It's been a few years since I attended my last eighth-grade band concert. Sitting through forty minutes of popular music played by semi-developed musicians is always a bit disconcerting for me. I know there are certainly some talented people up there, and probably even a prodigy or two, but the whole experience is tainted by the one kid who can't quite get the reed on his clarinet to behave, or the bass drum coming in just slightly ahead of the beat, or the overall poor intonation of about half of the instruments.
This is precisely how I felt watching Trixie. Alan Rudolph seems unable to pull together all the elements of this film into a cohesive story with the essential rhythm and tone that make the experience watchable. Emily Watson - a stunning screen talent - plays the title character, a self-styled detective of substandard intelligence on the tail of a minor mystery. Unfortunately, Watson appears to have had her usually perfect timing surgically removed for this feature. The same is true for supporting actors Nathan Lane, Dermot Mulroney, Nick Nolte, and Lesley Ann Warren. All these otherwise fine actors behave as if trapped in some nightmare improvisation. I find it intolerably frustrating to watch great actors turning in bland performances.
It is also frustrating because I like Rudolph's screenplay; as a matter of fact, I like a lot of his screenplays, and I know he is not incapable of directing one of his scripts into a decent comedy. (The film Choose Me might be the best example of Rudolph's odd timing and construction techniques working to the script's advantage.) The dialogue of Trixie is riddled with mixed metaphors, which could easily have nudged the film into a charming and gentle comedy. The film needed a fast and furious treatment for the plot and dialogue to work together. Instead, the awkward pauses and stilted scene changes throw a bright spotlight on the inept speech of the title character, making it as obvious as a bad case of acne on a young tuba player. It doesn't make us laugh. It just makes us uncomfortable.
This is precisely how I felt watching Trixie. Alan Rudolph seems unable to pull together all the elements of this film into a cohesive story with the essential rhythm and tone that make the experience watchable. Emily Watson - a stunning screen talent - plays the title character, a self-styled detective of substandard intelligence on the tail of a minor mystery. Unfortunately, Watson appears to have had her usually perfect timing surgically removed for this feature. The same is true for supporting actors Nathan Lane, Dermot Mulroney, Nick Nolte, and Lesley Ann Warren. All these otherwise fine actors behave as if trapped in some nightmare improvisation. I find it intolerably frustrating to watch great actors turning in bland performances.
It is also frustrating because I like Rudolph's screenplay; as a matter of fact, I like a lot of his screenplays, and I know he is not incapable of directing one of his scripts into a decent comedy. (The film Choose Me might be the best example of Rudolph's odd timing and construction techniques working to the script's advantage.) The dialogue of Trixie is riddled with mixed metaphors, which could easily have nudged the film into a charming and gentle comedy. The film needed a fast and furious treatment for the plot and dialogue to work together. Instead, the awkward pauses and stilted scene changes throw a bright spotlight on the inept speech of the title character, making it as obvious as a bad case of acne on a young tuba player. It doesn't make us laugh. It just makes us uncomfortable.