, New Jersey warehouse full of novelty remainders. Now that's what I call a special effect!
Millions for Tittie Shots, But Not a Cent for Props,
PM
(*) Obviously a joke.
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| A HOME AT THE END OF THE WORLD |
| 09.18.04 (8:01 am) [edit] |
[b]Starring[/b]: Colin Farrell, Robin Wright Penn, Dallas Roberts, Matt Frewer, Harris Allan, Erik Smith, and Sissy Spacek
[b]Directed By[/b]: Michael Mayer
[b]Writing Credits[/b]: Michael Cunningham
[b]Distributor[/b]: Warner Independent Pictures (US 2004)
[b]Rated[/b]: Rated R for strong drug content, sexuality, nudity, language and a disturbing accident
Reviewed by: [b]Martin Scribbs[/b]
I wrote of [i]De-Lovely[/i], another and better 2004 film touching on bisexuality:
[i]Winkler could have presented all of Cole’s loves, great and small, with sympathy and in proportion. That would have been best, but I doubt there’s a director alive with the subtlety to pull it off. Telling one good love story is as complicated as heart surgery. Shedding light on two great loves would be akin to brain surgery while juggling plates – almost certain to be messy and unsuccessful.[/i]
I still hope to be proven wrong, and that a film will do justice to all sides of a multiperson love story. But with badly garbled sexual politics and two go-nowhere, do-nothing putative love stories, [b]A HOME AT THE END OF THE WORLD[/b] sure wasn't what I'd been waiting for.
[b]HOME[/b] tells the story of an angst-drenched affair amongst Jonathon, a gay man (Dallas Roberts), Bobby, a bisexual (Colin Farrell), and Clare, a straight woman (Robin Wright Penn). Our point-of-view mostly tracks Bobby's, as Farrell wiggles his ponderous eyebrows in blank noncomprehension at the unceasing tragedies that befall him and those he loves.
Jonathon and Clare love each other in a non-sexual way, much as Cole and Linda had in [i]De-Lovely[/i]. But [i]De-Lovely[/i] showed Cole and Linda's love, as expressed over time and in details and in life-changing events. [b]HOME[/b] merely asserts Jonathon and Clare's mutual devotion as it hurries on to semi-nude dorsal shots of Bobby. Bobby loves both Jonathon and Clare, and smooches the one and fucks the other, although he also considers Jonathon a brother. Disquieting themes of incest run through all of Bobby's relationships, including an overly-sexualized bond with his foster mother (Sissy Spacek). Cos', you know, bisexuals are whores.
"Family can be whatever you want it to be," offers the fatuous promo line. Funny, then, that Jonathon feels "extra" from the start. Clare concerns herself with whether this is all too weird, even for her own Woodstock-pining, hippie-happy East Village self. Only obtuse idler Bobby, desperate to replace the brother and mother he lost at a young age, finds perfect contentment in the tripartite relationship. But Bobby's mixing up sex and family in a repellant way. It doesn't take a genius to see that the center cannot hold. This [b]HOME[/b] gets torn apart by the re-assertion of traditional mores as regards two-person pairings.
Is author and screenwriter Michael Cunningham, a champion of sexual liberation, saying that conservatives are right to worry about how we erode historic boundaries in our modern erotic pursuits? No, much more likely, he means [b]HOME[/b] to be an indictment of the sexual constraints that society had hard-wired into Jonathon and Clare. On this reading, Bobby becomes the sexual Christ, full of healing, compassion, forgiveness, and spunk. He gives each out compulsively.
But all roads lead to ruin in [b]HOME[/b]'s world, lending an unexpectedly reactionary tone to the work. Jonathon is of course wildly promiscuous, and of course contracts AIDS. Clare opts out, leaving Bobby to be, once again, the last standing member of his family. [i]If only he'd married a nice girl from Cleveland[/i], [b]HOME[/b] seems to be saying. Then again, Jonathon's mother (also Bobby's foster mother) declares that her world shrunk down as soon as she got married. So..."life's a bitch and then you die." Give that man another Pulitzer!
I love movies. I want to like every movie I see. Different movies are strong in different ways, and if there's some sweetness, I can endure a lot of the bitter. So I could look past the mopey tone, the Fall of the House of Pink messages, and the even the shamelessly mugging performances if I'd gotten the sense, however briefly, that either Jonathon or Clare was really in love, with each other or with Bobby. I didn't. Despair-humping ([b]HOME[/b]) isn't love ([i]De-Lovely[/i]). Maybe the full play of a novel or TV miniseries would have enough room to develop all of the interior connections needed to make the triangulation of love credible. The movie didn't.
In [i]Annie Hall[/i], Alvy's friend Rob enthuses, "Twins, Max! Sixteen years old. Can you imagine the mathematical possibilities?" I can imagine [b]HOME[/b]'s possibilities. But I left the film unconvinced that those possibilities could be captured on film.
LIC
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| NAPOLEON DYNAMITE |
| 09.08.04 (4:12 pm) [edit] |
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NAPOLEON DYNAMITE
Cast: Jon Heder, Efren Ramirez, Aaron Ruell, Tina Majorino, Diedrich Bader
Directed by: Jared Hess
Written by: Jared Hess
Distributor: Fox Searchlight Pictures (US 2004)
Rated:PG for thematic elements and language
As Reviewed by: Ned Depew
I thought this was a superb little character piece - a show of respect for the audience and for the characters, that wasn't afraid to laugh at the ridiculousness of the human condition and at the same time sympathize with the real pain that condition engenders.
Napoleon is the Geek as Everyman - and vice-versa - Walter Mitty updated (and "down-aged") for the Oughties. The tone - sympathetic, but without becoming patronizing and "objective" without being impersonal - was just right - a real triumph of self-restraint on the part of the entire filmmaking team that kept it from becoming one of those failed attempts to turn a Saturday Night Live/Mad TV skit into a film. No Stuart Smalley meanness here.
The performances were great. As in all successful farce, they were presented with a deep sincerity and conviction that elevated the story from simply poking fun at the characters and avoided any sort of smirky collegial condescension with the audience.
The dialogue was spare and solid - nothing was over-explained or rationalized - the characters spoke very clearly for themselves, and the audience was credited with the intelligence and attention to fill in (or ignore) any blanks.
A finely-crafted little film about a fascinating and recognizable (because we all have some of these people inside of us) group of characters. The words "excruciatingly funny" fit it to a "t." This is one I'll want to go back to in a year or so.
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| Delivery |
| 09.08.04 (11:58 am) [edit] |
DELIVERY
Cast:Thanos Samaras, Dimitris Imelos, Errikos Litsis, Spyros Stavranidis, Fotini Baxevani, Christos Loulis, Angela Brouskou
Directed By: Nikos Panayotopoulos
Written By: Nikos Panayotopoulos
Distributed by: Currently without US distribution
Rated:Unrated
As reviewed by: Ned Depew
[i]Delivery[/i] is a bleak, Zola-esque fable from Greece about how, no matter how bad things get, they can still get worse - a film that might have been pitched with the tag-line "Life sucks - and then you die!"
This film could be seen as the anti-thesis of last year's [i]The Man With No Name[/i]. Like the protagonist of that film, the equally nameless hero of [i]Delivery[/i] arrives in strange metropolis penniless and friendless.
But where the hero of the former film is saved by his own essentially noble character and the kindness of strangers, the protagonist of [i]Delivery[/i] suffers an increasingly painful and degrading set of dislocations that can only end in his destruction.
He descends like Dante - but without a guide - through the circles of the hell that is Athens' demi-monde. Practically every apparently friendly hand that is out-stretched to him turns out to be that of a fellow drowner, trying to slow his/her own descent by dragging on the protagonist.
Is it any wonder that he is ultimately reduced to a senseless act of random violence, that leads to his own death? It shouldn't be if you've been paying any attention to the relentless downward spiral of the film.
I called this film "Zola-esque" above, and like Zola, the value of the film lies in its fearless, unflinching confrontation with the negative side-effects of a society based on selfishness and materialism, and the risks we take as a society when we allow our fellow citizens to be reduced to such a level of grinding hopelessness.
Also like Zola, it weakens its case to some extent by failing to provide any real ray of hope, any suggestion of a way out, any suggestion of "redemption" - other than a rather artificial "ascension" montage at the very end.
The fact is, that there are people with good hearts, trying to do good, even in the "depths" of society, among the prostitutes, drug addicts, petty tyrants, con-men and other "low-life" types depicted here.
The friendly Pizza man who advises the protagonist and helps him find a job is the one example in this film, but his role is largely marginalized, even his aid impersonal and lackadaisical.
I suppose, if you don't see the homeless people and drug addicts walking our streets and aren't aware of the real degradation of the lives they lead, it might be instructive and eye-opening to spend an hour and forty minutes in this world - but for those who already have some awareness of the magnitude of this problem and its human costs, [i]Delivery[/i] is a bit too much.
It's unrelenting grimness and total lack of humor and hope remove it from real human experience in a way that makes it too easy to dismiss.
It was, according to a spokesman for its director (who was presenting it at Venice instead of Montreal), shot on a shoestring. That shows in the production values - but in many ways the grimy, harshly lit, muddily recorded, roughly photographed film uses the "cheapo-documentary" look to good effect.
There can't be much doubt that many of the street-types who appear in the background of the street scenes are genuine junkies, whores and thugs, rather than recruits from central casting.
I had very mixed feelings about his film. I found it depressing and enervating - defeatist - rather than a galvanizing and empowering expose and a call to action - as Zola intended his social-realist criticism to be.
I felt the film-makers cheated by making the central character a man with no name and no history - therefore essentially absolving him (and the society in which he was raised) of responsibility for the choices he has made that lead to his condition at the film's opening. In this, he becomes a bit of a "straw-man," an archetype rather than a three-dimensional human being - and that robs the film of some of its visceral appeal.
His opacity likewise seems a convenient device behind which the filmmakers can duck to avoid having to deal with some of the most wrenching questions about the emotional impact of the events of the film and the ramifications of personal psychology that complicate such "fables."
Yet the performances and the overall construction of the film were effective enough to make a real impact. The greatest weakness was the allegorical artificiality and single- (and sometimes simple-) mindedness of the screenplay. The redeeming qualities were the powerful conviction of the actors and the cohesive (if deeply pessimistic) vision of the filmmakers - led by director Nikos Panayotopoulos.
I disliked this film quite a bit when I walked out of the screening (the "magical realist" ending especially undermines and distracts from what has gone before) but the more I've thought about it, the more I've realized that what bothered me was how depressingly effective (in spite of the artificialities enumerated above) it had been!
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| MERCI, DOCTEUR REY |
| 09.03.04 (6:06 am) [edit] |
MERCI DOCTEUR REY
Cast: Dianne Wiest, Jane Birkin, Stanislaus Merhar, Simon Callow, Vanessa Redgrave and Jerry Hall
Directed by: Andrew Litvack
Written by: Andrew Litvack
Distributor: Regent Releasing (US 2004)
Rated: unrated
As Reviewed by: Gabriel Shanks
Andrew Litvack, the novice director and screenwriter behind the labored whimsy of MERCI DOCTEUR REY, is one lucky sonofagun. Having primarily worked as an English-to-French subtitler for Hollywood dramas, Litvack assisted director James Ivory and producer Ismail Merchant on their last few films, including Jefferson in Paris, A Soldier's Daughter Never Cries, and Surviving Picasso. His assistance must have been superb, because here he is, directing his own movie with his former bosses serving as producers, with a cast that most early-career directors would kill for. Sadly, it is all for naught; able assistant and subtitler he may be, Litvack proves to be a man of limited creative vision and moderate technical skill as a director. MERCI DOCTEUR REY does share the Parisian location and weary humor of Merchant-Ivory's last effort, Le Divorce, but it really follows the rhythms of late-career Woody Allen...the unfunny, out-of-ideas Allen that foisted The Curse of the Jade Scorpion and Anything Else on an unsuspecting public. Even with one of Allen's great leading women heading the cast, Dianne Wiest, Litvack seems at a loss to make a coherent whole of his disjointed, pointless script. Being lucky in the business is only half of it; one has to make the most of the opportunity luck presents. Sadly for all of us, Litvack doesn't.
There are indications that MERCI DOCTEUR REY is intended to be zany and madcap, in the way that dry European comedy can sometimes be. Wackiness may be in the eye of the beholder in this case...part murder-mystery, part sex-farce, part domestic drama, part gay twist, it feels merely confused instead of zany. There are mix-ups involving marijuana brownies, camp scenes featuring a gay father, and none other than Jerry Hall *and* Vanessa Redgrave in cameos together; if that's your idea of hilarity, buy a ticket immediately. My feeling is that MERCI DOCTEUR REY lacks the sophistication it needs to be truly effective, hopelessly lost in its gags and weak plotting.
Dianne Wiest, who gave Woody Allen one of his most memorable divas in Bullets Over Broadway, returns to that territory with Elisabeth Beaumont, an American opera star. In Paris briefly to play the lead in Turandot, she takes the opportunity to reconnect with her possibly gay son, Thomas (Stanislaus Merhar), whose thick European accent indicates that he must have lived in Paris without her for some time. A devotee of chat sex lines, Thomas recently witnessed the murder of a possible hookup (Simon Callow). As the frantic son and egotistical mother increasingly get on each other’s nerves, Thomas runs away, ending up on the couch of the titular psychiatrist. Or so he thinks -- Dr. Rey has recently died, and her twitchy patient, Penelope (Jane Birkin), has temporarily taken her place. The ruse quickly discovered, Penelope invites Thomas to her house, where he stays while both murders play themselves out. If MERCI, DOCTEUR REY sounds like a mess, it is.
Wiest does her best to make the forced moments in the screenplay work, but her scenes with the terminally melancholy and lifeless Merhar are unsalvageable. Birkin, best known from Antonioni's Blow Up, fares a bit better, turning a manic bundle of nerves into a wonderfully affectionate ditz with a deeper emotional life than expected. The rest of the cast lethargically drifts from scene to scene, trying desperately to zing their flat in-jokes. (A running inside gag about Howard's End, produced and directed by Merchant and Ivory long ago when they had talent, is especially tiresome.) Litvack and his cinematographer Laurent Machuel (Change My Life) capture all of the goings on in flat, dull tones that do little for the film's sense of humor.
If there is a bright side, it is that MERCI DOCTEUR REY exploits Litvack's own sense of cultural schism -- an American living in Paris, reconciling the cultural divide in a very intimate, personal process. There's an interesting film in there somewhere, but it may not be the domestic comedy of manners he's created here. One hopes that if Litvack manages to catch lightning in a bottle once again, stumbling into the connections that will bring him to a second film with international distribution, he'll have the experience and the critical rigor to make that deeper, more complex, and more interesting film.
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| CRIMINAL |
| 09.01.04 (5:40 pm) [edit] |
CRIMINAL
Cast: John C. Reilly, Diego Luna, Maggie Gyllenhaal, and Peter Mullan
Directed by: Gregory Jacobs
Written by: Gregory Jacobs and Steven Soderbergh (as Sam Lowry)
Distributor: Warner Independent Pictures (US 2004)
Rated: R
As Reviewed by: Gabriel Shanks
After a decade as a well-regarded assistant director working (and learning) at the knee of Oscar-winning director Steven Soderbergh (Solaris), Gregory Jacobs finally emerges into his own with CRIMINAL, an English-language adaptation of the 2000 Argentinean hit Nueve Reinas (Nine Queens). Produced by Soderbergh himself (who also collaborated on the script with Jacobs, under a pseudonym), CRIMINAL bears an uncanny resemblance to the master's films. Like Ocean's Eleven, we begin in a casino; like Traffic, we are dealing with small-time and big-time crooks; like Full Frontal, we are exploring the blender-mix of cultures in Los Angeles. Awash in muted colors, shot with intensity and featuring complex wordplay, CRIMINAL's Soderberghian camera whirls and textural palettes ultimately give little indication of what Jacobs may be like as a mature director. Obviously talented, Jacobs sadly seems comfortable playing in someone else's sandbox. Additionally saddled with some bad casting choices and a screenplay that never approaches the tension needed, CRIMINALends up being much less than it might have been.
Deep in the heart of the Los Angeles, a weathered professional con artist, Richard Gaddis (John C. Reilly), takes on a young new protégé, Rodrigo (Diego Luna). At first, their scams are simple and quick, preying off the good nature of strangers who barely know they're being taken. When a large and unexpected job suddenly falls into their lap, however -- with a possible payout of $750K -- the two men find themselves ensnared in a complex scheme with high stakes. As they learn more about each other, the two men face the issues of trust, honesty, and resourcefulness that only career liars can imagine. If you know someone cannot be trusted under any circumstance...can you trust him or her when your life is at stake? Roll the dice and see.
At the center of CRIMINALis John C. Reilly (The Hours), a magnificent actor of proven range and depth. In his best work -- as the repentant cop in Magnolia, the cuckolded stooge in Chicago, or the dimwitted husband in The Good Girl -- Reilly perfected the sad-sack melancholy that is his trademark. Reilly's screen personality is essentially and fundamentally a sweet one, a good guy beleaguered by the world's problems. As such, he is an awful choice to play Richard, a consummate swindler. The badass one-liners and life-is-cruel nonchalance don't work in any way for Reilly. He is, simply put, a terrible bad guy. It is akin to watching Mister Rogers play Mr. Pink.
Luna, on the other hand, is perfectly cast; his natural charm and graceful physicality make the performance effortless. As he did in Alfonso Cuaron's Y Tu Mama Tambien, Luna produces an exultant innocence that mesmerizes the viewer. The screenplay's subtle digs at racism and classism in Los Angeles are not lost on Luna, but neither are they overplayed; he balances indignation with steely resolve. Luna's career is still in its infancy, but it is not an overstatement to honor this fine performance as his best to date.
Sadly, that work is in a film devoid of emotional highs and lows. The even keel that Jacobs sets CRIMINALupon only results in extended dullness; unlike Soderbergh, the washed out images find little resonance beyond the moment in question. A twist ending does set the audience atwitter, but after the shock wears off, the viewer realizes quickly that the ending is neither plausible nor satisfying. The central conceit of CRIMINAL-- that of the player being played without knowing it -- does little more than indulge our sense of schadenfreude. CRIMINALis a movie of many possibilities, with very few of them realized.
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Welcome to Mixed Reviews Single Servings. Here you'll find short reviews of current and past movies for people too busy to read a full review.
You can find full-length reviews of present and past films, from Hollywood releases to independent films to "hidden treasures" that haven't been released yet, at our main site, Mixed Reviews. Please browse our archive for links to reviews of films dating back to 1998.
For more smart stuff about movies, please visit the Cinemarati Roundtable.
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