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The Insanity of B-Grade Art
What do you do if the studio greenlights your movie but doesn't
have the confidence to give you a big budget and big stars?
They were probably won over by your enthusiasm, but you're
too crazy to trust with too many millions of dollars. And
you've got to know that this is probably your one and only
shot at getting millions of ordinary people to see your vision
of the world. So screw it, you say: I'm going for it! If the
studio gave a shit, they would have given you more money.
But they don't, so your only hope is to stuff as many of your
crazy political views into your movie and let the cards fall
where they may. That's why I love spring movies: they are
so far below the radar that there's actually some originality,
some ideas that aren't filtered through the mainstream. In
the spring, you get to see the visions of enthusiastic but
misguided artists going for broke; the rest of the year seems
so calculated—how much will this gross on July 4, how
many nominations can we get if we open here. I didn't make
to as many of these spring opuses as I would have liked, but
here are my reflections on what I did see.
The Life of David Gale
Movies as non-sensical as The Life of David Gale appear
for a couple weeks and die a quick death. But the death is
not painless, my friends. Movies like The Life of David
Gale matter because they contribute to the Hollywood image
of liberals as social zealots. I know that we liberals are
pretty pissed off right now and we can't figure out why the
rest of America isn't there with us. But do we need to express
this anger so that we look insane? Remember John Q?
The Life of David Gale is infuriating because the script
is literate, painting a portrait of issue-laden academics
whose lives are overwhelmed by the notion that their passions
and intellect are devoted to a Sisyphean endeavor. But Alan
Parker bonks our heads with obvious symbolism, the central
conceit so misguided that any empathy for the cause cannot
help but evaporate. The plotting is so pedestrian, so movie-ish
that the only possible pitch is:
½ Dead Man Walking
Plus
½ Charlie Kaufman
Equals
1 The Life of David Gale
Bringing Down the House
I think it was after Betty White told Steve Martin's son
not to "wear his hair like a fag" that I thought
about walking out. The deal-breaker, if I recall, was Queen
Latifah's Aunt Jemima impersonation. You see, my girlfriend
and I were so overcome with white guilt that, in a show of
support for the black family behind us, we collected our popcorn,
Diet Cokes, and headed for the exit. JimmyO said most of what
we both feel about this movie, but I would like to add a word
of disappointment in Steve Martin. Steve, I know you do these
shitty films to give you the means to write plays, books,
and Bowfingers, but please read the scripts from now
on. I know The Out-of-Towners didn't need read because,
well, it's a remake. But didn't the fact that Queen Latifah
was producing throw up some sort of red flag? I'm not sure
I'm going to forgive you before Shopgirl comes out.
Sure, I will keep my copy of "Wild and Crazy Guy",
keep quoting The Jerk at every chance, cherish the
moment I feel in love with my first girlfriend over a viewing
of Roxanne, and keep believing in the life-altering
power of electronic highway billboards—but this hurt,
Steve, it really did. Did you really have to go the full Warren
Beatty and start rapping?
0 The Banger Sisters
Plus
0 The Out-of-Towners
Plus
0 Big Momma's House
Equals
0 Bringing Down the House
Willard
I'm disappointed that I never did a full review of this one
like I should have. I'm only giving it three stars even though
I had a four-star time. Crispin Glover gets the Bruce Davison
role in this remake of an early seventies mock-horror film
in which an Anthony Perkins-type spends his time at the mansion
with mommy and his rats. Glover is an engaging presence, whose
virtuoso weirdness has made him one of cinema's most interesting
performers. I cannot remove from my mind the image of Crispin
herding those rats around the basement, talking to them like
the orphans he kept in Like Mike. Keeping with the
theme that spring movies are all about crazy politics, there's
a really funny subtext about the war on terrorism: Willard
tries to flush the rats out of the walls of his house with
Tora-Bora Brand Rat Poison. You see, if we breed the rats
to do our evil bidding, then eventually they will become powerful
enough to overtake us themselves. Ben, the biggest and most
belligerent rat, = Osama bin Laden. I'm serious. When this
one gets to video, use your rent-one-rent-another-one-free
Blockbuster coupon (or, better yet, support your local independent
video store, like Showcase Movies in Springfield, MO) and
go for the Willard / Eight Legged Freaks double
feature. Don't forget the six-pack at the run-down liquor
shack across the street. Believe me, you'll find a hilarious
three hours of mock-horror films in which creepy-crawlies
represent the horrors of capitalism.
 1
Eight Legged Freaks
Plus
 1
Ben
Plus
1 The Frighteners
Equals
3 Willard
Head of State
Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't this the same sort of
pandering, middle-brow movie that Chris Rock used to say really
means things about in his stand-up act? Chris Rock directs
himself in a political fantasia about a party in trouble (read:
The Democrats) who needs to court the minority vote, and how
better to do so than actually run a minority? In short, the
jokes are all hit-or-miss. But again, the Democrats should
really learn something from watching the movies of their biggest
donors: Black people are on to you! They have to perceive
that you really care about their interests if they
are going to show up on Election Day! And how can you do that,
you ask? By actually caring about their interests!
How many movies have we seen in the last couple of years that
have ultra-rich, white Democratic congressmen with pictures
of themselves shaking hands with important black leaders,
while their only actual contact with minorities comes when
the beds need made or the pool needs cleaned? Since Jay Billington
Bulworth, I can count three off the top of my head (Bring
It On!, Malibu's Most Wanted, and this—please
email filmsnobs@lycos.com
if you can think of more).
Movies like Head of State would be much better if
they didn't have to resort to white-people-can't-dance jokes,
or rich old white women saying stuff like "It's off the
schnizzle for shizzle" or whatever it is. If these movies
actually cared about their politics, then they too would be
better. Which is why Head of State needed the guiding
hand of one Louis C.K. I think of the scene in Pootie Tang
when Pootie and Dirtie Dee square off like a Wild West
gunfight. Louie cuts back and forth between them in a loop,
with the two combatants getting closer to each other until
they're behind each other—then they fight. It's that
sort of visual wit that good directors can bring to comedies
so that they don't have to resort to clichés. Head
of State: Guilty as charged. Chris Rock, if you're reading
this, the next time you write a script, let Louie direct it,
please!
1½ The Distinguished Gentleman
Plus
1 Brewster's Millions
Equals
2½ Head of State
Malibu's Most Wanted
Y'all probably missed a independent gem from 1999 called
White Boyz, which documents a Iowa farm boy's delusional
life as a hip hop gangsta. The boyz' English, even around
Christmas at grandma's, seems tutored by MC Ren and Eazy-E,
so they ask the token black kid in town to hook them up with
a cousin from Northside Chicago. Needless to say, the boyz
end up back in the truck with their tails between there legs.
But the film had genuine insight into the small-town condition:
With little prospect of ever leaving a life pop culture has
taught them is unworthy of their cool, the only possible response
is to create an alternative life—especially when the
only authority on the subject is the rap albums they buy at
Wal-Mart. How can you not like a movie that features a wannabe
farmer/rapper bouncing through a cornfield on a '67 Impala,
fully equipped with ground effects, hydraulics, bitches, hoes,
a hot tub, and Snoop Doggy Dogg?
A variation on the theme of White Boyz, Malibu's
Most Wanted plays a more overtly political angle. Here,
the rich white kid (Jamie Kennedy as B-Rad) re-invents himself
as a gangsta. The two protagonists are at the opposite ends
of the Caucasian social-economic spectrum, but what binds
them is that they embrace hip-hop for its masculine properties—their
lives are without conflict, and without conflict, how does
one prove to chicks that you're a man? I won't recount the
jokes for you here, but I laughed a lot during this movie—and
not at black culture, mind you, but at the misrepresentations
and misinterpretations of white people about black culture.
The humor also becomes a political theme: B-Rad's dad is running
for governor of California as a Democrat and hires some Juliard-trained
black actors—the same ones from his campaign commercials
in Los Angelos—to "scare the black out of him."
Of course, the real gangstas don't buy it, nor do they buy
the governor's act. Again, I ask: How can Democrats expect
the minority vote to show up when their "concern"
for the African-American community is so transparent? In short,
Democrats: Don't be hatin'.
1½ White Boyz
Plus
1 Head of State
Equals
2½ Malibu's Most Wanted
A View From the Top
No one can tell me that this isn't some semi-elaborate joke.
I can't top JimmyO's review of this one; I only want to say
that the Christina Applegate renaissance is in serious jeopardy
and that those airplanes were filmed to look like erect penises.
½ Shallow Hal
Plus
 ½
Airport
Equals
1 A View From the Top
Bulletproof Monk
Bulletproof Monk prophesizes that the enlightenment
of Tibetan monks can be sucked out of their heads by the same
method that our collective energy is harnessed to power the
Matrix. And the Human Rights Organization is a front for Nazis
who want to use that enlightenment to create a race of super-Nazis.
Now I'm ok with all that: Really, what have those punks at
the HRO done for the Dalai Lama lately? If Richard Gere were
serious about this whole Tibet deal, he would drop this pacifist
bullshit and take up kung-fu for the cause, like Seann William
Scott does in Bulletproof Monk. Chow Yun-Fat reads
nary a line without a faint smile on his face, as if he's
amused by the fact that he's actually in this movie. Honestly,
I was amused by the fact that he's in this movie, and even
more amused that Mr. Scott was amused by Chow's amusement
with the movie.
You think about those sorts of things during March movies.
I wish that Bulletproof Monk was more than it is, a
hodgepodge of action sequences, pseudo-Zen "wisdom,"
and crazy political ideas that never really gets any traction.
Had Paul Hunter encouraged Scott to loosen up and let he and
Chow go for laughs, this could have been something special.
But that's why Paul Hunter is directing March movies: He doesn't
understand the comedic potential of casting Stifler and Li
Mu Bai in a film in which religious transcendence is treated
like the Matrix if run by Nazis fronted by a human rights
organization.
1 Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon
Plus
1 The Matrix
Plus
½ Dalai Lama
Equals
2½ Bulletproof Monk
The Real Cancun
When Ellis Bunim and Jonathan Murray created "The Real
World" over a decade ago, did anyone know how much havoc
they would wreck across the culture? There's not room for
that discussion here, but I suspect that they thought "The
Real Cancun" would end be the defining statement of the
genre. To that extent, Bunim and Murray are somewhat successful.
The film belongs to Alan, the bespectacled, provincial freshman
who doesn't drink or party. Why he is even in Cancun is a
mystery, except to be deflowered by tequila and coeds with
issues with their fathers. The film sees Alan's Cancun like
Christian's Moulin Rouge, the story in the enlightenment from
the loss of innocence. But there's no tragedy here for Alan,
only the temporary disablement of tequila shots. The film
falls apart when it follows the beautiful people around; nobody
cares about these people except for Alan. Of some interest
are David and Heidi, the "best friends" who are
too afraid of falling love with each other: he's afraid that
he's not buff enough to hold her wandering eye; she's not
aware that he's the best thing for her. But if you want a
movie about why today's young adults refuse responsibility
and choose to defile themselves, then check out Better
Luck Tomorrow. If you want a movie in which teenagers
have a lot of sex, then rent a Larry Clark film. This fails
the full potential of the genre. These "real" documentaries
contain far less truth than Christopher Guest's "mock"
documentaries.
1 Larry Clark
Plus
1 Brooke Burke
Equals
2 The Real Cancun
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