“The Underneath” (1995)
A messy and impenetrable oddity, even by the admittedly looser Soderbergh standards, “The Underneath” was the director’s first foray into straight-up film noir and is worth noting today more as a testing ground for a number of stylistic flourishes the director would refine in later films than a solid film that stands on its own. Apparently it was hell on the filmmaker too, who saw the film as a commercial and creative letdown and, in a fit that would mirror the post-“Che“-pocalypse, followed it up with the insane and insanely personal “Schizopolis” as a way to cleanse himself from the all-around experience of “The Underneath.” The movie itself is pretty simple – a former criminal and gambling addict (Peter Gallagher) returns to his hometown of Austin, Texas, for his mother’s wedding. While in town, he tries to reconnect with his old flame (a very clear femme fatale played by the always-enchanting Alison Elliott), stay clear of various villains (led by William Fichtner) who want him dead, and plot an armored car robbery. There are a number of Soderberghian touches – there’s the chronologically twisty structure, a collection of harsh filters, and a bunch of terse, tough-guy characters less interested in emotionality than breaking off paperback novel one-liners – but these seem embryonic and film school-y, a director working out the kinks in his own genius. Instead of being cool and connective, the editing feels unfocused and confusing, and the central heist lacks dramatic tension or symbolic heft. It’s a testament to its lack of resonance that the only home video version available (on DVD) isn’t enough anamorphic widescreen. But hey, at least it’s on DVD. [C-]
“Gray’s Anatomy” (1996)/”And Everything Is Going Fine” (2010)
Tragically, writer/storyteller Spalding Gray passed away in 2004, a suspected suicide after lifelong clinical depression and a terrible 2001 car crash. But he’d long before been captured on screen, thanks to Jonathan Demme‘s “Swimming to Cambodia,” Nick Broomfield‘s “Monster In a Box,” Thomas Schlamme‘s “Terrors Of Pleasure” and a pair of films, the second a posthumous tribute, by Soderbergh. The first, 1996’s “Gray’s Anatomy” (which premiered at TIFF in 1996, alongside “Schizopolis“) is perhaps the best of Gray’s cinematic works, which sees him delving into the world of alternative medicine after being told he needs a minor eye operation. Soderbergh’s eye as an editor has helped turn the original monologue into something tighter and leaner, with Gray performing it with unbelievable energy, wit and wisdom. And while Soderbergh understandably dresses up a film that involves one person in a room with a certain amount of bells and whistles, he walks the line nicely, never distracting from the core of the piece. In his second documentary about the monologuist, 2010’s “And Everything Is Going Fine,” the filmmaker lets Gray do all the talking, literally (even his director credit pops up just once at the end and that’s it). The doc is made up entirely of select monologue cuts (and a few TV interviews) that illuminate the man, his anxieties, preoccupations and fascinations about exploring the world and human nature through his own experiences. Particularly affecting and chilling is Gray discussing his obsession with suicide fantasies in the 1990s, and how he was able to vicariously live them out when Soderbergh (unaware of such fascination) offered him a small part in “King Of The Hill,” as a character filled with regret who later commits suicide. Perhaps “And Everything Is Going Fine” is only for Gray and/or Soderbergh completists, but it’s still a powerful snapshot of the discourse and sermons which enabled Gray (and his audiences) to have a semblance of sanity in this discomfiting world. [B+]/[B]
“Schizopolis” (1996)
More self-aware (and self-critical) them most of his contemporaries, twice in his career Steven Soderbergh has attempted to recharge his creative batteries in a do-or-die manner. The second endeavor won’t technically begin until the spring of 2013 when his final HBO film, “Behind The Candelabra” is released and his promotional duties are complete. Retirement/sabbatical is his latest stab at a forced, creative shift. In the mid ‘90s, his first crack at circulating the creative juices was “Schizopolis,” a film he’s described as a self-imposed “wake-up call to himself.” After “Sex, Lies and Videotape,” three films followed that the filmmaker wasn’t entirely happy with (and none were successful either). “Schizopolis,” a maddening, form-eroding free-for-all was the would-be cure. An experimental, non-linear narrative broken into three acts, Soderbergh (in his first and only starring role) plays a disillusioned office drone and speech writer for a New Age-y guru modeled after L. Ron Hubbard, in a the film that tells the same story from three different perspectives, with the filmmaker even playing his own doppelganger. Deranged and nonsensical, there’s definitely an air of purging frustrations and anger into one wild vomit of creative ideas that challenge all the structures of film conventions. There’s even a wry warning at the beginning: “In the event that you find certain sequences or ideas confusing, please bear in mind that this is your fault, not ours.” Released in 2000, fans of the movie or the director’s history should also read, “Getting Away With It: Or: The Further Adventures of the Luckiest Bastard You Ever Saw,” which is kind of a companion piece to “Schizopolis” and part journal about his creative breakdown/breakthrough. The book also features reflections from his mentor Richard Lester, and while “A Hard Day’s Night” is nowhere near madcap as “Schizopolis,” there’s definitely a kindred spirit vibe that is passed down within. [Generic Grade Unavailable At This Time]
“Out of Sight” (1998)
Are we the only ones who have asked our significant others to role play in the trunk of a car after watching “Out of Sight”? Given how incredibly sexy that (and a few other scenes) are in this well-scripted film based on an Elmore Leonard novel, we can’t be alone, right? Beyond solidifying our sexual fantasies, “Out of Sight” elevated the careers of its three principals: Soderbergh, George Clooney and Jennifer Lopez. After the initial success of “Sex, Lies and Videotape,” Soderbergh hadn’t again realized that level of attention and critical recognition across the preceding nine years. Clooney might have played Batman, but he wasn’t yet the A-lister that we’ve come to know and lust over, instead a TV star with a questionable taste in big-screen projects (“The Peacemaker,” “One Fine Day,” et al.). Even though Lopez had gotten plenty of buzz for “Selena,” this offered her additional exposure (and her last good film role). Watching her appear in this level of film isn’t necessarily surprising, but given subsequent performances in “Monster-in-Law,” “Gigli” and “The Back-Up Plan,” the real shock is how good she is. But beyond the toplining talent, “Out of Sight” also included solid performances from Don Cheadle, Albert Brooks, Isaiah Washington, Steve Zahn, Catherine Keener, Dennis Farina, Ving Rhames and Luis Guzman, and even features an early appearance from Viola Davis. Crucially, Scott Frank‘s script remains the best Leonard adaptation to date, even against some stiff competition (“Jackie Brown,” with which Soderbergh’s film shares Michael Keaton‘s character, “Get Shorty,” “Justified“), smartly mixing things up from the novel but capturing the spirit of one of America’s greatest writer. And Soderbergh, reinvigorated by “Schizopolis,” finally seems to have the bit between his teeth, debuting the scrambled but coherent chronology, mixed aesthetics and sprightly editing that would become recurring features of his next few movies. Surprisingly, “Out of Sight” wasn’t a box office champ when it was released in theaters, but it’s aged remarkably well, and the air between Clooney and Lopez still crackles. [A]
“The Limey” (1999)
At a crossroads in his career, Soderbergh somehow got the major studio gig in “Out Of Sight.” But when that film failed to pan out at the box office, it was back to smaller pictures. But it was clear the hyper-articulate filmmaker had vastly expanded his cinematic vocabulary, and he called upon the influence of ’60s crime films, particularly 1967’s “Poor Cow,” to fuel his latest, a daytime noir with distinctly New Wave storytelling. Serving as something of an unofficial sequel to that ‘67 Ken Loach drama (which Soderbergh even uses clips from for backstory sequences), Terence Stamp lends his withered, fascinating visage to his strongest role in years, a Cockney thug named Wilson, released from prison into a world he knows nothing about. With minimal fuss, this man out of time makes a beeline to the west coast, where his daughter was last seen in the arms of an unscrupulous record producer (Peter Fonda, who reportedly referred to his character as The Slimey). Soderbergh uses fractured storytelling methods to enliven a threadbare crime story, moving chronology back and forth and still bringing the story in under ninety minutes, showing an appreciation for the quiet moments of Wilson’s contemplation and the cacophony of older men using their toys (guns) to protect their other toys (high living, supermodels). With a jazzy, career-best score from Cliff Martinez, “The Limey” slinks and grooves to its own beat, like its idiosyncratic, often nonsensical protagonist, providing a near-perfect action vehicle for those who like their shootouts slick and economical, but can still appreciate the cinematic weight of getting Barry Newman behind the wheel onscreen once again. [A]
