Friday, October 24, 1997
Screenscene
"Playing God"
Directed by Andy Wilson
Starring David Duchovny, Timothy Hutton and Angelina Jolie
Duchovny is used to being considered a god by his X-Files fans.
Unfortunately for fans expecting this movie to be as well-written
and entertaining as his television show "The X-Files," they will be
bitterly disappointed.
In a film that has the post-Tarantino flavor all over it,
Duchovny portrays Eugene Sands, a drug-addicted doctor who loses
his medical license after performing surgery and killing a patient
while high. Sad and alone, he is picking up drugs at a shady bar
when a man is shot. Using his medical expertise, he performs
emergency surgery using a water bottle and a knife.
His "emergency surgery" impresses local gangster Raymond
(Hutton) so much that he hires Eugene to be his personal physician
and tend to the many gunshot wounds that he and his posse receive.
But then Eugene has to go and fall for Raymond’s fish-lipped
girlfriend (Jolie) and chaos (read: mucho violence) ensues. Now the
good doctor must battle the FBI, the mob and foreign gangsters (in
this case, Russians) to save his soul.
While the movie does have a few funny lines, its attempt at
injecting a hip ’70s style into the seedy L.A. underground is
pretty lame. Duchovny, whose solemn facial expressions work for his
TV show, is laughable when he blankly puts up a shotgun and
threatens the mob. Yeah, real scary. And his love interest,
21-year-old Jolie is never convincing as the 28-year-old woman
she’s supposed to be playing. Instead, she comes off as a teenage
girlfriend who flies from one man’s arms to another. The only actor
who seems to be having fun in this film is Hutton, who plays the
cool mobster role with maniacal glee.
If Duchovny plans to expand from his cool image as FBI Agent Fox
Mulder, he better make sure there’s a better image to move to. Dr.
Eugene Sands ain’t it.
Aimee Phan
Grade: C
"Beaumarchais, The Scoundrel"
Directed by Edouard Molinaro
Starring Fabrice Luchini, Manuel Blanc, Sandrine Kiberlain and
Michel Serrault
Some men fantasize about being an inventor, an acclaimed writer,
a secret agent and a womanizer all at the same time.
Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais was all of these things and
more. His controversial life is chronicled in Molinaro’s ("La Cage
Aux Folles") disappointingly tawdry "Beaumarchais, The Scoundrel,"
a French import which has trouble deciding whether it wants be a
farcical comedy or a serious costume drama.
Starring Luchini, the film gives a detailed and overly
theatrical account of the man who created such literary classics as
"The Barber of Seville" and "The Marriage of Figaro."
Outspoken by nature, witty Beaumarchais denounces and offends
the French hierarchy. His exploits land him in trouble with the
aristocracy. This leads to a confusing chain of events that finds
him doing everything from spying in Britain at Louis XV’s
(Serrault) order, to becoming a gun smuggler, all the while gaining
the friendship of Benjamin Franklin (Jeff Nuttal), in an
outrageously superfluous scene.
In the middle of this clutter are subplots involving
Beaumarchais’ complicated relationships with his wife,
Marie-Therese (Kiberlain), and his secretary/protege Gudin (played
stoically by Blanc).
The film’s greatest strength lies in Luchini’s charismatic turn
as Beaumarchais. Luchini has a knack for delivering great
performances in otherwise forgettable films (see "Colonel
Chabert").
But a string of weak supporting performances undermine the film.
Legendary French actor Serrault ("Nelly and Monsieur Arnaud")
disappoints as he gives an annoyingly over-the-top portrayal of
Louis XV. Though Kiberlaine exudes visual elegance as Beaumarchais’
wife, she seems overshadowed at times by Luchini’s talent. The
underwritten role would have benefited more if played by a more
seasoned actress.
The makers of "Beaumarchais, the Scoundrel" probably hope that
their film will follow the success of Patrice Leconte’s
Oscar-nominated "Ridicule." While it can claim to be on par with
Leconte’s film in terms of its elaborate costume and production
design, it lacks the satiric bite and witty charm that made
"Ridicule" such a good film.
Tristan Thai
Grade: C
"Twilight of the Golds"
Directed by Ross Marks
Starring Jennifer Beals, Brendan Fraser, Faye Dunaway and Garry
Marshall
Should a mother, who learns through genetic testing that her
unborn child will be gay, have an abortion? This is the issue dealt
with in Marks’ sometimes moving, but often heavy-handed social
drama.
Adapted from Johnathan Tolins’s controversial play, the movie
focuses on Suzanne Gold-Stein (Beals), an upper-middle class woman
who learns that she and her geneticist husband, Rob (John Tenney)
are pregnant with their first baby.
Her parents, Phyllis and Walter Gold (Dunaway and Marshall),
couldn’t be happier, nor could her homosexual brother, David
(Fraser).
This familial bliss isn’t long-lasting, when Rob subjects the
unborn child to cutting-edge DNA tests. And mommy and daddy are
shocked to learn that their son will probably be gay.
When talk turns to destroying the fetus, Dave begins to question
just how much his family has accepted him and his lifestyle. The
Gold family starts to break apart.
"Twilight" makes a noble effort to raise provocative and
important issues, but the director takes this potentially exciting
premise and films it with all the two-dimensionality of a TV
sitcom. He doesn’t add any interesting visuals.
The film’s saving grace is its hugely appealing cast. Beals
radiates genuine sympathy. We can sense the character’s growing
attachment to the tiny life growing inside her.
Fraser also surprises viewers with a sensitive performance. He
manages to keep away from stereotypical homosexual portrayals.
And Dunaway is well-meaning, but sometimes harmful motherly
involvement is always touching.
Unfortunately, the screenplay, by Tolins and Seth Bess, treats
the controversial subject with all the rigid formality of a Supreme
Court decision, making sure that every possible argument is shown,
in scene after scene of episodic discussion, straining the film’s
credibility.
"Twilight" has the episodic feel of a TV-movie, a
let’s-pick-apart-the-issue methodology that only a debate team
coach would appreciate. Sure, it tackles groundbreaking subject
matter, but it curses viewers with its sleepwalking style.
Ash Steffy
Grade: C+
"Telling Lies in America"
Directed by Guy Ferland
Starring Kevin Bacon, Brad Renfro and Calista Flockhart
A feature-length Joe Eszterhas film and not a naked woman in
sight. In "Telling Lies in America," the screenwriter behind "Basic
Instinct" and "Showgirls" tries to turn over a new leaf.
Yet while the quirky coming-of-age story may seem atypical,
Eszterhas is actually more in his element than usual. The writer
describes his newest work as "semi-autobiographical" – the main
character is Karchy Jonas, a Cleveland, Ohio, high school student
who wants his citizenship papers (he’s Hungarian), a career in the
entertainment industry and Diney Majeski (Flockhart), his would-be
sweetheart.
Karchy gets a dose of glamour when he befriends local radio DJ
Billy Magic (Bacon). Bacon is appropriately sleazy, embodying the
kind of coolness that would only appeal to a 16-year-old boy (he
drives a sleek car, swings with prostitutes and wears
bright-colored sports coats). He flatters Karchy by telling him, "I
think you’re slicker than two snakes screwing in a barrel of snot."
High praise.
The magic, not surprisingly, turns out to be a lie. The audience
figures out early on that Billy is getting kickbacks from the
record companies, but the real story is waiting for Karchy’s
inevitable disillusionment. Renfro ("The Client") saves what is
potentially a formulaic character. He is not overly gawky, nor
overly cute in his naivete. Rather, he is a real teen-ager,
enduring the dull pain of puberty that is in itself a right of
passage.
Several subplots parallel Karchy’s search for truth in the
idealized early ’60s. Flockhart’s thoughtfully bored Diney must
decide whether to marry the stable but dislikeable Henry. Karchy’s
friend Amos (Damen Fletcher) – apparently the only African American
in their Catholic school – struggles to get his band off the ground
in the corrupt radio world. (His catchy song, "Medium Rare," is
written by none other than Mr. Footloose himself).
Their problems and eventual decisions nicely reveal that
everyone is trapped in their own private purgatory – even Billy
Magic knows he’s not much more than a sleazy facade, rapidly
approaching middle age. It also leads us to wonder what the real
lie is. Perhaps it is not the American dream, but the myth that
anyone leads an idyllic life. After all, Karchy’s father had his
reasons for leaving the old world.
The film lapses into cliches and in-your-face symbolism at
times, and the ending is less than satisfying. But Renfro’s
intelligent portrayal, combined with the movie’s more subtle
reflections on small town life, make "Telling Lies" refreshingly
honest.
Cheryl Klein
Grade: B
"Year of the Horse"
Directed by Jim Jarmusch
Featuring Neil Young and Crazy Horse
Most rockumentaries lose their impact in trying to form their
own views on artists, forgetting to show what great musicians are
best at – playing music. "Year of the Horse" transcends its
predecessors by giving a very intimate portrait of Young and his
band, Crazy Horse, while producing some of the most hypnotic
concert footage to date.
After Young wrote the blaring score for director Jim Jarmusch’s
1995 Western, "Dead Man," Young asked him to make a series of music
videos and this film for the band. Their deep, ethereal connection
enabled Jarmusch to document the band’s musical essence with
alarming sensitivity.
Jarmusch shows that Crazy Horse means everything to Young’s
music. He covers every angle of the band’s lives together through
three decades: members fighting, smoking out, setting paper flowers
on fire, and debating the Old Testament and the existence of
God.
The abundant concert footage beautifully delineates the band’s
connective style. The band seems surreal in Super 8, especially
during "Hurricane," which blends together three performances of the
song from three different decades.
As the musicians play, however, Jarmusch inserts unnecessary
images (a model train transforms into a cartoon train). The footage
would have had more impact if it was left alone.
Though some of Jarmusch’s images are annoying, his editing gives
the film a timeless quality. With its amazing visuals and an
intriguing study of Young’s band, "Horse" is the best concert film
of the decade.
Bill Weesner
Grade: B+