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slhughes20
Reviews
Sexy Beast (2000)
I know a bloke, who knows a bloke' and He's about to Have a Stroke.
Note: A minor spoiler ahead
The opening credits of Sexy Beast tell us all we really need to know. This is one cool film. Did you get that? THIS IS ONE COOL FILM. COOL. COOL. COOL. COOL. After all, Gal (Ray Winstone) puts a towel that has been soaking in ice water on his crotch during the opening credits, to cool off during a particularly torturous sunbathing session. Frankly, I don't know if I could ever be that cool.
When cool films are both cool and fun we can sit back and enjoy, knowing that a piece of fluff is about to pass before our eyes. Ocean's Eleven is like that. The cast of that wonderfully entertaining film winks at us for the entire two hours, and we don't mind because we know that they know it is disposable. The charm of the actors carries the day there. However, I couldn't help get over the feeling that everyone in Sexy Beast wanted us to know how cool they were. By the way, did I mention that Sexy Beast is cool??
It's a simple story. Gal is retired, as we later learn, from criminal activities. He lives with his ex-porn star wife and two other friends. Their lives are now all that they could not be in gray, damp Britain. That wonderful Spanish sun can get so bloody hot that you need to douse your crotch with ice water. Then, out of that azure sky, Don Logan (Kingsley) arrives with much fanfare-and a good bid of apprehension from our happy four. He has a reputation, it seems. And he doesn't take NO, NO, NO for an answer. He needs to convince Gal to take on one more job. Of course, Gal will say YES, YES, YES. Don's many charms would work on anyone.
For all the air conditioning being blown from the screen, Sexy Beast is still a workable thriller with a wonderful performance from Winstone. Yeah, you read right-Winstone gives the standout performance here, much more subtle and controlled than the operatic ranting from Kingsley. It would be easy enough to say that Kingsley is the wrong actor in the wrong part, but the problem is not quite as simple as that.
Kingsley's performance is basically one note, with veins popping and nostrils flaring. He yells the part admirably. Logan must be on blood pressure medication; he seems the perfect candidate for a stroke. Unfortunately, director Glazer lets Kingsley rely on his technique and fireworks. An accent and very upright posture masquerade as character development. But don't forget-Kingsley's Logan loves one of the women in the cast. Ah, yes! That must be the character development. This dolt has a heart, even if it is made of stone. He's the Grinch before all the Whos in Whoville sing Welcome Christmas.' Kingsley has come a long way from Gandhi. But Logan hasn't come any distance in the arc of the film.
Tension finally begins to build in the last reel of the film, but by that time I wondered if I cared. Who lives and who dies? I'll never tell. Just give me my CD player with Dean Martin in the headphones, and pass me the SPF 30.
The Golden Bowl (2000)
A Cracked Bowl, Indeed.
Note: Spoilers ahead
I can't say that I have ever come across a film in which I felt every single major role was miscast until this one. Here we have the usual major Jamesian themes: European experience versus American innocence (or stupidity in the case of the merry band currently under discussion), the treachery of the human heart, and the poor young woman desperately in pursuit of her true love who, alas, does not have the one thing that she cannot live without. And by that I mean money. The true love becomes secondary in this case.
The sad fact is that there is not an instance when a word coming out of the actors' mouths seems sincere-or even rehearsed. I am one who nearly always forgives a poor accent, but Jeremy Northam's attempt at Italian-accented English and Angelica Huston's Southern accent cannot meet even my low standards. The Regency aristocrat and Gangster's Moll they have previously played so successfully are much closer to their true callings.
The plot is typical James (and if you haven't figured it out, James is not my favorite author)-Penniless Italian Prince (Northam) loves Penniless Heiress (Thurman) but must marry Fabulously Wealthy American Heiress (Beckensale) because her First American Billionaire and Art Collector Father (Nolte) is, well, a billionaire, and can afford to help Penniless Italian Prince fix up his run down palazzo. Now how about this for a plot twist: The Penniless Heiress just happens to be the best friend of the Fabulously Wealthy American Heiress, who doesn't realize that her husband was intimate with her best friend. In the meantime, Penniless Heiress ingratiates herself to First American Billionaire and eventually becomes his wife. Things move forward predictably from there.
The dialog and settings are so archly symbolic they seem almost silly. Case in point: The Prince walks into a dark room where his gullible wife sits and asks, `Why are you sitting in the dark'? Soon after, the light will come on in her dim but sweet little mind. And of course, as fitting with a Merchant Ivory production, there are enough plush costumes and palatial rooms to fill up the average convention center. The gasps, significant looks, and shocked, heartbroken expressions could also fill a bushel basket. By the time the first hour was over, I looked at my watch, expecting that I had been watching for at least three hours, such was the slow pacing.
Perhaps if Beckensale and Thurman had switched roles, things might have gone better, but aside from the rotten accents, Nolte looks like he would be more comfortable wearing a hardhat, flannel shirt, and jeans, perhaps leaning against the wall, drinking a beer at a San Francisco Gay Bar, talking to guys who look just like him. His modern haircut and facial hair, body language, and 20th century diction show him to be every bit as uncomfortable in the role as he must have been dressed in his evening clothes, as he was throughout the entire film. His relationship with Beckensale is just creepy, Freudian in the worst sense.
It is hard to say exactly why a film like this goes wrong. Merchant Ivory hits the mark so often one expects them to come up with a near masterpiece every time. Next time they need someone to play a broke Italian Prince, they might think about casting an English-speaking Italian.