February is vying for cruelest month
this year, if only for its contributions to the celebrity death list.
Philip Seymour Hoffman — now
that he's gone, I'm wondering if he wasn't my favourite actor of the
last 15 years. Certainly in the last decade, if you saw his name on
the marquee you were assured that his minutes on-screen were going to
be interesting. Consider Anthony Minghella's mawkish The
Talented Mr. Ripley.
Beholding Minghella's method of injecting sentimental bloat into the
base material of Patricia
Highsmith's flinty
novel is certainly a spectacle, but one that quickly gets tedious.
Then there's Minghella's choice of actors: Matt Damon, Jude Law,
Gwyneth Paltrow. Give me one good reason to sit through more than 12
minutes of this.
Enter, PSH:
I
say if the critic's duty is to address the film that was made, the
blogger's duty is to praise the one that wasn't. In an alternate
universe there exists a Talented
Mr. Ripley
where alt-Minghella clearly saw what was before him and gave the
title role to PSH, casting Damon as Dickie and Law as the simperingly
sinister Freddie Miles.*
I get that some viewers thought PSH guilty of chewing the scenery. To
which I say, if that's scenery-chewing, it's of an order that raises
the entire game. Anyone on set who thought themselves entitled to a
little nibble of their own had to invest a unique level of
intelligence and conviction, or they fell flat in contrast.
P.T. Anderson intuited this better than anyone else. Anderson placed
Adam Sandler across from PSH, to pleasing enough effect. But casting
the back-from-batshit Joaquin Phoenix across from PSH was inspired.
By comparison, Tom Cruise (a Grand Masticator in the field of scenery
binging) seems caught off-guard. No wonder he called a second match
on his own turf, in M:I:III.
Here
Anderson pitches the craziest knuckle-ball to PSH, giving him lines
no-one should be able to sell, forcing him to do a Penn-&-Teller
sleight-of-hand, where you announce to the audience that this is the
trick, this is how it works, then you do it and still
leave
'em scratching their heads:
I'll miss those grand flourishes, the set of his jaw, the rheumy eyes
and breathing, and all the other tiny little indications he pulled
from a seemingly inexhaustible bag of actor's tricks. Getting
motivated to go to the movies just became a whole lot harder.
Bob
Casale (aka, “Bob 2”) —
death at 61 might seem like a ripe old age for a rock 'n' roller, but
DEVO had a larger brain-trust than most bands, and played a
surprisingly long game through various venues: I expected their gig
to continue into my advanced years. The various TV and movie
noodlings that Casale and Mark Mothersbaugh did were pleasantly
unmistakable. And while the band slowed its own output over time, it
remained committed to its central concept and executed its
entertainments with a subtle variety that played off nostalgia
without succumbing to it — pretty much as they'd done from the
start. This isn't a death-on-the-nostalgia-circuit, a la John
Entwhistle. This is a man who died at home, and left a family behind.
Harold Ramis —
pretty much responsible for the
bulk of my inner comedia-scape. If I didn't see his “Slob-vs.-Snob”
movies in my youth, their take-away lines were nevertheless imprinted
on my psyche thanks to the endless parroting they received from my
Junior High peers. When finally I carried a few armloads of VHS tapes
back to a shared unit, I was struck by how uncomfortable
Ramis's movies could make me feel. To wit, the break-up scene in
Stripes:
One
gets the impression that A) the actress isn't having any difficulty
locating her motivation, and B) neither is Bill Murray, and he's
steering the craft 180 degrees away from it. As a comic, the lines —
both his and hers — place Murray in a very tough spot. He can't
afford to let the validity of her argument strike home, but of course
everything he gives voice to does exactly that. He has to play it in
such a way as to let the emotional reality get just enough traction
to kick the plot into motion, but not so much traction as to
acknowledge the actual tragedy of what is happening.
My
fellow grade 9ers had heard arguments like this, of course —
between their parents, or between their parents and their older
siblings, or between their parents and themselves. I think Ramis and
Murray,** or whoever else Ramis enlisted for the part of the Slob, were the voice
of reassurance. This stuff
happens — don't take it too seriously. Don't take anything too
seriously, but take yourself seriously — kind of. You'll muddle
through. You'll be okay.
I
was always happy when Ramis popped up in something, and nowhere
moreso than in Jake Kasdan and Mike White's Orange
County. Ramis only has a
bit-part, as a beleaguered Dean of Admissions who starts tripping out
on some unintentionally administered ecstasy. And yet the film has
Ramis's DNA all over it. It's the “Slob-vs.-Snob” template in
reverse: Our Hero is an earnest stiff who aspires to be Somebody Respectable, but
is foiled at every turn by the Slobs surrounding him. Ironic
turn-of-play was something Ramis clearly enjoyed, and excelled at. I
wonder if the OC cosmic-flip wasn't a reality Ramis didn't register —
the Slobs have taken over, dammit.
Only
they haven't, of course: it's the snobbery that's changed shape. In
its way, Orange County is
a premature but very sweet farewell, on behalf of a man my generation
is deeply indebted to.
*Fortunately,
this universe has Liliana Cavani's
Ripley's Game, starring
John Malkovich, who does a better job of it.
**I
have to wonder if one reason why Murray stopped returning Ramis's
calls wasn't just the sheer exhaustion of acknowledging brute
truth, then spinning that into comic redemption. Best, instead, to just to play Garfield, or turn in
a laconic Wes Anderson performance.
2 comments:
The talented Mr. Ripley was also where PSH first started to stick in my mind. And it was, as you said, in the midst of an otherwise very flawed film. But I came away from that film remembering his performance. Ever since then, his name alone has been enough to recommend a movie to me.
Yeah, that performance was a discovery for a lot of people. I'd seen him in Boogie Nights and The Big Lebowski before that, but his bit in Ripley probably signified just what sort of potential was available for the tapping with this man.
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