“Very Bad Things” (1998)
Time is a wondrous thing. Consider Peter Berg’s coal-black-hearted theatrical debut, “Very Bad Things,” the story of a bachelor party, a dead hooker and a body count that just won’t quit. The divisive picture remains capable of minor moral outrage and there’s little to redeem it—the familiar misogyny of the genre hands the two major female roles to the stripper (Kobe Tai) and venomous bridezilla Cameron Diaz, who is positively chilling. The male cast, consisting of Christian Slater, Jon Favreau, Daniel Stern, Leland Orser and Jeremy Piven, do a fine job of berating one another but there’s little to recommend unless you’re a fan of the actors, and even then, there are a handful of pictures that put their respective talents to far better use. “Very Bad Things” holds humanity in contempt and aims to deliver laughs as violent outbursts claim the lives of caricatures, as a hat tip to the far better film that inspired this feature. That Berg would mount a comeback with 2003’s shamelessly commercial The Rock-starrer “The Rundown” and strike gold with “Friday Night Lights” is a testament to Hollywood’s persistent short-term memory. [C-]
“The Boondock Saints” (1999)
Has it been a while since you wished you were dead? Well, put on this “cult hit” and try to make it through even the first twenty minutes without longing for the sweet embrace of oblivion. While contractually obliged, for the purposes of this feature, to sit through every tedious second we confess our mind did wander to the story behind the film, mainly as a way of protecting itself from the graceless, toxic stupidity of what was unfolding onscreen. Because as filmmaking lore, it’s interesting: the script was briefly the hottest thing in town, and was bought by Miramax to be directed by writer/bartender Troy Duffy despite his lack of filmmaking credentials (clearly hoping for a similar discovery as with ex-video store employee Quentin Tarantino). Duffy, according to the 2003 documentary “Overnight,” was pretty much fueled by delusional egotism and riled everybody involved, resulting in Miramax abandoning the project. But the devil can foil any righteous plan, and the film got made anyway, in all its inanely violent, overlit, derivative, meatheaded glory. The story of two precariously accented Catholic brothers from Boston (Norman Reedus and Sean Patrick Flanery) who randomly start offing people they deem “evil” while pursued by Willem Dafoe’s self-parodic FBI agent, there’s not a single scene you haven’t seen done better in another film, most often “Pulp Fiction.” But what’s most repellant is the lunkheaded glee the film takes in its unthinking endorsement of vigilantism, and how it practically ejaculates over itself about how edgy and hip it is, when in fact it’s just straight-up racist, homophobic, misogynistic and consistently dumb as fuck. This has to be the nadir of the “Pulp Fiction” me-toos, and so of course is the only one aside from “Get Shorty” to have thus far spawned a sequel. A million thumbs down, no stars, [F]
“Intermission” (2003)
Irish crime drama in the 1990s was dominated by John Boorman‘s excellent, Cannes-lauded “The General,” but the knock-on effect of “Pulp Fiction” finally arrived in 2003 with “Intermission,” an unexpectedly charming multi-character, multi-stranded affair (also riffing on “Magnolia” as much as anything else). Penned by playwright Mark O’Rowe, and helmed by theater director John Crowley, making his feature debut, it follows the aftermath of the break-up between long-term couple Cillian Murphy and Kelly Macdonald, and of a fairly spectacular double-decker bus crash, events that somehow combine as Murphy teams with thuggish criminal Colin Farrell and disgruntled bus driver Brian F. O’Byrne to kidnap Macdonald’s new beau, a married bank manager, while various other characters—including Colm Meaney’s delusional copper, and Shirley Henderson’s insecure, mustached loner—circle them. Nothing here is especially groundbreaking, bar perhaps Henderson’s storyline, but from its arresting opening, there’s a real verve and energy to proceedings that doesn’t preclude the film from slowing down and entering more contemplative modes. O’Rowe’s writing is warm and witty, and Crowley juggles tone impressively, going from charming rom-com to grittier drama in a space of a few scenes without it feeling incongruous. The performances are strong, too: Farrell’s having a blast, and Murphy and Macdonald in particular lend texture to performances that could have felt a little bland otherwise. Crowley and O’Rowe would reteam again to much greater effect a few years later for “Boy A,” which introduced Andrew Garfield to the screen, but this is a pretty decent little movie on its own. [B]
“Reindeer Games” (2000)
John Frankenheimer had a long and storied career that spanned over 40 years, full of dizzying highs (“The Manchurian Candidate,” “The Train,” “Seconds”), some crashing lows (“The Island Of Doctor Moreau,” “Prophecy”), and plenty in between. But it’s a shame, having revived his career with 1998’s gripping “Ronin,” that his final film was one as generic and anemic as “Reindeer Games” (Frankenheimer was to have directed “Exorcist: The Beginning,” but became ill and died in 2002, a month after pulling out of the production). Penned by future “Transformers” writer Ehren Kruger, it sees ex-convict Ben Affleck released from jail and hooking up with Ashley (Charlize Theron), a young woman who’d been corresponding with his late cellmate. They fall for each other, but Ashley’s psychotic brother (Gary Sinise) turns up and forces Affleck to aid in a casino robbery, thinking that he had inside knowledge of the place. In theory, it’s not a bad set-up, but Kruger’s script piles ludicrous twist upon ludicrous twist, not so much stretching credibility as tearing it apart, and while there’s some welcome color to be found in the supporting cast (which includes Dennis Farina, Danny Trejo, Clarence Williams III and Donal Logue—who replaced Vin Diesel at the last minute, the only time in history that that will ever happen), Affleck, Sinise and even the usually reliable Theron make for pretty terrible leads. Frankenheimer’s sense of suspense eludes him too: the action sequences seem to be taking their cue from “Die Hard 2” rather than his vintage ’60s work, and the whole film looks kind of cheap. Barely a year later, the film was already a punchline when Affleck played himself in “Jay & Silent Bob Strikes Back,” and in a way, it’s lucky to be even remembered as that. [D-]
“Phoenix” (1998)
A film no one remembers from a director everyone forgets, “Phoenix” feels a little like what might result if you pasted together alternate lines from the “Pulp Fiction” and “Reservoir Dogs” screenplays, then Google translated the whole into Mandarin and back. And then got Danny Cannon (“Judge Dredd,” “I Still Know What You Did Last Summer”) to direct. Well, maybe we’re being harsh on Cannon, who seems to have found his level helming TV procedurals (25 episodes of “CSI,” etc.) because this was a poorly conceived knock-off from the get-go, the type of would-be amoral thriller in which people are given lisps instead of character details, and the hero quotes Dostoevsky because it sounds cool. Ray Liotta, Anthony LaPaglia, Jeremy Piven and Daniel Baldwin are four corrupt cops in yes, Phoenix, (whose presumably full-time jobs seem to encroach very little on their extra-curricular activities) held together by unexplained bonds of brotherhood despite the fact that the LaPaglia character is clearly a sociopath. Liotta, the decent one, is a hyper-superstitious gambler, Piven plays a cuckolded husband and Baldwin, much, we fear like his position within his famous clan, plays The Other One. Having no such thing as a coherent character to cling to, the derivative plot spins its wheels, and potentially promising elements, like Angelica Huston and Brittany Murphy, fall by the wayside in favor of more macho posturing, hardboiled cussin’ and casually sexist exchanges between the lead quartet and their sketched-in adversaries. “Pulp Fiction” is a film more open to having its surface mistaken for its substance than most, which is why attempts like “Phoenix” to replicate the ‘Pulp’ formula without any of Tarantino’s spiky talent end up such colorless lame ducks by comparison. [D]
