Okay, here's the deal. I want you to take a good look out your window right now. What do you see? Well, as I'm writing this, it is the first day of fall. It's still kinda hot down here, but you can smell it in the air. My sniffer can hear fall a mile away. It's acorns and leaves being stirred up by a rake. It's cotton candy and funnel cakes from the county fair. It's that funky waxy syrup smell that greets you when you rip into a bag of candy corn. And, of course, let's not forget the smell of broomstraw and disinfectant.
I can hear the back row now: "Whazat...Broomstraw and disinfectant?!?" Yep, broomstraw and disinfectant. The first official day of fall is when the folks down at the dodecaplex wash down and sweep out all the crap that got spilled by us movie fans over the summer. They get the floors nice and non-sticky, they scrape all the Jujubes off the seats and steam all the upholstery. And, why, you may ask, would Barry and Wanda and all the gang at the dodecaplex pick the first day of fall to do their annual cleaning?
'Cause the first day of fall is the opening day of the Oscar® race. All the studios prime up their big runners, shined up nice and purty and armed with a release date they hope won't collide with another runner, and they set out for the racetrack known as the movie theater. The theaters start getting a certain whiff of intelligence about them, and the need for napalm and superheroes falls by the wayside 'til spring pollen comes a-callin'.
Now, I realize that there've already been some early entries into this race; there always are. But it's a rare bird, like a Silence of the Lambs, that can hold the lead through the course of the year. This year it's gonna be a study to see if Peter Fonda can keep his sprint for Best Actor going through the New Year, and, right behind him, one can only hope that Rupert Everett can match the pace in his fight for the Best Supporting Actor nod.
That being said, and with apologies to Michael Buffer and the trademark laws, "Let's get ready to rumble." And at the pole position, out and running, is L.A.Confidential. Oh, sweet fancy Moses, what a way to come out of the starting blocks.
The scene: Hollywood, circa 1950's. The glitterati wallowing in the gully of ego and greed. Even the police are caught up in the act. They have to be ready to, as new detective Ed Exley (Guy Pearce) is told by The Chief (James Cromwell), shoot a crook in the back, plant evidence, or flat out beat a confession out of a suspect if they have to. But Exley is a Serpico-sort of cop, idealistic and all that. He's more than willing to file charges and testify against a cop; it's how he's made it to detective so quickly. The tactic doesn't exactly cozy him to his cohorts, however. Bud White (Russell Crowe) can't stand him. White would rather smack a hood around, use his muscle rather than his limited intellect. And, let's not forget Detective Vincennes, a full-time cop who's the doll of Hollywood because he's the "technical advisor" to a TV cop show (read "Dragnet"), and he gets a nice payoff for spilling inside info to a sleazy tabloid reporter (Danny DeVito) for any tips on celebrity arrests that float by him.
Well, there comes a certain mass murder at a late-night choke-and-puke called the Nite Owl. The murders are tagged to the usual suspects and written off. But for reasons of their own, these three detectives decide to do a little extra gumshoeing and dig up a whole new pot of dust along the way.
I warn you now: you'll need to pay attention to this movie, from start to finish. No dozing. No smooching. And definitely no peeing. This warning is the mark of any film noir worth its salt. Plot is to film noir like rollercoaster is to amusement park. The more twists, dips and surprises, the better the park...er, the film. Remember how much fun you had with Chinatown? And The Usual Suspects? Consider those the kiddie rides like the Tilt-A-Whirl. Now, folks, you're ready for the Coney Island Cyclone.
Academy voters, shine up your little gold men, 'cause the cast of L.A. Confidential is putting in shelf space. Kevin Spacey is fast becoming the Cherry Coke of the cinema scene, -- sweetly biting, but always refreshing -- and he doesn't disappoint here. The sneaky ones, though, are the Wonders from Down Under, Crowe and Pearce. Crowe has been on the bus to the big race before, but with The Quick and the Dead and Virtuosity being his only star turns, he's never gotten to dress out with the rest of the team. Pearce you may remember from his trip down the dragstrip in Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Neither of these guys is going to be a lightweight any more. They're here to stay. The supporting performances from DeVito and Cromwell (who is as far from his Baberole as he could be) are hovering near perfection. Also look for David Strathairn as a millionaire pimp named Pierce Patchett, who's famous for his stable of celebrity lookalike hookers, and his Veronica Lake-girl, Lynn, played by Kim Basinger. Yes, I said Kim Basinger, and, yes, she's good in this movie. Put that snot back in your left one. I'm serious.
The real star of this film, though, is the film itself. From the start, you'll know that this is an entirely different concoction. It has a look from the best of the noirs, but brushed with the best of '90s film art. It offers the most intelligent script since The Usual Suspects, and the co-writer/director, Curtis Hanson, should turn from noname to somebody with this one. (Hanson has directed The River Wild and The Hand That Rocks the Cradle, among other stuff.) It couldn't have been an easy task, convincing the suits at Warner Brothers to sit back and let this big dog eat. As good as James Ellroy's original book was, it was a convoluted story that kept you flipping back and forth to snoop out the detail you missed that was throwing everything out of whack. Here though, Hanson and writing partner Brian Helgeland have adapted away the fat, and the bloomin' thing comes off lean and mean.
Go see L.A. Confidential at once. Do not buy a drink, go to the restroom before the coming attractions run, and get as comfortable as you can be before the movie starts. Because if you miss even one of the intricacies of this baby, you've committed a crime against moviemaking.
Image courtesy of Warner Bros./New Regency
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