JFK (1991)

SOS OS

   
    It isn't really necessary to pay that much attention to an Oliver Stone movie. You can make dinner, talk to a friend on the phone, work out, read the paper… just so you glance over every 5 or 10 minutes for a visual or a snippet of dialogue. That'll do it. No need to take the whole thing in. One sixtieth will suffice. OS has an interesting attitude about subtlety. His movie characters haven't yet resorted to wearing placards designating "good" and "evil". Then again there are so many fascinating hot buttons of current social history which OS has yet to apply his fresh, brilliant, cinematic vision. Maybe he can utilize the placard technique in MANSON?   

    JFK breaks new ground for America's premier storyteller. Even if an audience listens to every word and watches every frame; the film remains utterly incomprehensible. I will refrain from commenting on OS's understanding of recent history. It would bring back memories of 25 minutes I spent with an anti-Darwin creation-science teacher. I will, however, dare to go way out on a limb and say I don't believe our former President was soft on Communism and I do not consider the DA of New Orleans to be beyond reproach. (To quote a former Governor of that bastion of civic propriety: "The only way they gonna run me outta office is if they find me in a hotel room with a women dead or a boy alive".) But lets not get into all that. Let's look at JFK on its own merits.

    I enjoyed the first twenty minutes. Those montages of all the great old people in the great old days. Kinda makes you wonder about now. It's like seeing a clip of the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan show then witnessing Guns'n'Roses on MTV. What the hell happened? We used to be so cool, interesting and more than anything, full of conviction. It's even worse when we try to relive the past (e.g. the remake of Breathless or Paul McCartney on MTV unplugged.) Yes, yes I know revisionist historians have gone and proved that Camelot was a forerunner of Reagan's P.R. blitz. And that no one was really as pretty, as smart, as cool or thin as we are all programmed to believe. Perhaps all those blurry black and white pictures make you suspend, for a few seconds, the inherent sense of cynicism which is a part of any rational person who grew up in the 70's and came of age in the 80's. Perhaps. Perhaps. There is, however, more to it than just romanticizing. Orson Welles, the cinematic  Last night Orson Welles The Third Man" was on T.V. He made this memorizing political thriller when he was in his early 30s. I couldn't help shuddering to myself when I thought of our current cinematic wunderkind's latest film, "Kafka". This is also a statement about government intrigue;  unfortunately it is opaque and private whereas Welles' work is crisp and universal. Maybe it's nostalgia but something seems lacking when contrasted with the past. 

    To quote Lou Reed from his ballad "Heroin", "I guess I just don't know. And I guess that I just don't know". This echoed through my head for the remaining 2 hours and 40 minutes of JFK. In a sense this is a battle cry for our time. Our master storyteller utilizing all the creative talent currently available - the finest actors, grips, cameramen, lighting designers, set designers, gaffers,  FX men… all to set the stage for the climax: A courtroom scene in which the main conspirator is on trial for no easily discernible reason and the protagonist is choreographing a ballistic ballet making and equally obscure point. This is capped off by a speech in which Kevin Costner looks into the camera and implores us all to do something. I can't remember what. Maybe it was to convict the "fag". Oh yes. On top being a dullard OS is a bigot. But male homosexuals should take solace in the fact that OS is what they are often falsely accused of being: a rapid misogynist. In OS's universe women are awful and irrelevant - lesbians do not exist. Back to that closing scene. Is Donald Trump writing screenplays? I ask because the closing argument bore a striking prosaic resemblance to Mr. Trump's full page N.Y. Times add "Why I bought the Plaza Hotel". Mr. Trumps musings about the Mona Lisa vs. Mr. Costner's quoting Coleridge or was it Browning? or was it Tennyson? Well I know it wasn't Ginsberg.

    I'm feeling very lonely these days. The world seems to be wondering "Who was on the grassy knoll?" Congress is opening files. Oprah, Phil, Sally and Heraldo are pointing at Cubans and the mob. N.P.R. has experts arguing with callers who are quoting the Warren Commission verbatim. Norman Mailer has weighed in with a piece for Vanity Fair. OS is addressing the National Press club then he is scheduled to be on a panel with Nora Ephron and others. OS is in New Hampshire denouncing everyone and everything and telling students at Dartmouth he'll let them see JFK for free if they vote. "I guess I just don't know. And I guess that I just don't know."

    I've strayed. Lets return to the latest creation and take it scene by scene. After the montages, Ed Asner argues with Jack Lemon about something. Ed dies? Is murdered? Joe Pesci gets hauled in by Kevin Costner. Something about goose hunting in Texas. There are many gay people having fun; something which seems to elude all the hets (maybe I was wrong about OS).  The fun male homosexuals are right wing crazies who run a military camp and want to invade Cuba - they hate JFK who they consider a wimp and a traitor. We shift to the future. Kevin Costner is on a plane with Walter Matthau. For me this was the most startling scenes in the film. I thought Matthau had died of a heart attack many years ago. I could have sworn I had read his obituary. Yet there he was sitting next to Costner on the plane playing Sen. Earl Long. My heart was pounding. I almost turned to the stranger next to me "Isn't Walter Matthau…" Luckily, the invigorating dialogue brought me back to my senses: Sen. Long expresses misgivings about the Kennedy assassination saying he thought something might have been going on. Oswald had some dealings in New Orleans. Costner decides to dedicate his life to finding the "real" assassin. Of course. Why not. He is only the DA for New Orleans. He has all the time in the world. I wonder if Sen. Long had decided to talk about the Bermuda Triangle what course the film would have taken. Back to the plot. There are meandering intrigues. His wife is a bitch. The guys in the office are nice but weird. More of the right wing homosexuals. It goes on. What did I forget to remember? Oh yes, Donald Sutherland appearing on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Costner gets a phone call from a stranger who claims to be a ex-CIA man and tells him to fly to Washington D.C. and meet him by the Lincoln Memorial. Costner takes the next plane - of course. A thumbnail rule in "good" film or theater is "show don't tell". Well Donald tells and tells and tells and tells and tells… a verbal diarrhea burst of conspiratorial crap. Something about being sent to the South Pole and a newspaper in New Zealand. He wasn't very engaging and when Costner asks him to stop talking and start helping, he pats Costner on the back as if to say "What do you think I am, crazy?". Unfortunately for movie audiences nationwide OS never explores the answer to this question. Sutherland wishes Costner luck, walks away and disappears.

    I wonder if the Sutherland scene was based on actual encounters. I can imagine OS receiving clandestine calls in the middle of the night to arrange meeting with strangers in Grand Central station or the Golden Gate Bridge. This might account for his view of the King and RFK assassinations. (OS doesn't miss a cultural-historical beat.) OS ties these events into this plot as only someone of his abilities could. Sissy Spacek, Costner's wife, is burdened with their 7 children. Or was it 5 children. No, no I distinctly remember there was only one child in the closing shot. The family tableau of the wronged Kevin Cosner marching off in the distance with wife and child.(Do you think they killed their own children? No, no they just shrank the family to fit the shot) Back to OS's brilliant tie in: Sissy, overburdened with a large number of children, <7 but="">3, thinks hubby has lost a screw. What a crazy ungrateful bitch. Just when he was about to take a field trip to Dallas. (Remember he lives in WHO-DAT-VILLE.) Costner sees King and RFK blown away on the tube and he straightens Sissy out… "You're crazy if you don't think this is connected to what I'm doing". I dunno Kev. Maybe the little lady is on to something or maybe James Earl Ray and Siran Siran were on the payroll of Bell Helicopter. I can't go on.

    I just saw a poster for RUBY- "the man who killed the man who killed Kennedy". Ruby is dead. Oswald is dead. JFK is dead. Walter Matthau isn't dead. Jim Morrison is dead? Elvis is dead? Is Paul dead?  "I guess I just don't know. And I guess that I just don't know"    

   

Natural Born Killers (1994)

Stone-Bred Killers

   
Robert Sandifur's story was nearly lost amongst the flurry of news reports chronicling the latest developments in the OJ Simpson trial. Mr. Sandifur opened fire with his nine millimeter semiautomatic severely wounding a 16 year old. Two hours later he used the same pistol in an attack on a group of children playing pick-up football; a 14 year old girl died. Robert loves cookies, collects stuffed animals and sports a tattoo. He is eleven years old. Oliver Stone's Natural Born Killers, a meditation on youthful violence and American TV culture, opened to nationwide movie audiences the same week as the six grader's rampage. Mr. Stone prides himself on being topical and self-righteous. He chronicles a baby boomer's view of the seminal moments/personalities from the recent past/present; weaving histrionic stories with sophomoric calls to action. It is doubtful that Salvador had any impact on US policy in Central America or that JFK shed any light on President Kennedy's assassination but his zeal is unmistakable. These are films from a man possessed by a vision.  Platoon and Wall Street are heartfelt, albeit mindless. Mr. Stone doesn't engage an audience, he preaches his gospel. This monomania leaves little room for doubters and non-believers. Stone delivers simulacrums populated by one dimensional characters. Although the artistry is lacking he deserves credit for attempts at creating an activist, socially conscious, popular cinema. Little wonder in the age of little Robert Sandifur that Mr. Stone chooses to tackle youth violence and the media.

Natural Born Killers is a departure for Mr. Stone and for mainstream Hollywood dramatic features. The formulaic linear narrative is supplanted by a frenetic, highly stylized medley which oscillates amongst a variety of moods: newsreel documentary, MTV rock-video fantasy, sit-com parody and traditional story telling. These swings are accompanied by shifts in format (video to film, fine to grainy, color to black & white), camera choreography (fixed to unwieldy) and soundtrack (straightforward dialogue to ear shattering rock). The center attraction in the visual circus is a bloodthirsty teenage couple, Woody Harrelson & Juliette Lewis. The first half of the film chronicles their carnage. The motivation for their blood-lust is traced to their abusive families. Ms. Lewis has a sexually abusive father, Rodney Dangerfield, who commits acts of incest in-between his trademark one liners. This disturbing sequence is presented with a mock sit-com "laugh track". Woody's upbringing is no less horrific but is delivered in staccato black and white images: the young innocent being pummeled by a drunken father. Don't worry Daddy blows his head off; unfortunately it is in front of his impressionable son. The sideshows, which are the central focus after the couple are incarcerated, are equally disturbing. Robert Downey Jr. plays a Robin Leach-like tabloid journalist who places ratings above everything. Tommy Lee Jones parodies his performance in The Fugitive by being an idiotic, mean-spirited jail warden. Tom Sizemore is a psychotic publicity-crazed police detective who is infatuated with the murderous teen couple to a point of jealousy. Given this supporting cast Woody and Juliette are some of the more likable characters presented. Once again, in terms of style and text, this is not a typical Hollywood narrative.

All the sound and the fury fails to mask the lack of substance. Natural Born Killers' uneven tone and stark brutality prevents it from being pure satire. As drama it is careless, sensationalistic and ill-conceived. Perhaps Mr. Stone's greatest shortcoming is the depiction of Harrelson & Lewis. This couple is an incarnation of the dispassionate, high-tech world which places celebrity over meaningful human interaction. American cinema is replete with anti-social crime couples devouring the heartland (e.g. Bonnie & Clyde, In Cold Blood, Badlands…). Unfortunately for Mr. Stone the old formula of placing the badguys in a unstylized environment is far more effective in telling the story: the savagery of the couple's acts is highlighted and the audience is forced to examine their motivation through the prism of a familiar world. The only redeeming character Mr. Stone chooses to present is, not surprisingly, far outside middle American culture - an elderly Native American. Conversely Woody & Juliette are the native son and daughter of a deranged mainstream establishment. In this context their brutality blends with the background rendering them invisible. They simply disappear amidst a shower of flash-frame images and Trent Reznor's power chords.

Underneath the complicated morass of images and noises lies Mr. Stone bellowing "oh the horror". It is hard to reconcile all the gloom and doom with the fact that he makes a damn good living mining the cultural wasteland. It is doubtful that he is thinking of abandoning Los Angeles for a Hopi retreat in the Arizona mountains or a survivalist camp overseas. The apocalyptic message might simply stem from a slip-shod approach to the subject matter. The director became overwhelmed by the technical gimmickry and created a hopeless world as an unintentional byproduct. Stone might also be gleefully feeding the fires of a cultural Armageddon: "The kids are killing everything so I'll make a picture where the kids kill everything. It'll sell like hot-cakes". Whether Stone is careless, misguided or evil the disingenuousness of the film rises to the surface. There is a disconnection between the slick events on screen and real-life social turmoil. Natural Born Killers fails to give insights into the life of little 11 year old Robert Sandifur. Evil is far more than the sum of bad deeds. Anti-heroes must be empathetic; not pathetic. It would be interesting to know Robert's thoughts on the film. Unfortunately he was executed by a 14 year old fellow gang-member because his actions were drawing too much pressure from the police. Following his murder he was immortalized on the cover of Newsweek. Oliver Stone's imagination pales when matched against our horrible reality. The need to speak out is real; so is the need for better filmmakers.