FILM REVIEW: I LOVE YOU PHILLIP MORRIS



Steven Russell (Jim Carrey) in I Love You Phillip Morris.

Carrey on gayer sum

By John Esther

Repeatedly and ridiculously delayed since its successful premiere at Sundance Film Festival 2009, I Love You Phillip Morris finally arrives in theaters this Friday. Given its subject matter and matter of subject one may speculate why this funny, intelligent and consistent film co-written and directed by John Requa and Glenn Ficarra (co-screenwriters of Bad Santa) has been postponed for nearly two years.

In his best performance hitherto, Jim Carrey plays Steven Russell, a brilliant real life con artist who was able to fake friend and foe alike to such a degree that "fucking Texas" made sure he received an unprecedented 144-year prison sentence. (What no death penalty?)

Life for Russell all starts innocently enough. He is a happily married husband and father, working for the local police force and playing organ in the local church. (The instrument.) He is living the American Dream, so they show, but after a blow to his sense of identity back when he was a 9-years-old (John Kennon Kepper) followed by one to his car as an adult resulting in an epiphany, Russell decides to come straight out of the closet and take the elevator non-straight up to the top of the penthouse, bamboozling everyone he comes across along the way. After all, when you live in a country, as well as in a particular subculture of a subculture (i.e. Noah's Arc; A-List: New York; An Ordinary Couple), where materialistic extravagance is a dominant virtue, a bad boy who happens to prefer boys has got to do what he has got to do in order to lavish his loved ones.

Russell may be a great conniver, but he is not invincible. His wild schemes eventually take him to prison. There he meets Phillip Morris (Ewan McGregor) a gentle, young man who has an unfortunate penchant for linking up with bad people, but not the kind of ruthless ones his namesake would suggest -- he has nothing to do with the tobacco behemoth. (Besides Morris' aggressive fellatio, there are no "smoking a fag" metaphors here). During their incarceration rowdy Russell and mild mannered Morris quickly fall in love, planning to set up home once they are both released...from prison.

As fine as their new life together may be, Russell is never content. He wants to live high on the "gay hog" and he is going to stick it to the ignorant and racist/anti-Semitic pigs at his latest job -- taking down Morris in the process. A natural risk taker, Russell's business schemes become more and more elaborate yet prove to be quite conventional in comparison to what he concocts when Morris and he is, again, incarcerated. Hilariously daring to do anything for freedom and love, one would not believe the things Russell accomplished were they not a matter of record.

Stranger danger than fiction, I Love You Phillip Morris has all the makings to be one of the year's most successful, certainly enjoyable, films. Possessing a strong cast, smart script, and outrageous humor/history, there is very little to dislike about the film. Although I did find the film funnier the first time I saw it at Sundance, it is still one of the funniest of 2010. Amongst films released this year, perhaps only Four Lions is funnier than I Love You Phillip Morris?

So what is with the theatrical release holdup? The film has already opened theatrically across Europe, Asia, South America and Mexico. Are there some handlers out there who feel the mainstream Jim Carrey fan may not accept Russell's sexual orientation? An actor who can green light just about any film of his choosing, Carrey takes an admirable career risk with the Russell role. Possibly even a greater risk than other A-list actors who have played complex "non-flamboyant" gay characters in the past.

As sort of a bourgeois anti-hero incarnation of a gay anti-hero a la writer Jean Genet (Our Lady of the Flowers; Querelle) or filmmaker Rainer Werner Fassbinder (In a Year of 13 Moons; Querelle), Carrey as Russell does not have the sympathetic character advantage of slowly dying yet fighting for justice as Tom Hanks did when he took on what would be the Academy-Award winning role of a dying-AIDS patient named Andrew Beckett in director Jonathan Demme's Philadelphia (1993) or Hilary Swank did when she took on what would be the Academy-Award winning role of Teena Brandon/Brandon Teena, a real-life person murdered by homophobes for her man-hoodwink-ing in director Kimberly Peirce's Boy's Don't Cry (1999) or Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhall for their eventual Academy-nominated roles as fictional star-crossed lovers in director Ang Lee's Brokeback Mountain (2005) or Sean Penn did when he agreed to play the eventually Academy-Award winning role of assassinated gay rights politician Harvey Milk in director Gus Van Sant's 2008 film, Milk. (Granted, Swank was not A-List when she took her role, but her character was extremely sympathetic yet there was certainly a career risk.)

On another hand, Russell does have that American gumption many Amer-I-cans sure like to swill. He sees what he wants and he takes it -- all in the so-called name of love. And, considering the current climate, we may indeed be at a crossroads where massive audiences can watch a film with a major star playing a gay protagonist who is not a victim -- in particular, a victim of violence -- and see his humanity more than his or her homosexuality.

Yet what distinguishes I Love You Phillip Morris from the aforementioned films, plus other American films not mentioned here, is that the other films came with an expectation, which is usually fulfilled, of "art house" gravitas (like this year's enjoyable The Kids Are All Right and outstanding Howl) whereas a film starring Carrey comes with the expectation of a physical comedy -- a brand of entertainment infrequently demanding any discomfort whatsoever from its audience these days. In I Love You Phillip Morris Carrey relishes in the role. While incorporating his familiar comical shtick, Carrey takes this role further by not only refusing to hold back on the film's more human complexities, he is also unflinching when it comes to its homoeroticism (the latter being something the misdirected Philadelphia dodged). Often an exacerbating performer to watch -- such as last year's awful adaptation of Charles Dicken's A Christmas Carol wherein Carrey played multiple roles -- here Carrey dives deep down to get at the heart and mind of what motivates Russell and it pays off.

(During the post-Sundance screening someone in the audience asked the filmmakers, "Why didn't you get gay actors to play the leads?" Without missing a beat, Carrey replied, "What makes you think we didn't?" Nice.)

With a better chance of receiving award nominations this year and the country incrementally becoming nonchalant about homosexuality, perhaps the delay of I Love You Phillip Morris has been good fortune for the film. The film is very entertaining and Carrey's performance is certainly one of the better ones of the year. Award consideration for McGregor, Xavier Pérez Grobet's playful cinematography as well as the Requa and Ficarra's direction and screenplay, are nothing to eschew either. (Oh, come on, cinematography consideration for a comedy? Yes.) But more important than the potential denial of any forthcoming award nominations, it would be a shame to see a film of this caliber rejected, or delayed anymore, including the eyes and minds of some Carrey fans, for the wrong reasons.

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LA FILM FESTIVAL 2010: PRESUMED GUILTY

Jose Antonio Zuniga Rodriguez is not playing dumb in Presumed Innocent. 

An unconvincing conviction

By Don Simpson

Directed by Roberto Hernandez and Geoffrey Smith, Presumed Guilty (which is kind of a sequel to Hernandez’s 20-minute documentary, El Túnel) bombards us with staggering facts about the Mexican judicial system: 93 percent of defendants never see a judge; 93 percent of inmates are never shown their arrest warrant; 95 percent of verdicts are guilty; 92 percent of verdicts are based on no physical evidence; police officers are rewarded for the amount of arrests they make; and any court official can preside over court hearings (not just judges).

Presumed Guilty focuses specifically on the case of Jose Antonio Zuniga Rodriguez (a.k.a. “Tono”), whom we first see break-dancing in prison. In 2005, Tono was incarcerated; accused of killing someone he did not even know and who was never linked to him in any way. At the time of his arrest, Tono had no idea regarding what the case was about or why he was accused. He also had no idea of what his rights were; Tono was told repeatedly by the arresting officer: “You did it and don’t play dumb.”

But, on the day of the murder, Tono was working at his market stand where he sold video games and fixed computers from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. There are countless witnesses that can attest to his whereabouts, but those witnesses were never questioned by the police or prosecutors. Tono was sentenced for 20 years in prison, despite the fact that the prosecutor never proved that Tono fired a gun (his gunpowder test was negative).

Tono believed that his arrest was fate. He had recorded a gangster rap-styled music video (Tono also provides the soundtrack for Presumed Guilty) about murdering someone in cold blood (the song turned out to be a premonition – could this song be the reason Tono was targeted by the police?). Also, a week before he was arrested for homicide, Tono found himself heartbroken (we’re not sure why) and he prayed to God: “Kill me or put me in jail. Do as you will but take me away” – his prayers were answered by big brother (the Mexican police) rather than God.

Tono resides in a small prison cell with 20 other inmates -- all young men, most of whom are presumably innocent. He sleeps in “the tomb” -- a cramped space located under a bunk bed on the cold concrete floor. Tono’s girlfriend must work in order for Tono to survive in prison (78 percent of inmates are fed by their families); she faithfully delivers food to Tono, despite exposing herself to recurring sexual misconduct by some of the prison guards (they repeatedly lift her shirt and feel her up).

Upon researching Tono’s case, the filmmakers discover that Tono’s lawyer was not adequately licensed -- which, luckily for Tono, proves to be adequate grounds for a retrial (but Tono has to wait an additional three months for the retrial to occur). The retrial will be in front of same judge, but this time the trial would be videotaped by Hernandez and Smith. A respected and qualified attorney, Rafael Heredia, agrees to work pro bono as Tono’s Defense Attorney.

One of three selections of LAFF's Documenting Mexico picks, Presumed Guilty is by no means an easy film to watch with content that is simultaneously frustrating and heartbreaking. Nonetheless, Hernandez and Smith do a tremendous job with the material, conveying it flawlessly in a straightforward and easy to understand manner. Most importantly, Tono’s innocence is proved beyond a shadow of a doubt. The question remains: is the film convincing enough for the Mexican judicial system to release Tono? (If the answer to that question is yes, I can not think of clearer proof of a documentary’s success.)

Recommended.

(Presumed Guilty screens June 25, 7:45 p.m., Regal Cinemas; June 26, 1:45 p.m., Regal Cinemas)

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FILM REVIEW: HUNGER

Bobby Sands (Michael Fassbinder) does some holy rolling in Hunger.

Die-at convictions

By John Esther

While many people prefer to live on their knees rather than die on their feet – variously bending, bracing, genuflecting, erecting and arching back to any contender in between – there are those who are so hungry for such abstract ideas yet fundamental rights as freedom and justice – real, perceived, imagined, or otherwise – they are willing to starve themselves to death.

Prime examples of non-violent protest against injustice, hunger strikes have been effectively used by disciplined and charismatic leaders to bring attention to a cause through the illustration of conviction.

Mohandas Gandhi held several hunger strikes in early-mid 20th century to protest British rule in India. In 1968 Cesar Chavez went on a 25-day hunger strike to bring attention to unfair labor practices for American farm workers (he held several fasts, too). This summer Tibetans who were denied entry into Tibet started a hunger strike in Nepal against China’s occupation of Tibet until they were hospitalized by authorities.

Then there was Bobby Sands (Michael Fassbinder), the determined protagonist in “war artist” Steve McQueen’s topnotch film about a man railroaded into a 14-year sentence at HM Prison Maze, or Long Kesh.

Taking the trouble of bringing Sands live to the big screen, while the film contains flashbacks into Sands idyllic and formidable childhood as someone who discerned early how he was considered second class in the eyes of occupying forces, the film focuses on life inside the world during The Troubles in Maze Prison, Northern Ireland, where Sands and other “Special Category Status” men are taking their will by their stomachs and hands with hunger strikes in 1981.

Despite bleak circumstances the prisoners are determined to live by their own rules despite the cement block cages where they resist. Maggots infest uneaten food while prisoners fingerpaint their fecal matter on walls, pour urine into the hallway for some official to mop, refuse to wash, and engage in other self abuses in the name of resistance.

Guards like Ray Lohan (Stuart Graham) do not mind the prisoners suffering so long as it is on the terms of power (akin to suicide watch on death row). To the guards these republicans are terrorists, not prisoners of war, and treating them as such is standard operating procedure (akin to Guantánamo Bay and Abu Ghraib). Brutality is a daily ritual. The real battle is to see who gets to exercise and execute that brutality.

However, although McQueen is sympathetic to their plight, this is not a lopsided pro-IRA film. It could be argued that the tactics the prisoners use fit into the guards’ preconceptions that these people are animals. The madness lies in their methods.

Assuring to recognize that Sands was not a one-man army, McQueen introduces Davey Gillen (Brian Milligan) whom upon arrival immediately joins the so-called blanket-protest where prisoners refused to wear uniforms. Davey shares a hellhole with fellow republican prisoner Gerry Campbell (Liam McMahon). Gerry drives Davey through the daily routine, showing him how to smuggle items and exchange “comms” (communications) with visitors and passing them Sands during Sunday Mass.

In what seems an attempt at civil accord prisoners are offered civilian clothes. The symbolic gesture of the clothes is that the republicans are prisoners of war, not prisoners guilty of crimes, which is a legitimate in many cases. (Remember The Hurricane?)

Too bad the clothes are as silly as a goofy golfer and the prisoners are not having it. Looks like riot time. The prisoners destroy their new clean cells. Shields and clubs are called in. What ensues is an array of violence that gets your indignation up, and then your anger, before making you nauseous. It is sort of like, but for different reasons, when you watch Alex (Roddy McDowell) in A Clockwork Orange: you are pissed he is enjoying the violence but then you start to feel his nausea as he/we are confronted by human(un)kind barrage of violent insults.

The crackdown is the toughest scene in the film to stomach but it is not the only one. Not for the squeamish, it is hard to imagine any film this year capturing such extreme violence on such an intimate level as Hunger (though Funny Games comes to mind).

Surprise, surprise, violence is met with more violence. Thanks to the clampdown, the guards are no longer safe. Raymond is shot dead in one of the coldest executions caught on film this year.

But Raymond’s death rings hollow in the grand scheme of things. He is not a man of power and his death has had little political effect (though I imagine the guards may have eased their disciplinary stance).

Now is the time of internal reflection and discipline – the kinds no oppressor can force on the oppressed. To make it clear what happens next a conversation between Sands and Father Dominic Moran (Liam Cunningham) ensues where Sands announces a hunger strike to the death. In an attempt to change Sands Moran offers up a morality the 27-year-old can swallow.

The strike goes on. Bobby Sands meets his fate.

As Irish history goes, Sands was no new radical when it came to hunger strikes. Fasting was a form of protest dating back to pre-Christian Ireland. St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, was rumoured to use hunger strikes as well. Hunger strikes were picked up again in the early 20th century by Irish republicans during the Anglo-Irish war in the late 1910s to early 1920s with thousands of IRA prisoners participating. In the 1940s three more people died of a hunger strike. After a hiatus, the hunger strike was revived in the 1970s with the Provisional IRA which then lead to the great hunger strikes at Maze Prison.

It is a shame McQueen spent much more time covering Sand’s long distance running days and memories to the point of gross poetic license (how would anyone know what Sands’ final thoughts were during his 66-day hunger strike) rather than put the Sands martyrdom further in the context of Ireland’s political history. While the British-led guards were likely as cruel (at the least) as the film suggests, and the IRA protesters were determined in their convictions (not always principled) the hate and anger between the two factions is slightly reduced to a typical, albeit viciously brutal, movie about guards and prisoners not getting along. Unless viewers know the history they may be perplexed about all the fuss.

Contrary to what many reactionary critics across the pond will contend, this slight lack of historical and political context is the only significant fault in this superbly directed, written and performed picture. Fassbinder’s transformation is transparent, as good as anybody’s I have seen this year, including Sean Penn in Milk and Michael Rapaport in Special.

As many Americans embark on this season of gluttony and good cheer, looking toward the light at then end of eight years of political tunnel vision -- where sound economics derailed, war prevailed forward into deadly head on crashes -- McQueen’s Hunger is as stark, brutal, unappetizing and relentlessly pessimistic as those superior historical pictures. When you know there is no hope for the historical characters in a film -- and this is not a Hollywood movie so there none here – there is little else to do than sit back and taste the misery.

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