Adrian Lyne’s Fatal Attraction left me both a uneasy and appalled. Billed as a sleek, sexy psychological thriller, it showcases Michael Douglas and Glenn Close in an ugly, disturbing cautionary tale regarding adultery and lies, and although well acted it came across as really misguided to me. Keep in mind I didn’t see it way back when, I only got around to it recently to see what all the fuss is about and because I like Lyne’s other work (check out Jacob’s Ladder for an *actual* psychological thriller), so I don’t have yesteryear nostalgia for it. Michael Douglas always seems to be at the whim of women scorned, be it the calculating femme fatale (Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct), the power tripping boss (Demi Moore in Disclosure), the scheming lover (Gwyneth Paltrow in A Perfect Murder), or the hag ex wife (Kathleen Turner in War Of The Roses). Here the female character is startlingly real as opposed to archetypical caricature, splendidly portrayed by Glenn Close but… she’s stuck in the wrong narrative, a lurid, nasty exercise in cheap scares and exploitation that isn’t remotely kind to either character and has no idea what tone or outlook it wants to take. Douglas has a one night stand with her, having no idea who she is or where she comes from, which is already ill advised. Worse? He’s married, to poor Anne Archer, and has both a kid and an adorable bunny rabbit, which obviously doesn’t last long the way the film is headed. Soon after he rejects her further advances, she gets clingy, unstable and downright scary, but here’s the thing: this is obviously a girl who is very sick, as he finds out later, and not just some thinly written psycho-sexual serpent like in many of these films. How does he react? Well, instead of calling authorities or getting help as soon as one, maybe two of those red flags go up, he aggressively spurns her a second time, and has no coherence or intuition to fix the situation, plus he’s a little bitch who wants to keep his indiscretion secret at all costs. I understand that thriller guidelines dictate logic right out the window, but Close’s performance is too realistic and fascinating to be quick-sanded in such a silly, insulting story. Not to mention the fact that once the final act has rolled around, she has devolved into a rabid slasher villain and the script has ceased to care about any semblance of character at all. If the pieces fit a little better with this one, it might have worked, but as is I found myself wishing the whole time that they would ditch the ridiculous storyline and do a serious spinoff of her character. A tasteless misfire.
Rodrigo Garcia’s Nine Lives is a fascinating one, if a bit too cluttered with spare vignettes for a feature film. It’s one of those mosaic pieces where we see a string of unrelated episodes about various people here and there in the midst of some life changing moments, and as is usually the case with these, it is absolutely star studded. There’s two formats for these, the one where everyone’s story is interwoven and the vignettes collide and weave (ie Paul Haggis’s Crash) and the linear template where each story is a standalone piece, with no blurred lines or cross crossing. This film falls into the latter category, and themes itself on nine different women in various instances of their lives, be it tragic, joyful, passionate, penultimate or simply everyday life. The issue is, nine of these stories is just too much for a film that runs under two hours. Or perhaps it’s not and what I meant to say was that nine stories that are this thoughtful, complex and important shouldn’t have shared the same compacted narrative, for its too much to keep up with from scene to scene. Anyways there’s quality to be found, some actors cast brilliantly against type and any flick that rounds up a cast of this pedigree deserves a high five. My favourite by far of the bunch is a two person scene between Jason Isaacs and Robin Wright Penn as two former lovers who meet in a supermarket after being apart for many years and try to reconcile their feelings. Both actors are tender, attentive to one another and it’s some of the most affecting work I’ve seen from either. A more lurid one involving Amy Brenneman and William Fichtner lands more with a questionable thud, both are great as well but their scene needed some backstory. My second favourite stars a young Amanda Seyfried as a girl who alternates speaking with her father (the excellent Ian McShane) and mother (Sissy Spacek) who are in different rooms of the house. It’s intimate family drama through a prism of casualty and works quite well. Other sequences, including one that sees Glenn Close on a picnic with her granddaughter (Dakota Fanning), aren’t as memorable or striking. But the cast alone is enough to stick along for the ride, and includes Lisa Gay Hamilton, Mary Kay Place, Holly Hunter, Kathy Baker, Sydney Tamiia Poitier, Stephen Dillane, Molly Parker, Aiden Quinn, Joe Montegna and more. A worthwhile watch for the handful of stories that have some weight, but falters here and there and could have axed some of the commotion of too many solo narratives buzzing about.
Tim Burton’s Mars Attacks is a spectacular howling good time, a 50’s inspired gumball machine packed with schlock, satire and more star studded send ups than you can shake a stick at. It’s so silly and overstuffed that one just has to give in to it’s fisher price brand of mayhem and just watch the wanton hilarity unfold. Martians are indeed attacking, and they’re evil little rapscallions with giant brains, buggy eyes and lethal ray guns. Humanity’s best are left to fight them, and let’s just say that’s not saying much with this bunch of morons. Jack Nicholson does a double shift as both the hysterically poised, rhetoric spewing US President and a sleazeball casino tycoon. Annette Bening is his hippy dippy wife, while Rod Steiger huffs and puffs as a war mongering potato head of a general. Over in Vegas, prizefighter Jim Brown and his estranged wife (Pam Grier) fight against hordes with little help from obnoxious gambler Danny Devito. Pierce Brosnan is a bumbling tv expert who sucks on a pipe that he apparently forgot to fill or light, a subtle yet precious running joke. The only people with sense are trailer dwelling youngster Lukas Haas and Natalie Portman as the President’s daughter, and the method they finally find to destroy these nasties has to be seen to be believed. The cast seems padded simply so we can watch famous people getting dispatched by slimy aliens, and also contains Tom Jones as himself, Lisa Marie, Jack Black, Paul Winfield, Michael J. Fox, Christina Applegate, Glenn Close, Joe Don Baker, Barber Schroeder, Sylvia Sydney, Martin Short and Sarah Jessica Parker’s head on the body of a chihuahua (don’t ask). There’s little story other than Martians attack and kill shitloads of obnoxious people, but therein lies the big joke, and it’s hilarious. Aaack !