Cranking out pseudo-stylish junk
There’s
something rather admirable about Spun‘s casting strategy, which
seemed to involve finding as many irritating actors as possible and having all
of their characters strung out on crank. It’s a bold and brazen approach —
kind of like if somebody told you they could toss a dime from the top of a
skyscraper and it would embed into the skull of a passerby. The theory is
interesting, maybe even a little cool, but it’s nothing you really want to see
happen.
I can’t take John Leguizamo as it
is, so how am I supposed to enjoy him as a whacked-out drug dealer who
masturbates into a sock? I think Mena Suvari is overrated in both the acting
and looks departments, and watching her trying to defecate (as well as showing
the end product) isn’t going to change my mind at all. And Brittany Murphy
playing a crack whore? Don’t get me started. It’s not yet clear whether Jason
Schwartzman will have a career more like Eric Roberts, Debbie Harry, or Mickey
Rourke, and it doesn’t really matter, because all four of them are in Spun. With a cast like that, why bother
enlisting people like Rob Halford and Ron Jeremy for cameos?
Set over three days in Eugene,
Oregon, Spun (which opens Friday,
April 18, at the Little) is about a college dropout named Ross (Schwartzman),
who just wants to score some meth so he can mellow out with his new stripper
girlfriend (Chloe Hunter). When he goes to the home of his regular dealer, Spider
Mike (Leguizamo), Ross gets temporarily mixed up in a zany world of rotten
teeth, bad makeup, and bright colors. Spider Mike’s girlfriend, Cookie
(Suvari), is constipated, and pal Frisbee (Patrick Fugit) has impossibly bad
skin and is addicted to video games (as well as the meth).
Nikki (Murphy) is also at the
carnivalesque home, and she happens to be the lady friend of Spider Mike’s
supplier. Because Ross is the only person in this film with a functioning
automobile, Nikki hooks him up with the wrestling-obsessed meth-cooker/cowboy,
appropriately named The Cook (Rourke). A deal is hashed out, with Ross agreeing
to be The Cook’s errand boy in exchange for a nice supply of crank. We see what
takes place over three of Ross’s sleepless days, during which he
absent-mindedly leaves his girlfriend handcuffed to his bed.
Spun is cute at first, for about 15 minutes, then it quickly spirals out of control
and becomes something you just don’t want to watch anymore. The film was
directed by Jonas Åkerlund, who made a name for himself by creating music
videos like Madonna’s “Ray of Light” and, more notably (but
definitely less seen), Prodigy’s MTV-banned “Smack My Bitch Up.”
Maybe if you’re a meth head, or just hang out with meth heads on a regular
basis, you’ll be able to appreciate the intricacies of this film, which did not
appeal to me in the slightest. Åkerlund montages us to death’s door, but I
guess that’s the kind of thing one should expect from a video director (I mean,
they can’t all be like Spike).
There
are a pair of very different Japanese imports running at the Dryden Theatre
this week, starting with Shinobu Yaguchi’s Adrenaline Drive (Thursday, April
17). The film is a notable, tongue-in-cheek mélange of American action-film
clichés, despite containing a baffling lack of most American action-film
clichés. Think of it as a Japanese version of True Romance, only without the high-quality co-stars.
Drive is about two star-crossed characters who are both in their early 20s and
painfully shy — almost to the point of being mute. Satoru (Masanobu Ando),
apparently the only guy in Japan who isn’t a verbally abusive prick, can’t find
the backbone to tell his boss he wants to quit. When some innocent horsing
around leads to Satoru rear-ending the car of a powerful mobster (Yutaka
Matsushige), it sets off a crazy chain reaction that puts our male protagonist
on the run with about two million Yakuza yen and the companionship of Shizuko
(Hikari Ishida), a bookish hospital nurse with nerdy hair and even nerdier
glasses (cue obligatory makeover scene).
The funniest parts of Drive mostly involve a pack of junior
Yakuza wannabes, who are sent to retrieve the missing loot (they’re played by a
six-man comedy troupe called Jovi Jova). There’s a very funny scene in which
they try to dodge a restaurant bill, and a bit with a shovel that could have
been in a Three Stooges short.
Actually, most of Drive plays
downright cartoonish, especially a couple of characters’ Wiley E. Coyote-like
ability to recover from some pretty serious injuries.
On the flip side is Seijun Sujuki’s Pistol
Opera (Friday, April 18), which is an unofficial follow-up to his
brilliant 1967 flick, Branded To Kill.
Both pictures focus on professional killers — specifically, the number
three-ranked assassin trying to knock off numero
uno. But whereas Kill was
uproariously stylish via pop-noir, Opera goes in the opposite direction by concentrating much more on color,
choreography, and composition than any kind of conventional narrative. To some
(like me), taking that cinematic highroad just makes it a lot more boring.
If you’re looking for something to
do on Easter Sunday (after inhaling all of your jellybeans), the Dryden will be
hosting the world premiere of the gloriously restored version of Cecil B. De
Mille’s The Ten Commandments. Please note that this is the silent,
pre-Heston version from 1923.
Interested
in raw, unsanitized movie ramblings from Jon? Visit his site, Planet Sick-Boy (www.sick-boy.com), or listen to him on WBER’s Friday
Morning Show.
This article appears in Apr 16-22, 2003.
