David Cronenberg's most recent film. Set in Los Angeles, James Spader and Deborah Unger play a couple drawn into an underworld of odd characters who are sexually aroused by automobile crashes. Spader discovers this when he hits Holly Hunter's car head on, killing her husband. They become lovers, meeting in a parking garage, having (unsatisfying) sex in a parked car. Later they are involved with a clique that re-enacts famous crashes for excitement.
It's a fascinating premise and it starts off quite promising. However, Spader's patented flat, emotionally dead anti-hero never shows a spark of life. Nor do any of the other characters. And yet, while there is an attempt to capture that serene surface perfected by David Lynch, the attempt fails. In the end we do not care what happens to any of these characters. It becomes an exercise in guessing who will sleep with who next. Even the final scene, in which Spader and Unger are brought back together, fails to move because we have never cared about either of them. It felt like getting the news that your cousin twice removed, who you have never met, is getting married. You know you are supposed to feel happy for them but, frankly, you just don't care.
On the other hand, the movie is visually lush, and does take some legitimate risks. Spader has a gay sex-scene that, as tame as it was, is a true rarity in American theaters. Even "Faith! Hope! and Glory!" did not come close. One scene deserves especial mention. A group including Spader, Hunter, and Rosanne Arquette are watching video tapes of safety tests of automobiles, starring the test dummies. As they watch they become increasingly aroused. They are all completely absorbed in films that were shot by engineers. Like low-budget porn, the videos are grainy, out of focus, and have no camera movement. Nevertheless, the scene is oddly hysterical.
Cronenberg also keeps close to home in another way. He always seems to be obsessed with violation. In his films this is represented literally. Here we have a number of characters whose bodies are violated with pins and braces administered by doctors. Not for the squeamish, although the scenes are not gory. But to see the male nurse just poking at people's apparatus and wounds is unsettling (recalls the Monty Python skit where the major missing a leg has it poked by his superior office, asking if it hurts).
It's a fascinating premise and it starts off quite promising. However, Spader's patented flat, emotionally dead anti-hero never shows a spark of life. Nor do any of the other characters. And yet, while there is an attempt to capture that serene surface perfected by David Lynch, the attempt fails. In the end we do not care what happens to any of these characters. It becomes an exercise in guessing who will sleep with who next. Even the final scene, in which Spader and Unger are brought back together, fails to move because we have never cared about either of them. It felt like getting the news that your cousin twice removed, who you have never met, is getting married. You know you are supposed to feel happy for them but, frankly, you just don't care.
On the other hand, the movie is visually lush, and does take some legitimate risks. Spader has a gay sex-scene that, as tame as it was, is a true rarity in American theaters. Even "Faith! Hope! and Glory!" did not come close. One scene deserves especial mention. A group including Spader, Hunter, and Rosanne Arquette are watching video tapes of safety tests of automobiles, starring the test dummies. As they watch they become increasingly aroused. They are all completely absorbed in films that were shot by engineers. Like low-budget porn, the videos are grainy, out of focus, and have no camera movement. Nevertheless, the scene is oddly hysterical.
Cronenberg also keeps close to home in another way. He always seems to be obsessed with violation. In his films this is represented literally. Here we have a number of characters whose bodies are violated with pins and braces administered by doctors. Not for the squeamish, although the scenes are not gory. But to see the male nurse just poking at people's apparatus and wounds is unsettling (recalls the Monty Python skit where the major missing a leg has it poked by his superior office, asking if it hurts).