because you can't have too much entertainment... November 2002

Rage in the Cage
Several films now showing in the marketplace seem to be seething with aggression, anger, and fury. And there's a good deal of imprisonment of the literal, emotional, or social variety going around as well. Like Barry Egan in Punch-Drunk Love, the cinema has an abundance of anger management issues these days.

Reviewed: White Oleander Directed by: Peter Kominsky Starring: Michelle Pfeiffer, Alison Lohman, Robin Wright Penn, Renee Zellweger, Cole Hauser, and Patrick Fugit.
8 Mile Directed by: Curtis Hanson Starring: Eminem, Kim Basinger, Mekhi Pfifer, Brittany Murphy, and Taryn Manning.
Also reviewed: Auto-Focus, jackass: the movie and The Ring

First, two critical tales of preconceived notions and foregone conclusions
(I am fully aware that I give the thumbs up to Pfeiffer and down to Eminem)

White Oleander
There once was a fine novel by Janet Fitch which told the heartbreaking tale of a young girl, Astrid Magnussen, tossed from one brutal foster home to another, after her mother was convicted of murder. This novel was excellent, the sort of literary best-selling triumph that is often referred to as a "page-turner." Oprah Winfrey selected it for her now defunct (and inappropriately maligned) Book Club. The film was bought for adaptation purposes and Michelle Pfeiffer, who the author had in mind while writing the novel, was cast as the murderous mother, Ingrid. Soon everyone was calling the unreleased film a "chick flick" and making assumptions about its quality, referring to it as another Deep End of the Ocean. The comparison was tough to miss. The last Oprah-selected book to make it to film also featured Michelle Pfeiffer. That first Pfeiffer/Oprah/Book-to-Film met with nothing but disapproval from critics. One unfortunate day, this new film opened and true to bias, it was doomed. Everyone called it a 'Lifetime Television Movie with movie stars.'

Fortunately for fans of the novel who went to see the film, they found it was a worthy adaptation of a tough-minded book. After viewing the movie and perusing reviews three things became abundantly clear. One: The vast majority of negative reviews do seem tainted by preconceived notions. It seems that once again, anything remotely resembling a "woman's picture" meets a barrage of negativity before the film even unspools. Two: "chick flick" is now a catchall phrase encompassing all films wherein women outnumber men, regardless of the nature of the movie's content. And Three: Most movie critics have, in fact, never sat through a Lifetime Television Film.

I make this bold assumption about the television habits of film critics, dear reader, despite the well known fact that I am, myself, one of them. I have, however, personally seen one or two (OK, three or four) of these made-for-basic-cable films. I can assure the uninitiated that never once (apart from Oleander's opening and closing monologue), have any of those telefilms remotely resembled the cold and nuanced treatment that director Peter Kominsky gives this story of the hard luck of an impressionable young girl. Certainly the work of  the collected Baxter-Birneys, Amber-Thieseens, and Struthers (and god knows who else) has never approached the electric complexities and cruelty of Pfeiffer's star turn here. Neither has any perfomer in any made-for-basic-cable film that I've seen transcended caricature as winningly as Robin Wright Penn does or been half as genuinely warm as Renee Zellweger in her extended cameo.

The injustices go on. The fact that this intelligent picture gets mentioned and derided in the same breath as false and empty work like Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood is criminal. When White Oleander is directly grouped with funny/sad feel-good pictures like Steel Magnolias you know there's "chick flick" bias in play. No knock against Magnolias, but it's no more comparable to White Oleander than, say, Field of Dreams is to This Boy's Life. These unfortunate comparisons lead me to believe that some of my fellow movie journalists have given their unacknowledged sexism full reign over their critical faculties. If they can lump one in with other, my friends, they're just not paying attention.

But, alas, our tale does come with a warning. Keep a sharp critical eye yourself. It's easy to be fooled by the snake of preconceived bias because the film is far from perfect. I almost lost hope myself upon first viewing the film. The picture does get off to a shaky start. The early rushed sequences of Ingrid's crime and the set-up for the true tale of foster home journeys felt forced and shaky. Some of the language is overly scripted. Most troubling was the aforementioned narration which reeked of many familiar uninspired book-to-film adaptations. This voiceover is even more oddly out of place when you stop to consider that in the heart of the film, Kominsky seems to trust his audience to find the story and see the characters for themselves. There's not even intertitles indicating passage of time or switch in locales, which normally accompany drawn out narratives.

The focused filmgoer will note these flaws but still see a coming-of-age film that's far more toughminded in it's search for identity than most films of this genre. The unbiased viewer will, above all, be treated to a story well told, to blindingly beautiful camera work, and to gratefully merciless editing -the picture churns forward, jumping and jolting along, memorably echoing the upheavals in Astrid's life. Best of all, Oleander comes complete with one of the year's best ensembles: a solid collection of sharp, focused, and intelligent performances. Chief among them is Pfeiffer's deadly she-wolf, all predatory circling, false comforts, and oppressive love. The happy ending of this tale is simply this: The movie is worth your time. B

 

8 Mile
It's difficult to see the forest for the trees when judging a film about a notorious musical superstar. Personal bias is everywhere with public figures this well known. Just think of the critics scrambling for invectives whenever Madonna's iconic visage appears onscreen. So, in light of this element of human nature and this detriment to criticism, I tried desperately to remove what I knew about Eminem from what I was seeing onscreen in 8 Mile. I quickly found that the filmmakers were trying just as desperately to subvert my knowledge rather than ignore it. Unfortunately for the film, it's still fairly easy to see right through their crowd-pleasing PR game. America loves this brat. If you're still holding out, here's a kinder and gentler version of the model to win you over!

We're clearly meant to associate the film's simple storyline with Eminem's own infamous life, but it's not truly a biopic. In reality Eminem has been widely acclaimed for his magnetic hostility. He has also been a controversial figure for his homophobic and misogynistic views (his mother and ex-girlfriend are favorite targets). Yet, here in this film, Eminem becomes Rabbit. He's now practically a holy vessel for all that is good in the world. He defends a gay co-worker from antigay slurs. He begs his mother to live a better life and defends her when her no-good boyfriend crosses the line. He chastises a friend for carrying a gun. He preaches to his friends to do something with their lives rather than sit around talking about doing something with their lives. He tries hard to make it to work on time and understands the importance of keeping a job, even a mind-numbing factory position. Rabbit, as written, is a saint. Surprisingly, it's only Eminem's innate hostility, his anger-fueled persona that rescues this fictional rapper from complete blandness. He's good onscreen playing essentially the sacred and enlightened version of his own troubled self.

The production team assembled here is at the top of their game, which also helps to obscure the dubiousness of this shell game. Curtis Hanson has definitely elevated the product, once again demonstrating his control of place, characters, and specific social milieus. The cinematography by Rodrigo Prieto is also top notch. Detroit looks deliciously delapidated and he adds precious grit to the overly-glossy script. Brian Grazer, the producer, is also up to his old tricks. He shepherded the softening of A Beautiful Mind's edges last year all the way to the Oscar podium. You can see his guiding hand in every obvious ploy at the canonization of this new family-friendly Eminem. And the actors are mostly fine, too. Mekhi Pfifer takes best-in-show honors as Rabbit's best friend and vocal supporter. He has terrific chemistry with Eminem too, highlighted in a genuinely easy to like scene where they sing along (and alter) the lyrics of "Sweet Home Alabama" outside Rabbit's mom's (Kim Basinger) trailer.

But all of these efforts amount to a lot less than they should when it comes down to the film itself. There just isn't any real conflict here. The hero has so little to overcome that every triumph feels preordained. He has debilitating stage fright which he'll manage to overcome -with virtually no effort -in just seven days time. In that same time he'll also go from nearly-fired at work to a dependable employee, respected by his shift manager. It's just all so easy for him. In one week's time he overcomes all immediate obstacles. One gets the sense that his next achievement, perhaps the following week, will be leaving the ghetto for good. Inspirational films need to feel inspiring and this story, an old and predictable one, derives its only real power from the music and the fury of the rapping in the clubs. The rap battle that closes the film is truly engaging. But for those paying closer attention, there's something wrong with the mixed messages and hagiography of Eminem's new persona . 8 Mile is a killer rap musical. As an inspirational drama, however, it's completely troublesome. Given that its subject matter is the hip-hop world of the inner city where the phrase "keeping it real" is a permanent motto, this film is, ironically enough, suspiciously phoney. C+

 

Three more aggressive films to choose from:

Auto Focus
You may have heard that Greg Kinnear is brilliant or that the art direction is superb and if that's reason enough for you to head out to the theater, trust me when I tell you that the performance and production values aren't brilliant enough to make up for the tedium onscreen. Two hours in the presence of two joyless men with repetitive and banal pleasures doesn't, in and of itself, make this a bad film. In the right hands, most premises, can be milked for fascinating or comedic/dramatic substance. But the film offers no insight that a synopsis doesn't provide. Bob Crane was a sex addict who starred in Hogan's Heroes. The end.

The oddest thing about Auto Focus is its confusion as to its own purpose for being. On the one hand its a biopic of someone with only one thing on his mind. That limits its range right there. But the presentation is more problematic. You're shown Bob Crane's frustration that people view sex and connectively, his preoccupation with it as perverse. "Tell them its/I'm normal" he pleads angrily to his agent when scandals loom. Yet you're also repeatedly asked to judge him---and boy is it easy to do given his ignorance to his own conditions and the disposition of the guiding forces of the film. The screenplay and the direction never look past the obvious. More troubing still, the filmmaking team seems to revel in the demented tawdriness of it (a dream sequence is particularly offputting in this regard) while also judging the proclivities of its major players. The humor of the script seems to be continually shaming of both Crane and his partner in crime, Carpenter and seems downright puritanical when the suggestion of homosexuality arrives. And other than copious amounts of breasts, the movie seems overly frightened by nudity given its leering nature. Kinnear seems game to take the film into more revealing insightful places, but to be quite frank, the movie won't budge to go with him. A great performance may have been lost as a result. What you have is a pretty good performance in a repetitious, pointless, and sex-phobic film. D+

jackass: the movie
Critic proof. For what is there to judge really? It is what it is. In fact, the title itself may be its funniest joke: While it's true that we're not watching the TV show, it's hardly a film. Nevertheless the collection of skits/events are just what you'd expect -equal parts funny, nauseating, and insane. I assume that the movie is meant on some level to be an adrenaline rush by proxy. If so it's only partially successful. jackass has vicarious thrills but it peaks early and outstays its welcome. Ah well, at the very least it's better than other stunt cinemas. Porn comes to mind for some reason. At least in this venture, the participants actually seem to be enjoying themselves while performing for our amusement. C-

The Ring
The premise is ridiculously contrived but superbly enticing. But the execution could've used less polish. It's handsomely produced and well acted, but it's the type of thing that you're continually hoping will be grittier and far less familiar. it fails to add up to much and never feels unhinged enough to shake you to the core. The principle missing ingredient aside from the too-much-to-hope-for wild abandon, is, I believe, momentum. Individual scenes are greatly effective (I'm thinking of the horse on the ship, the fly on the screen, and the startling bait and switch at film's end) but since the connective tissue is standard, the film only intermittently thrills. Most of the characters you'll meet within have but seven days to live after viewing a deadly videotape. Given the nature of countdowns themselves it's frustrating that the dread comes in fits and starts but never really escalates. For those who haven't seen the original, though, there are shocks and nastiness aplenty. More than enough to carry this horror/thriller and satisfy a weekend audience... C+

-Nathaniel

Missed some reviews or commentary? Go here