Hey folks, Harry here.... When I got to the Drafthouse today to help Tim with the Butt-Numb-A-Thon ticket line... Tim had this dazed concerned look on his face... I asked him what was wrong... Apparently... late late last night, as Tim was closing up the Drafthouse.... this JIM BEAMS truck pulls up and a couple of guys with baseball bats got out and threatened to work Tim over if he didn't produce 2 BNAT tickets for their boss... whome the affectionately referred to as Scarface.... It took three molar pulls... but they got Capone his tickets.... And look how innocent his review is... hardly seems like the sort of guy for this sort of organized brutality. Add to the AICN staple of spies arriving at BNAT... Capone... And here he is with a film I'm dying to see... QUILLS... take it away ya thug.......
I saw QUILLS the day after I sat through the safety and comfort of BAGGER
VANCE. What a difference a day makes! Now we enter the dangerous perversion
of QUILLS, an account of the final days of the Marquis de Sade. Put aside
your memories of MARAT/SADE; this is a whole new beast.
The always great Geoffrey Rush (SHINE) is France's most notorious teller of
lewd and bloody tales lewd, who spent his final days in a mental hospital
run by the church (in the form of Abbott Coulmier played very well by
Joaquin Phoenix, who continues to amaze me with his range). Despite being
locked up, he is afforded many luxuries because of his status as one of the
most well-read authors in the nation. He is allowed visitors and has
exceptional living conditions. But most importantly to him, he is allowed to
write. And thanks to the help of a chambermaid, Madeleine (Kate Winslet),
his manuscripts are smuggled out and published almost instantaneously. When
word reaches Napoleon that this expert in perversion is getting filthy rich
in this manner, he sends the noted Dr. Royer-Collard (the exquisitely evil
Michael Caine). While Coulmier uses kinder, more religion-based methods of
treating his patients, the fine doctor essentially tortures the mentally ill
into submission.
Director Philip Kaufman is in his element here, lingering on words and
descriptions of acts that border on obscene. But rather than show us all of
these acts (we do see some), we are often treated to simply hearing the
voice of Geoffrey Rush reading from several of de Sade's more famous
passages. Kaufman has previously directed such films as THE UNBEARABLE
LIGHTNESS OF BEING, HENRY & JUNE, and THE RIGHT STUFF, as well as the
excellent 1978 remake of INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS. As in those films,
he is unflinching here and lets his actors and situations get so out of hand
as to almost threaten to jump off the screen are wring your scrawny little
neck.
The performances border on the overblown at times and the direction might
turn some people off toward the end, especially with the excessive violence
(actually the end of this film reminded me a lot of the end of REQUIEM FOR A
DREAM), but writer Doug Wright (on whose play this film was based) keeps the
actors on track with sharp and biting dialogue. Many of the words sting like
sleet on your face. Every character here possesses some deviant qualities,
which Kaufman exploits and puts on very public display for us to examine and
judge. Michael Caine steals every scene he's in and his relationship with
his 16-year-old bride is slimy and comes has an appropriate resolution.
Winslet's role more or less holds things together as she acts as a
go-between for the three males leads, some of whom lust after her because it
is expected of them (de Sade) or because it's not expected of them
(Coulmier).
QUILLS is sick fun and an acting tour-de-force. France never looked like so
much fun. The film opens in mid-December I think.
Hot on the heels on the recent Chicago International Film Festival, is
Reeling 2000, the 20th Chicago Lesbian and Gay International Film Festival.
I try to hit a few films at this festival every year, but you can only sit
through so many 20-minute shorts about coming out to your parents, right?
This year, however, is different with an expanded line up at multiple
theatres, and a bunch of titles that seem genuinely promising. I’ll probably
see a half dozen or so before its two-week run is over. Anyway, I saw two
last night that are worth mentioning quickly.
THE WEEKEND
THE WEEKEND is the kind of movie I’ve grown incredibly tired of with actors
that I really like. This is one of those rich people spend a lazy weekend in
a big house in upstate New York talking about life and love and loss. BLAH
BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH!!!! The most uttered line in any of these movies is,
“I’m going for a walk.” Gena Rowlands is the rich widow, Brooke Shields is
her ungrateful b-movie actress daughter, who brings home a black boyfriend
just to get a rise out of her mother. Deborah Unger is a nearby neighbor
with husband Jared Harris. There are many flashbacks to a couple years
earlier when beloved bad boy Tony (D.B. Sweeney) used to bring his friends
and lover to this country estate, where people swim in the lake, lie around
sun bathing, or sit on porches talking about nothing. Tony died of AIDS a
year before the film’s timeline, but constant flashbacks attempt to show us
what made everyone love him so much. But the film’s true stars are Brooke
Shields’ nipples, which are in ever present. She wears nothing but bathing
suits and sports bras, complete with raging, popping nipples. And spare me
the sexist label: the first thing my girlfriend said to me after we saw this
movie was, “What’s up with Brooke’s nipples?” THE WEEKEND looks good, the
settings are nice and picturesque, but like the beautiful Brooke, it’s all
looks and no substance.
KING OF THE JUNGLE
The versatile-as-hell John Leguizamo stars as a half Jewish-half Puerto Rican
retarded man growing up in New York City in KING OF THE JUNGLE. Sounds like
a Farrelly Brothers film, but it’s actually a drama with a cast lifted right
out of the Spike Lee Players (including Rosie Perez, Michael Rappaport,
Annabella Sciorra, and a cameo by Spike as himself). Seymour (Leguizamo) is
an avid basketball fan who grew up in a broken home with his mother, Mona, a
lesbian activist, and her girlfriend (Perez). When Mona is killed before his
eyes, Seymour flips out and runs the streets searching for her killer but
not knowing what he’s going to do once he finds him. Seymour already has a
loose grip on the definitions of friendship, family, and the importance of
“juice” on the street, but his mother’s death twists everything up in his
mind. Director Seth Zvi Rosenfeld does a credible job of getting inside
Seymour’s mixed up head, filled with images of his mother’s murder and the
hard lessons his largely absent father tries to teach him about being a man.
Rappaport is Seymour’s only real friend, but his shady nature (and recent
gun purchase) can only lead to trouble. At times funny, at times silly, at
times deadly serious, KING OF THE JUNGLE works primarily to expand the
resume of Leguizamo, who gives a convincing performance. The moments of
activism kind of get lost in this jumbled story, but the film overall is
alright. I don’t think KING OF THE JUNGLE has a distributor yet, and it
probably deserves one. I’m probably not making much of a convincing argument
for its wide release, am I? Screw you! I’ve seen it, and that’s all that
matters!
CAPONE
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