Wednesday is my one day off. I was sitting on my neighbor's porch, watching the migrant workers in the yard, just waiting for a lawnmower blade to fly off and hit me in the face. What else was I going to do? I have no real friends. My only pal is a 3x5 postcard that comes in a plain white envelope, inviting me to whatever god-awful piece of sh*t Hollywood is peddling that week.
After watching Jose take a dump in a pile of raked leaves, I decided to go to the mailbox. The first thing to fall out was my Cobrapro plan. I tore it open to find: Instructions to the dependent(s) of B. Alan Orange… (3) The death of B. Alan Orange. What? That's not a healthy thing to see upon waking-up in the afternoon. The Orange doesn't even have a dependant (unless you count my roommate, but ever since he punched me in the mouth, he ain't getting a cent out of this wallet).
I folded those gloomy sheets into my cargo pocket, catching the next piece of mail to fall forward. Yes, just what I needed: A free movie to occupy my wasted time. Fingers gleefully ripped the seal, gently pulling out the invitation. "What is it, what is it…?" Ah, f@ck. Why does this only happen to me? High Heels and Low Lifes: I'd heard of it, but I had yet to see a trailer or even a late-night spot on Fox. All I knew was that it starred Minnie Driver. I'm not a big fan. Yup, this one was looking like a lesbian crime caper to the fourth degree. Another failed Thelma and Louise. Shoulders slumped; I crawled into my freshly dented Tercel and headed out on that glorious 405.
At first, I didn't give two sh*ts and a f@ck about seeing this movie. When I hit a roadblock on Wilshire in a means to get to Santa Monica Boulevard, it became my mission. In a maddening fit, I would live or die to see High Heels and Low Lifes, even if it came through a storm of pounding fists. Luckily, I made it to Century City Plaza just in the nick of time. After a brisk 88 minutes in the chair, I must say, "This is tits up."
High Heels is the best female oriented buddy picture to come along in some time; a nice breeze of fresh air that most certainly will fling itself under the radar. I implore you to seek it out, but when was the last time you listened to me? Really?
Coming on like Bette Midler and Shelly Long in Outrageous Fortune, Minnie Driver and Mary McCormack deliver chemistry unseen amongst most of their gender-appeasing peers. They riff off each other in comfort, hitting each note like a jazz improve in blue light. There's no vanity involved, each helping the other in pleasant delivery. No big mystery: According to my reliable sources, Minnie and Mary are friends in real life. A joy to watch, Heels comes as one of the bigger surprises of the fall. You might remember McCormack from her turn as Howard Stern's wife in Private Parts. She's a nice little piece of work that doesn't rely on outer beauty to get her through. The only American in sight, she adds unique balance to this UK Import.
Kim Fuller's script takes a reliable premise and churns it out in unpredictable moves every step of the way. The thing stars unpromisingly enough. Minnie rushes home from her job as a nurse to enjoy a birthday dinner with her boyfriend. Talk about your bigger idiots, this guy's too caught up in his computerized mini-scanner to turn and see the fine English-bred honey waiting behind him. Instead, he'd rather stay in and listen to pirated conversations coming through via outside cell phone connections. A trooper, Minnie hooks up with McCormack for a drunken night on the town.
At first sight, I'm expecting something along the lines of The Sweetest Thing. Except, this whole scenario is being inner-cut with a deposit box bank raid. When Driver and McCormack get back to their flat, they discover Minnie's boyfriend has left the scanner on. They pick up on calls being made during the heist, and decide to demand a ransom; otherwise they'll be turning these jokers into the police. From here, Heels turns into a fast moving crisscross of surmounting events. Each moment takes a sudden illegal left, cruising us into territory we never expected to go.
The film's epicenter revolves around three sets of characters: Minnie & Mary, two laidback police detectives, and a group of gangster thugs. Each soul presence is realized in a unique way. Actions are zip locked fresh and intertwined with glee. Though, the ending seems to be stolen from Beverly Hills Cops. That's okay, it's a pleaser. Director Mel Smith makes good use of the split-screen. At one point, he slides multiple boxes in and out of frame, pulling off an almost comic book like feel in pictorial montage.
High Heels and Low Lifes is a film that demands hype, but instead, it's being shoved into a weekend reserved for the genial slasher pic. The good news, this will surely help its rise in numbers. I can think of plenty of moms, wives, and girlfriends that are going to be tugging on their man's arm going, "No…I don't want to see Bones. That's gross. I want to see Minnie Driver." Not to worry fellows, you'll like this one just fine. I promise.
Upon exit of the escalator outside the theater, I was accosted by another rep with a clipboard. She wanted me to go watch Donnie Darko, which started in forty-five minutes. I'm a sucker for killing time in the dark, but I'd honestly seen so many movies in the last five days, I was having a problem keeping them all straight. I thought about going home, but couldn't. No. Donnie Darko stars Jake Gyllenhaal in the lead, and after Bubble Boy, I've vowed never to miss a single one of his showcases in talent.
Jake is an illuminated presence. He'll keep peeking and peeking, until some overblown sh*t-f@ck decides to throw him on a Top Ten Upcoming Stars lists. Don't forget, you heard it here first. The kid's smile is infectious, and his work in Darko is to be praised. The cool thing, his real life sister, Maggie, appears along side him. It must be in the genes. What I wouldn't give for this girl's phone number. I wish there was more of her spread throughout, but it's really Jake's picture. I'm not complaining.
Even though Donnie Darko is a completely different animal when compared to High Heels, it has two identifying factors in common. 1) I knew little to nothing at all about the picture. 2) It also relies on a stacked series of unforeseeable events. I'd read about Darko going into production almost two years ago, back when that kid from Rushmore was attached. I knew it dealt with a plane falling on a house, and that it was some sort of rude Harvey knock-off.
Trust me; this has nothing to do with that old Jimmy Stewart classic. True, Donnie does follow a hallucinatory rabbit, but that's where the similarities end. The film is "true" horror in the sense that is not an archetypical by-the-numbers slasher picture. It's about real, truly dark visages occupying the American psyche. Donnie Darko, at its roots, is a parable about one troubled teen peddling through a life of prescribed drug use, a theme common in today's uneven atmosphere. It is also a film about time travel and accepting God. To say much more would unravel its inimitable mysteries. By the end, Donnie is looking back at a short stretch of incidents that have built on top of each other. The inevitable fate of the universe as he knows it rests in his hands, and in changing things, one has to take the good with the bad.
At 26, director Richard Kelly has surmounted a masterpiece. This is a movie like Memento, or the Big Lebowski. It demands a second, and even third, viewing, upon which new and unexplored ideas will surely come to fruition. He gets outstanding work from an above average cast, which includes luminaries Patrick Swayze and Drew Barrymore (is it just me, or does Drew always look as though she's about to laugh at the end of every take?).
Also like the Big Lebowski (set in the early 90s), it uses its 80s timeline not as a character, but as a backdrop in atmospheric mood. This is another strong film, which runs the chance of rolling underneath the moving car of showbiz. Unlike Heels, I am confident that Donnie Darko will find an audience. It might take some time, but in five years, this will be a classic in the Science Fiction field. I haven't seen anything quiet like it. As 2001 stands, Darko is in the top spot thus far. Forget about Kevin Spacey and his Starman remake K-Pax (sounds like a feminine hygiene product to me). High Heels and Donnie Darko is the double feature to see this weekend. And next weekend, at that. I'll be going home now. And I'll make damn sure the door doesn't hit me in the ass on the way out. Thanks!
|
Top Stories
9 Comments
