Okay, here's the deal. Y'all ever known someone who was very good at what they do, but knew they were good at it? They kept showing you over and over how good they were, and, ultimately, you just got tired of being impressed? There's this ol' boy in Carver Point named Hector Worthington. Hector found out, for reasons I'd just soon not know, that he could swallow things and cough them back up at will. I don't mean like water or a piece of an apple. I mean like light bulbs. Pool balls. Keychains. Again, I don't ask how he found this talent, or how he perfected it, because I do not want to know. But, every Friday night, Hector gets off work at the Lattimore Feed and Seed Store and he goes over to Nub's Billiard Emporium on Flip Joyner Road, and proceeds to swallow stuff and bring it back up. If you're a newcomer to Nub's, I admit, it's pretty amazing to see a grown man swallow a 100-watt bulb. Even more so when he coughs it back up.
But, see, I've known Hector since he was seven. He started this trick with ball bearings he found in a junkyard. We were shooting them with our slingshots; Hector was gulping them down behind us. Sometimes, he got them up, sometimes he didn't. He just graduated from there. He swears on his fortieth birthday, he wants to try a softball. I won't be on call that night, thank you....
It's the same with other folks. In baseball it's Barry Bonds; in music it's Sting; and in the film biz it's Brian De Palma. Brian, I know you know how to make a good film. Carrie. Scarface. The Untouchables. Mission Impossible. Body Double. A veritable parade of rockin' movie floats. I even liked Phantom of the Paradise, believe it or not. But, Brian, buddy, ol' pal, there's no need to keep showing off the fact that you know how to shoot extreme pull-backs, or grandiose sweep-ins, or any other camera trickery that says, "LOOK AT ME! I'M THE SECOND COMING OF HITCHCOCK!" I need more of your self-reverence like I need another Highlander movie.
That being said, I was still pretty kicked about Snake Eyes, Lord Brian's latest film, starring Nicolas Cage and Gary Sinise. The premise was pretty interesting, and Nic looked like he was playing a riff off the Castor Troy persona he invented for Face/Off. So, I left the clinic a little early yesterday and caught a showing down at the dodecaplex. Cherry Coke in one hand, Sno-Caps in the other, I was armed to be charmed. What a shock to find out that this was another sharp movie that gets dulled by "director envy."
Seems there's a heavyweight championship fight taking place in Atlantic City. 14,000 screaming fans will be in attendance, including the Secretary of Defense, who's in town to take care of a little business besides the fight. With him is his head of security, Kevin Dunne (Gary Sinise), who wrangles a ringside seat for his childhood buddy Rick Santoro (Cage), an Atlantic City cop who's into some shady dealings of his own. The fight goes off, and, as the champion is knocked down, shots ring out. The Secretary is hit, and Kevin is nowhere to be found. A mysterious redhead has lured him away form his charge. Thankfully, Kevin sinks the shooter with some well-placed shots of his own, but he feels all guilty that his charge was popped while his back (and front) were turned elsewhere. Rick tells him to simply lie about it, tell them that he did what he was supposed to, and that will be that.
Unlike the notorious Snake Eyes trailer that explicitly reveals virtually every plot twist, I'll stop there. (This all-too-common practice of showing the whole bloomin' plot in a 2-minute trailer is really wearing thin with me. For a prime offender, check the current one for Julia Roberts' Stepmom. Who needs to see the flick?) Let's just suffice it to say that Rick smells a conspiracy and the story kicks into high gear.
Now, I don't want to squash all of Lord Brian's thunder here. He does some good stuff, building the excitement of the pre-fight atmosphere, and carrying it through, albeit a few little stumbles here and there. Cage is a major benefit here, running fully on Face/Off mode, all manic and wild-eyed, ready to take charge of any situation that will make him look good. There's no strong, silent hero here. This whole movie spins on movement, quick, sudden, and in high gear. That's when De Palma is at his best here, steering everything in the direction it needs to go in, but having the good sense to let the energy drive. The last scenes, though, stump their toe as everything slides back into "action movie," where predictability is the norm, instead of maintaining the suspense and thriller quality of the other hour and a half.
Enter Lord Brian, though. We are introduced to Brian's attitude from the start, as the opening 20 minutes are all one take, a sweeping movement through a casino, soaking up every detail and angle, trying to mesmerize us with movement. The camera moves like the lisping snake in The Jungle Book, gentle pans in and around, in and out, hypnotizing us into believing there is some genius at work. I admit it, folks, it is impressive, more impressive than the classic opening of Touch of Evil, but it is soooooooo unnecessary. It sets up anticipation for a lot more fantastic things that never occur. The letdown, when none of the promises come true, almost detract from the fact that this is a good movie. I fully confess that I like the sequence for what it is, but it's about as essential as an ice sculpture at a hoedown.
Don't let the "genius at work" signs fool you though. For all the ego involved, De Palma does do one thing that few people are willing to admit. He can make a good Hollywood moneyraker. And, quite frankly, there's nothing wrong with that. He and Tom Cruise turned Mission: Impossible into a first-rate cash fiend, despite a storyline so muddy you could stab it with a fork. (I think most folks who got the video were just replaying it to figure out the plot.) He gets prime performances from supporters too. Connery in The Untouchables, Pfeiffer in Scarface, Voight in M.I.. He can take first-rates actors and channel them to play ball at the highest level. With the likes of Cage and Sinise, it's World Series Game Seven.
Do your best to ignore Lord Brian's pantaloons, and enjoy his overall work. And if he forces you to swallow anything you don't like, just cough it back up.
Image copyright Paramount Pictures.
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in for observation