The press material for Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang states that a new genre, the buddy/action movie, was born with the release of 1987’s Lethal Weapon. That must be news to Eddie Murphy and Nick Nolte, whose seminal 48 HRS. beat the Gibson-Glover film into theaters by a full five years. Still, the point is taken. Written by Shane Black, Lethal Weapon did help solidify the format, and Black himself returned to it not only with 1989’s Lethal Weapon 2 but with 1991’s The Last Boy Scout (with Bruce Willis and Damon Wayans as the bickering buddies), which until Bad Boys II was the most flagrantly offensive film of its kind.
Now Black is back with Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang, not only penning its script but also making his directorial debut on the project. Yet anyone expecting more of the same will be pleasantly surprised: From its opening moments, it’s clear Black isn’t making a buddy/action movie as much as a send-up of a buddy/action movie. That might sound like a crass way to capitalize on one’s own output when original ideas start running out, but there’s very little about Kiss 2 Bang 2 that feels lazy or exploitive. On the contrary, the movie is fiercely intelligent in the manner in which it sends up the usual trite clichés, not only of crime flicks but of Hollywood movies in general.
The picture’s main attribute is its leading duo, Hollywood bad boys Robert Downey Jr. and Val Kilmer. Personal problems and off-screen eccentricities have railroaded their respective careers for long stretches at a time, but here the pair looks great and acts great. Downey in particular seems primed for a comeback: He’s in top shape as Harry Lockhart, a none-too-bright thief who stumbles into an audition for a detective flick while running from NYPD cops. Impressed by what they perceive as method acting (really, Harry is just blubbering over the death of his partner in crime), the producer ships him out to LA, where he’s expected to prepare for his screen test by hanging out with a macho private eye named Perry van Shrike (Kilmer). Well, not completely macho — there’s a reason that the PI’s nickname is “Gay Perry.”
As Harry tries to pick up tips from Perry, he also stumbles across Harmony Faith Lane (Michelle Monaghan), a former classmate — and the unrequited love of his life — from his high school years back in Indiana. But the apparent suicide of Harmony’s kid sister throws the trio for a loop, mainly because all evidence indicates that her demise was actually the result of murder.
The plot for Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang becomes needlessly complicated and doesn’t hang together all that well, resulting in a tendency for the picture to move forward in fits and starts. And because Joel Silver is on board as producer, it’s inevitable that this will end with a major action set piece involving a vehicular chase, one which momentarily drags down the movie. But for the most part, this is sharp entertainment, featuring crackling dialogue and a generous helping of laugh-out-loud moments. And its ability to deconstruct tired Hollywood clichés is second to none. The easy bar pick-ups; the finger caught in the slamming door; the lone bullet in the spun chamber; the requisite happy ending — these conventions (and more) are all gleefully turned inside out. As scathing indictments of Tinseltown go, Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang may not be The Player, but it’s a player nonetheless.
Music stars attempting to make the jump to the silver screen have never had it easy. For every David Bowie or Kris Kristofferson who succeeds by displaying genuine acting talent, there are more wanna-bes like Madonna and Prince, musicians who may sizzle in their chosen profession but land with a thud when lunging for that crossover.
But the success ratio of hip-hop stars has been remarkably high, yielding better returns than, say, pop stars or country stars. Will Smith, Mark Wahlberg, Mos Def, Tupac, Ice Cube, Ice-T, Queen Latifah, even Eminem’s one-shot with 8 Mile — all have made themselves at home in movie houses.
But all good things must come to an end, which is why God in His infinite wisdom has elected to allow the release of Get Rich or Die Tryin’.
Rapper 50 Cent (or Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson, as he’s billed here) may have set the music world on fire, but as a movie star, he’s as relevant as a dead mic. If anything, a better choice for an ancillary profession would have been as a hypnotist: As I listened to his monotonous monologues and peered at his inexpressive face, I could almost hear the words, “You are getting sleepy… sleepy… Soon you will be fast asleep.” He’d be a natural in that field.
Through my heavy lids, though, I could ascertain that this was yet one more uninspired crime pic that liberally borrows from all the violent “dis dis bang bang” titles that had preceded it. The movie is being marketed as a loose biopic of 50 Cent and his real-life exploits, but really, its primary inspiration comes from reel — not real — life. Certainly, there are similarities to 8 Mile, but various other titles come to mind as well. This steals a couple of pages from the Al Pacino playbook (Carlito’s Way, Scarface), and there are also familiar elements from pictures like Sugar Hill, Menace II Society and — how far back do we want to go? — Superfly.
Yet the movie it most resembles — coincidentally in this case, given the proximity of the release dates — is this past summer’s indie sleeper, Hustle & Flow. Instead of a drug dealer attempting to make it as a rap star, Hustle focuses on a pimp attempting to make it as a rap star. (Terrence Howard, who played the lead in Hustle, has a key supporting role in Get Rich.) It’s fascinating to place both films side-by-side and see how, though utilizing basically the same story, one succeeds while the other doesn’t. With its rich characterizations and pungent atmosphere, Hustle flows. Get Rich Or Die Tryin’, with its frayed theatrics and stiff performance by 50 Cent, isn’t worth a plugged nickel.
DreamWorks may be known as the studio behind such modern classics as Saving Private Ryan and American Beauty, but when the studio first opened its doors back in the fall of 1997, the debut release that staggered out was the tepid George Clooney-Nicole Kidman action yarn The Peacemaker. But DreamWorks had it good compared to The Weinstein Company, the fledgling studio created by former Miramax heads Harvey and Bob Weinstein after their partnership with Disney came to a messy end.
Under the Miramax banner, the brothers Weinstein masterminded such critical bonanzas as The Piano, The English Patient and The Aviator, and it would have been reasonable to expect their coming-out project to be a classy affair starring one of their regulars like Gwyneth Paltrow or Johnny Depp. But Derailed, an awful thriller featuring a post-Friends (and post-Brad) Jennifer Aniston attempting to jumpstart a movie career, isn’t exactly a sparkling champagne bottle with which to christen a new ship. If anything, it bypasses DreamWorks and recalls the formation of TriStar Pictures back in the early 80s, when the quality of its initial slate was so dreadful that one critic suggested the company should change its name to OneStar.
Certainly, Derailed is deserving of whatever critical scorn is tossed its way, whether it’s in the form of a solitary star, a down-turned thumb or even an extended middle finger. Mining that fertile Fatal Attraction terrain, this finds unhappily married business executives Charles Schine (Clive Owen) and Lucinda Harris (Aniston) meeting as strangers on a train, engaging in flirtatious banter before deciding to get down and dirty in a seedy hotel room. But while still engaged in foreplay, they’re suddenly disturbed by Laroche (Vincent Cassel), a French thug who rapes Lucinda (shades of Cassel’s Irreversible), beats Charles and murders the English language.
Needless to say, this puts a damper on any hot-to-trot vibes, so Charles and Lucinda go their separate ways, electing not to call the police and hoping to put the whole sordid incident behind them. But Laroche isn’t through toying with Charles’ life, so he starts blackmailing him, threatening to tell Charles’ wife (Melinda George) about his wandering eye unless he’s paid $20,000 and, later, $100,000.
Since Lucinda still refuses to go to the police, and since developing circumstances point to Charles as being responsible for some additional crimes, the hapless businessman decides he must go it alone if he wants to catch the crook.
Maybe it’s just me, but I have a real problem when I read a brief synopsis of a mystery movie and based on that can figure out the major plot twist even before stepping foot into the theater. Yes, Derailed is that obvious. But I’m not claiming to possess Holmesian sleuthing skills: I related the basic story outline to three acquaintances and they likewise all guessed the big twist that, frankly, must have been only a surprise to the studio dolts who OKed this project.
Yet predictability isn’t the only problem with Derailed. For this “shocking” twist to work, director Mikael Hafstrom and scripter Stuart Beattie (adapting James Siegel’s novel) work overtime setting up scenarios that travel so far beyond stupid that they’re nothing less than clinically brain-dead. It’s clear that Hafstrom and Beattie hoped to emulate that “innocent man in a world of trouble” formula that worked so well for Hitchcock in everything from The 39 Steps to Frenzy. But the character of Charles is such an imbecile in every decision he makes that it eventually grows tiresome wondering how he’ll screw up next. If Hitchcock’s heroes had been this dense, then Cary Grant would have been chopped down by the crop-duster in North By Northwest and Robert Cummings would have been the one slipping off the Statue of Liberty in Saboteur.
For all her prominence in the promotional blitz, Aniston only merits a supporting role in the picture. The majority of the screen time is handled by Owen, which is a small blessing since he’s the best thing about the movie. An art-house hottie in Croupier, an Oscar nominee for Closer and previously a leading candidate as the new James Bond, he’s in fighting form here, doing what he can with his knuckleheaded character. It’ll take more than a daft thriller like Derailed for his sizzling career to jump off the tracks.
This article appears in Nov 16-22, 2005.
