Only now does it occur to me... HOLLYWOOD HOMICIDE (2003)

Only now does it occur to me... that it's hard to imagine a more awkward turn-of-the-century buddy cop movie than HOLLYWOOD HOMICIDE. Written and directed by Ron Shelton––a minor master of the modern sports pic (BULL DURHAM, COBB, TIN CUP, WHITE MEN CAN'T JUMP) and someone who, one year previous, managed to make an actually decent LAPD movie (DARK BLUE)––HOLLYWOOD HOMICIDE serves up a true smörgåsbord of clumsy plotting, wooden gags, character actors trying their hardest, and stars who clearly hate each other. It's also the only buddy cop movie I can think of that spends at least 1/3 of its run-time making in-jokes about property values and the L.A. realty scene.

I could begin with Lou Diamond Phillips' baffling appearance as an undercover cop/trans prostitute:


a role that nevertheless ends with the audience muttering, "Well, in the eyes of history, it's still possible that LDP actually conducted himself less shamefully than Harrison Ford."

Which leads us to HOLLYWOOD HOMICIDE's centerpiece: "Doesn't-Give-A-Shit Harrison Ford." And before you tell me that this is simply Harrison Ford's default state, might I remind you that this wasn't always true.

I suppose the reality is a little more nuanced than that. Perhaps this is better described as "Miserable Harrison Ford." And even though I am a Harrison Ford fan who grew up on Han Solo and Indiana Jones, there is something essentially and magnificently funny about seeing Ford undergo trials of pure agony for a paycheck he doesn't even need. However, I think we can all agree that this can't really be the backbone of a successful motion picture.

Take, for instance, this scene of L.A. cop Harrison Ford coming home after a long day of busting bad guys to drink some Scotch. It's basically a retread of his domestic scenes in BLADE RUNNER. And yet. The script calls for Ford to unwind with a weird little solo dance of relaxation. Obviously, Harrison Ford hates this.





Hates it with every fiber of his being. He's clearly restraining himself from murdering everyone on set. But Harrison: why aren't you back home then, in Wyoming? Shut away from this world of troublesome people and public places, hermetically sealed, just the way you like it, ya lovable misanthrope? Maybe he's just a masochist.

...As depicted in these sex scenes with THE UNBEARABLE LIGHTNESS OF BEING's Lena Olin.


"Bad cop, no doughnut?" HE HATES THIS.


Time for the blindfolds. Of course this is a set up for an excruciating, doughnut-devouring sexual climax:

HE IS SO UPSET RIGHT NOW. It's probably a violation of the Geneva Convention to put Harrison Ford through this much mental anguish. I'm trying to imagine Harrison Ford hosting SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE. Seems like he should've at this point, right? But he never did. I think that's because the strain of being zany in skits he wouldn't understand might just kill him. They probably should have saved Natalie Portman's "she lost the will to live" dumb STAR WARS death for Han Solo. Harrison Ford definitely could have pulled that off.

And we haven't even come to the matter of Ford's co-star, the yoga-teaching rookie cop Josh Hartnett.

Apparently they couldn't stand each other whatsoever, with Ford constantly calling Hartnett "punk" and Hartnett calling Ford an "old fart." They should have at least tried to put some of that antagonism in the movie! Instead poor Keith David is over here holding the bag, trying to act while they avoid eye contact.

 

Some of us are professionals

And whatever happened to Josh Hartnett? He was hot shit for a minute there. If you're not considering "Harrison Ford Revenge Plot" then you haven't been paying attention.

Hey, look, it's Bruce Greenwood!

It actively makes me sad to see him trying so hard. Hang it up, Bruce. Save that good shit for Atom Egoyan.

Also trying, Lolita Davidovich (RAISING CAIN, COBB, GODS AND MONSTERS)

who does pretty well for herself despite being saddled with a $20 wig. Oh, okay, maybe it's a $35 wig.

C'mon, Martin Landau? He was old. You producers made him get out of bed to be in a movie this bad? Shame on you.

I don't even have time to show you all the celebrity cameos, from Gladys Knight to Eric Idle to Andre 3000 to Robert Wagner. THE PLAYER, this ain't. Anyway. You were probably a lot happier before you learned about HOLLYWOOD HOMICIDE, weren't you?

Film Review: NATIONAL TREASURE- BOOK OF SECRETS (2007, Jon Turteltaub)

Stars: 2 of 5.
Running Time: 124 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Nic Cage, Ed Harris, Jon Voight, Harvey Keitel, Helen Mirren, Diane Kruger, Justin Bartha.
Tag-lines: "Nicolas Cage."
Best one-liner: "What's the final clue?"

Alright, class, raise your hands if you want to see a Nic Cage movie. Good, good, almost everyone. Now, keep your hands raised if you also want to learn about American history. Alright, a bunch of hands just went down. What's the deal, kiddies? Alright. So...what if it was make-believe American history? Great, most of those hands went right back up. Now, keep your hands raised if you want to see Ed Harris play the villain.

Wow, not a single hand went down. Okay, so keep ‘em raised if you want to see Ed Harris' villain have his hands tied behind his back by some Michael Bay-lite hack in a PG-rated, violence free cornball fest? Hey! Where'd everybody go?

And there you have it, ladies and gents. If you want to see a bored Keitel sitting behind a desk,

Keitel's spirit is so broken he didn't even ASK if he could have a nude scene.

an exasperated Ed Harris daydreaming about APPALOOSA II, and Helen Mirren sadly bantering with Jon Voight

"Jon, stop thinking about Angelina for a minute, you're just gonna get yourself all worked up. We have some scenes to shoot."

(who's either phoning it in, or has totally lost it), then by all means, NATIONAL TREASURE 2 is for you.



Even with one arm tied behind his back, Ed is still majestically terrifying. "Hey kiddies, how'd you like my movie?"

The last hour is basically a geriatric GOONIES. No kid wants to see that. But, surprise, surprise, no adult wants to see this, either. And who the hell is this Justin Bartha guy? Smack dab in the middle of a crowd of paycheck collecting A-listers is this prime jag-off J. Crew faux-nerd intended for comic relief.

Nearly every scene is bookended with his nauseating delivery of nauseating lines, so, even if you sorta like a scene, he's going to make sure you leave with a bad taste in your mouth.

Also, the film promises to show Nic Cage KIDNAPPING THE PRESIDENT.

This could've been a real coup- I was thinking ball gag and everything. And with the superb Bruce Greenwood as the Pres, what could go wrong? Well, there is no kidnapping. Cage instead briefly speaks privately with the president.

An action flick should be like a shot of bourbon. The first one was watered down, but had a little bite. Here, we got a shot glass full of water. If you hold it up to the light, you can kinda see a tinge of brown, but not really. No sale, fellas.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: EXOTICA (1994, Atom Egoyan)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 103 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Elias Koteas (TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES, THE THIN RED LINE, ZODIAC, Cronenberg's CRASH), Victor Garber (ALIAS, MILK), Bruce Greenwood (I'M NOT THERE, THE SWEET HEREAFTER, Abrams' STAR TREK), Mia Kirshner (THE L WORD, THE CROW II), Sarah Polley (GO, THE SWEET HEREAFTER), Arsinée Khanjian (FAT GIRL, CALENDAR), Don McKellar (EXISTENZ, BLINDNESS), music by Mychael Danna (THE SWEET HEREAFTER, CAPOTE), shot by Paul Sarossy (SOLDIER'S GIRL, WICKER MAN remake).
Tag-lines: "In a world of temptation, obsession is the deadliest desire." WHAT

Without any context, a babysitter could be easily confused for a hooker (or vice versa) when she's taking money from an older man in a darkened car. And, in a way, this is the premise of EXOTICA. Context, context, context. A great many of us traverse this life quite presumptuously, making ill-informed judgments (be it by thought, speech, or act) based on observations made in an instant; judging the world based on a grain of sand or a drop of water. In Atom Egoyan's world, the basis of human communication should be a mutual admission: "I don't know what you've been through, nor you, I." The record of a human life cannot be told in an hour, or two, or even a thousand. It's a sum of experiences, traumas, realizations, and fleeting moments that only its bearer can truly appreciate. Yet this truth is ignored again and again until the observer is satisfied enough to 'pin down' his subject, catalogue it, and store it away.

The film is full of these observers; police watching potential criminals at an airport, a man inspecting a rare bird in a cage, spectators at a ballet, patrons at a strip club, management of said club keeping tabs on the patrons. Everyone's getting something out of these exchanges, but what? We're drawn to the uncertainty of mystery almost as much as we're drawn to the finality of judgment. The unknown, the inexplicable, the exotic. An 'exotic' baby grand piano, an 'exotic' bird, a session with an 'exotic' dancer. What are we getting out of this? Something different becomes something familiar. All of these ideas congeal quite beautifully into a character-driven drama that culminates in a finale that is truly cathartic. A lesser artist would allow what follows to spiral into violence, but Egoyan finds a way to reconcile his characters, plot threads, and themes into a denouement that is absolutely staggering, completely appropriate, and one of the best filmic payoffs in years.

Now, after all of that, get a load of the DVD cover Miramax has furnished for this film.

They'd have you believe it's a trite, schoolgirl strippin', darkly voyeuristic, knock-off Eszterhas thrill ride. Given the film's lack of faith in deluded prejudgments, I suppose the cover is the perfect prelude to what comes next. Five stars.

-Sean Gill