Nior Lite
Hollywoodland- **1/2
The Black Dahlia- **1/2
Noir made a comeback in the 90s, first through its B-movie roots with films like The Last Seduction, and soon through better-quality movies like Seven and L.A. Confidential. While the neo-noir movement is as hit and miss as film noir was in the 40s (anyone remember Mulholland Falls? No? Good.), I find myself drawn to these movies. Once in a while you find a hidden gem among them, like last year’s Brick, but more often then not you get movies like Hollywoodland and The Black Dahlia. Movies that are going through the paces, but miss the point entirely.
These movies actually have quite a bit in common. They both take place in L.A. during the post-war years (although Hollywoodland takes place at least a decade after the “land” was taken off of the infamous Hollywood sign, an event that happens during the climax of the novel of The Black Dahlia), they both are fictionalized investigations into real murders, and both center heavily on old film reels of the dead bodies. Although Hollywoodland actually tells the story of George Reeves (Ben Affleck) side-by-side with the investigation.
And this is the big problem with Hollywoodland- neither story is terribly interesting. George Reeves was a minor star who got typecast as Superman. He wanted desperately to break into film, even starting a relationship with the wife (Diane Lane) of the head of MGM (a sadly underutilized Bob Hoskins), and unceremoniously dumping her when she doesn’t get him roles. This is the best part of the film- Affleck does his best work since Good Will Hunting, and the typical rise-and-fall story is thrown a new twist with a character who never really made it into the Hollywood system. While it never gets us too deep into Reeves, Affleck’s performance (I can’t believe I’m saying this) actually does more for the character than the screenplay ever bothers to.
And then we have the parallel story of Louis Simo (Adrian Brody), a down-and-out detective who gets involved in trying to figure out what really happened to Reeves. Suicide? Murder? An accident? But the story never goes anywhere. Sure, we get the typical scenes- Simo sees the murder site and finds things the cops missed (of course, none of this evidence is ever explained, or even used in any sort of relevatory way), he gets beat up by the bad guys, his cop friend floats him some evidence. But what’s the point if nothing means anything? It’s like the noir structure without any of the window dressing that makes noir enjoyable to watch. Simo is so down-and-out he completely unlikable, and he’s involved in a mystery the film makes no effort to explain. Instead we’re given three different scenarios, all fairly plausible, and the movie ends. It’s like ordering a beer on a hot day, only to find it warm and flat.
Now with The Black Dahlia, I’m admittingly biased. I first read the book after seeing L.A. Confidential and learning it was the third book in a series, The Black Dahlia being first. It has since become one of my favorite books, if not my favorite mystery of all time. It’s dark, psychological, brutal, and is one of the most well-structured books I’ve ever read. Ellroy doles out plot twists, hiding clues so well that each one is more jolting than the last. But when screenwriter Josh Friedman tackled the novel, he decided to just cut it all out.
Now, I’m not opposed to trimming a novel. L.A. Confidential completely disregarded the second half of the book, but still managed to make a movie that kept true to the spirit of the novel while making it filmable. Friedman tries the same trick, axing most of the second half (and some of the best scenes) of The Black Dahlia and attempting to squish all the revelations and twists into the final half hour. This doesn’t work, and just comes off as ridiculous. By the third time Bucky Bleichert (Josh Hartnett) rethinks his solution to the murder, you kinda wish the bad guys would just shoot him so the movie would end.
Even had I not enjoyed the book so much, this would be a lame screenplay. The slang that peppered the novel (and L.A. Confidential) shows up here and there, but it seems out of place, particularly being said by Hartnett, who always sounds as if he’s half-asleep. The screenplay includes references to characters all but cut out, like Koenig and Vogel, and chops down other major characters like Millard and Loew…so why even keep them in the movie? Friedman sometimes seems overly concerned with faithfulness to the novel, and sometimes seems to be making it all up as he goes. It’s a strange, mismatched work that never finds cohesion. This is a shame, since Ellroy’s work is so airtight.
And the performances. Dear God. Josh Hartnett plays the whole thing as if he thought being a noir anti-hero means being sleepy. Gone is the tortured, complex Bucky Bleichert who wants so bad to do the right thing and fails due to his own self-loathing. Now he’s just had a little too much red wine and is vaguely confused. Scarlett Johansson, an actress I used to like a lot, gives the same leaden performance she gave in Match Point. Her ever-present, tight cashmere sweaters lead me to believe they really just wanted to hire her tits and only begrudgingly brought along the rest of her. Not only are these two horribly miscast, but their lack of acting stops the move dead every time they’re on screen. Aaron Eckhart and Hilary Swank fare better. They are also miscast, but they at least act. It may be overacting, but hey, they gotta make up for the two leads. The most haunting performance is from Mia Kirshner as Betty Short, the Dahlia of the title. She is only seen in screen tests and skin flicks watched by the cops, but she gives her role a life no one else in the movie bothers to. Even director Brian DePalma, known for making lurid sex-and-violence epics, seems confused…almost like he’s playing it straight (except for one notable head-crushing scene that reminded me of poor Emilio Estevez in Mission: Impossible).
One thing The Black Dahlia has over Hollywoodland though is that it actually designates a murderer. It may dither around about it for a while, but it eventually gives us a solution. And it seems to move slightly faster than Hollywoodland, which keeps striding forward even though it doesn’t seem to have anywhere to go. It’s a shame to see one of my favorite genres used in this way. It’s a genre all about luridness. The characters are supposed to be flawed and difficult, pulled into their work despite their best attempts to climb out. Instead we get vague half-attempts. Nothing annoys me more than movies that don’t even try. I could even somewhat respect horrible movies for being SO horrible, as they at least elicit some sort of response from me. But these two movies just sit there on the screen, while you just sit there waiting for them to end.
The Black Dahlia- **1/2
Noir made a comeback in the 90s, first through its B-movie roots with films like The Last Seduction, and soon through better-quality movies like Seven and L.A. Confidential. While the neo-noir movement is as hit and miss as film noir was in the 40s (anyone remember Mulholland Falls? No? Good.), I find myself drawn to these movies. Once in a while you find a hidden gem among them, like last year’s Brick, but more often then not you get movies like Hollywoodland and The Black Dahlia. Movies that are going through the paces, but miss the point entirely.
These movies actually have quite a bit in common. They both take place in L.A. during the post-war years (although Hollywoodland takes place at least a decade after the “land” was taken off of the infamous Hollywood sign, an event that happens during the climax of the novel of The Black Dahlia), they both are fictionalized investigations into real murders, and both center heavily on old film reels of the dead bodies. Although Hollywoodland actually tells the story of George Reeves (Ben Affleck) side-by-side with the investigation.
And this is the big problem with Hollywoodland- neither story is terribly interesting. George Reeves was a minor star who got typecast as Superman. He wanted desperately to break into film, even starting a relationship with the wife (Diane Lane) of the head of MGM (a sadly underutilized Bob Hoskins), and unceremoniously dumping her when she doesn’t get him roles. This is the best part of the film- Affleck does his best work since Good Will Hunting, and the typical rise-and-fall story is thrown a new twist with a character who never really made it into the Hollywood system. While it never gets us too deep into Reeves, Affleck’s performance (I can’t believe I’m saying this) actually does more for the character than the screenplay ever bothers to.
And then we have the parallel story of Louis Simo (Adrian Brody), a down-and-out detective who gets involved in trying to figure out what really happened to Reeves. Suicide? Murder? An accident? But the story never goes anywhere. Sure, we get the typical scenes- Simo sees the murder site and finds things the cops missed (of course, none of this evidence is ever explained, or even used in any sort of relevatory way), he gets beat up by the bad guys, his cop friend floats him some evidence. But what’s the point if nothing means anything? It’s like the noir structure without any of the window dressing that makes noir enjoyable to watch. Simo is so down-and-out he completely unlikable, and he’s involved in a mystery the film makes no effort to explain. Instead we’re given three different scenarios, all fairly plausible, and the movie ends. It’s like ordering a beer on a hot day, only to find it warm and flat.
Now with The Black Dahlia, I’m admittingly biased. I first read the book after seeing L.A. Confidential and learning it was the third book in a series, The Black Dahlia being first. It has since become one of my favorite books, if not my favorite mystery of all time. It’s dark, psychological, brutal, and is one of the most well-structured books I’ve ever read. Ellroy doles out plot twists, hiding clues so well that each one is more jolting than the last. But when screenwriter Josh Friedman tackled the novel, he decided to just cut it all out.
Now, I’m not opposed to trimming a novel. L.A. Confidential completely disregarded the second half of the book, but still managed to make a movie that kept true to the spirit of the novel while making it filmable. Friedman tries the same trick, axing most of the second half (and some of the best scenes) of The Black Dahlia and attempting to squish all the revelations and twists into the final half hour. This doesn’t work, and just comes off as ridiculous. By the third time Bucky Bleichert (Josh Hartnett) rethinks his solution to the murder, you kinda wish the bad guys would just shoot him so the movie would end.
Even had I not enjoyed the book so much, this would be a lame screenplay. The slang that peppered the novel (and L.A. Confidential) shows up here and there, but it seems out of place, particularly being said by Hartnett, who always sounds as if he’s half-asleep. The screenplay includes references to characters all but cut out, like Koenig and Vogel, and chops down other major characters like Millard and Loew…so why even keep them in the movie? Friedman sometimes seems overly concerned with faithfulness to the novel, and sometimes seems to be making it all up as he goes. It’s a strange, mismatched work that never finds cohesion. This is a shame, since Ellroy’s work is so airtight.
And the performances. Dear God. Josh Hartnett plays the whole thing as if he thought being a noir anti-hero means being sleepy. Gone is the tortured, complex Bucky Bleichert who wants so bad to do the right thing and fails due to his own self-loathing. Now he’s just had a little too much red wine and is vaguely confused. Scarlett Johansson, an actress I used to like a lot, gives the same leaden performance she gave in Match Point. Her ever-present, tight cashmere sweaters lead me to believe they really just wanted to hire her tits and only begrudgingly brought along the rest of her. Not only are these two horribly miscast, but their lack of acting stops the move dead every time they’re on screen. Aaron Eckhart and Hilary Swank fare better. They are also miscast, but they at least act. It may be overacting, but hey, they gotta make up for the two leads. The most haunting performance is from Mia Kirshner as Betty Short, the Dahlia of the title. She is only seen in screen tests and skin flicks watched by the cops, but she gives her role a life no one else in the movie bothers to. Even director Brian DePalma, known for making lurid sex-and-violence epics, seems confused…almost like he’s playing it straight (except for one notable head-crushing scene that reminded me of poor Emilio Estevez in Mission: Impossible).
One thing The Black Dahlia has over Hollywoodland though is that it actually designates a murderer. It may dither around about it for a while, but it eventually gives us a solution. And it seems to move slightly faster than Hollywoodland, which keeps striding forward even though it doesn’t seem to have anywhere to go. It’s a shame to see one of my favorite genres used in this way. It’s a genre all about luridness. The characters are supposed to be flawed and difficult, pulled into their work despite their best attempts to climb out. Instead we get vague half-attempts. Nothing annoys me more than movies that don’t even try. I could even somewhat respect horrible movies for being SO horrible, as they at least elicit some sort of response from me. But these two movies just sit there on the screen, while you just sit there waiting for them to end.
posted by Brandon at
#4:32 PM
|
0 comments
