At the Movies:
Corrupt,
absent or drugged -- Filmss Society
By JOSEPH CUNNEEN
Terence Davies adaptation of
Edith Whartons The House of Mirth takes to heart the warning of
Ecclesiastes: The heart of fools is in the house of mirth. The
movie, which opened along with a cornucopia of end-of-the-year offerings hoping
to catch holiday customers and Oscar nominations, is a richly embroidered and
highly satiric look at New York high society a century ago.
The advertising features Gillian Anderson, known to millions of TV
fans as Agent Scully in The X-Files. Apparently her photograph made
director Davies think of women in John Singer Sargent portraits. He took a risk
in casting her in the central role of Lily Bart, a risk that proved largely
successful.
Lily states her problem clearly: A girl must get married; a
man if he chooses. She also recognizes that life is
expensive: She must marry a rich man and escape the relative penury of
living with a wealthy aunt who pays her dressmaker and gives her an allowance.
The movie deliberately makes Lily more sympathetic by omitting several strong
statements in the novel that show she has accepted the values of luxury and
extreme privilege. At the same time she shows a suppressed desire to be
independent of the emptiness of high society, which leads her to appreciate the
attentions of Lawrence Selden (Eric Stoltz), a young lawyer who is only
moderately well off but seems to offer a less hypocritical life. The scenes
between Anderson and Stoltz, in which we recognize the strong attraction
between them as well as the hesitation on both sides, are the best in the
movie.
Most of the time Stoltz observes Lily ironically as she plays the
coquette. Visiting her socialite friend Judy Trenor in the country, Lily agrees
to go to church with Percy Gryce (Pearce Quigley), an eligible bore, but
instinctively ruins her chances by missing her appointment and taking a walk
with Selden. Facing immediate money problems after heavy losses in card games
with her rich friends, Lily thoughtlessly compromises herself by accepting a
loan and investment advice from Judys husband Gus (Dan Aykroyd).
There are predictable complications later: I just want to be
thanked a little, Gus pleads. Mr. Rosedale (Anthony Paglia), the rising
financier who craves social acceptance, makes her a more honest offer, but she
finds herself unable to accept a marriage based on a purely financial
relationship. The House of Mirth omits the anti-Semitism of the
times and the fact that Rosedale is a Jew, but makes him the most likeable man
in the movie.
The image of a corrupt society seems surprisingly contemporary.
Why is it when we meet, the weary Lily says to Selden, we
always play this elaborate game? Rooting for a happy ending, I want to
accuse Selden of cowardly inaction, but the movie remains true to its source in
following Lilys downfall. Although Selden sees correctly that there is a
core of integrity in this beautiful, deluded woman, he is unequal to her
challenge.
How much you like Cast Away
probably will depend on how excited you are by the Robinson Crusoe story. The
heart of Robert Zemeckis new film shows Tom Hanks all alone on an island
where just to survive he has to reinvent civilization -- like starting a fire,
a memorable image you will take away from this film.
Cast Away should make audiences appreciate long
stretches of silence and might even teach them that a string of shootings and
automobile accidents is hard on eyes and ears as well as boring. Hanks, who
worked with Zemeckis before in the gimmicky Forrest Gump, is Chuck
Noland, a time-obsessed engineer with FedEx who is always in control. He wants
to speed up the companys delivery system, and when we see him in Moscow
demanding faster performances from its Russian workers, it is clear hes a
can-do guy.
After he gets back home, he relaxes a little with his
fiancée Kelly (Helen Hunt), who gives him a handsome, old-fashioned
pocket watch with her picture inside, an heirloom in her family. Then hes
suddenly called away on some distant FedEx troubleshooting problem, and the
next thing we know hes on a plane over the Pacific in a heavy storm.
The airplane crash scene is extra-long, a carefully detailed
presentation of chaos. The fact that Chuck instinctively knows how to protect
himself and manages to get his life raft inflated shows that he is an inspired
survivor.
After washing ashore on a barren, rocky island, however, he finds
nothing to sustain him except a lot of coconuts. Desperately attacking one with
a rock, he cuts his hands and discovers that the rock can be a tool. Chuck
gathers FedEx boxes that float up to shore. He opens them to discover some
videotapes, a pair of girls ice skates, and a white volleyball that he
names Wilson (after the manufacturer). He has to learn everything from scratch,
makes mistakes -- some comic, some life threatening -- cries out in his
loneliness, and rediscovers the beauty of nature. Formerly the master of time,
now he has all the time in the world. He regularly consults the watch Kelly
gave him, even though it no longer runs.
Just when Chuck seems to have mastered the basic needs of his
island existence, there is a sudden fadeout, and a disconcerting title:
Four Years Later. In the movies actual production, there was
a year of waiting while Hanks trimmed down and grew an impressively patriarchal
beard. Chuck continues to battle the wind, the surf, and the limitations of
island existence, talking frequently to his only friend, Wilson.
By avoiding special effects gimmicks, Zemeckis allows Hanks to
impress us with the full range of human responses, from revolt to despair to
humility. Though Chuck is clearly an intelligent man, his interior reflections
lack real depth. Its unclear whether Chuck has emerged from his
experience with any lesson other than stay alive: Keep breathing,
he says, theres always hope of some new possibility coming along.
Steven Soderberghs
Traffic, which draws on a British TV mini-series on drugs, is the most
exciting movie in quite a while, and also, not unrelatedly, the hardest to
follow. Soderbergh jump-cuts across the three stories of Stephen Gaghams
complex screenplay: the shadowy efforts to eliminate the drug cartel in
Tijuana; the education of Ohio judge Robert Wakefield (Michael Douglas), the
new head of the national war on drugs, who discovers that his 16-year-old
daughter Caroline (Erika Christensen) has become addicted to cocaine; and a
flashy drug operation in San Diego, in which the wife (Catherine Zeta-Jones)
keeps the operation going while her dealer-husband is facing trial.
Whats going on, you ask yourself; whos on whose side?
Are Mexican state policemen Javier (Benicio Del Toro) and Manolo (Jacob Vargas)
honest? Is General Salazar (Tomas Milian), who later employs Javier and Monolo
on his team, really working to eliminate the drug cartel in Tijuana? One even
begins to suspect the motives of the likable and humorous policemen (Don
Cheadle and Luis Guzmán) who are trying to collect evidence on the San
Diego drug operation.
Traffic has a terrific cast, and Soderbergh brings us
closer to the action than is comfortable. He nevertheless succeeds in making
compelling entertainment out of his depressing subject and wisely doesnt
pretend to offer answers. The demand for drugs has become deeply ingrained in
our culture, and all the movie can do is to show its respect for the few
resourceful policemen on both sides of the Mexican-American border who pursue
their repetitious efforts with bravery and dignity.
Joseph Cunneen is NCRs regular movie reviewer. His
e-mail address is SCunn24219@aol.com
National Catholic Reporter, January 19,
2001
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