|
The
last time Gus Van Sant directed a Damon-Affleck script, the film
(Good Will Hunting) hit Oscar gold.
The Gusmeister is back behind the camera for another
Damon-Affleck project, but the odds of Gerry finding the
same kind of success seems robustly unlikely.
Gerry is a very different picture – it's
completely improvised, and it's full of the kind of long (and I
mean long) static shots that will make kids weaned on MTV
reach for a non-existent remote control out of frustration.
The best way I can explain the premise is to compare the
film to that “Pines Barren” episode of The Sopranos
that most of the public despised; you know, the one where Paulie
and Chris get lost in the woods.
If
that description isn't enough to scare you off, consider this:
The Affleck in question is Casey, not Bennifer.
You say you don't care, so long as Gerry features
the same snappy dialogue Hunting did?
Good luck, partner.
The wordplay is so sparse, the script could have been
written on a bar napkin (if they bothered writing one, that is).
Think it'll be okay if the action is decent?
That's another swing and a miss.
The highlight here is a scene that shows the sun setting.
Like from daylight to darkness.
In real time.
It's
almost like Van Sant (Finding
Forrester) was trying to pretend he was Kiarostami
trying to do Beckett or Buńuel, only with big American actors.
He plops Ocean's Eleven
stars Damon and Affleck (in addition to co-writing with Van Sant,
all three also have an editing credit) on the outskirts of the
desert, in search of a maguffin we only know as "the
thing." Unwisely,
the duo decide to avoid the beaten path of a wilderness trail in
an attempt to stay away from tourists, even though we see nobody
else in the film until the very end.
They get lost and, eventually, choose to "fuck the
thing" and turn back.
But they get even more lost.
They're wearing black shirts and have no hats, backpacks
or supplies. Oh,
and they both call each other "Gerry," in addition to
using the word as a derogatory verb.
Kind of like when you're at a restaurant and the waiter
drops a tray of glasses and you refer to him as a Gannon.
Never
looking as concerned as they should, at least until it's way too
late, the two Gerrys freeze at night and ultimately become
dehydrated and...well, completely mad.
It all looks frighteningly authentic as captured by Van
Sant's usual cinematographer Harris Savides, who immortalizes a
lifetime of postcard-worthy desert images (Gerry was filmed in
Argentina, Death Valley and parts of Utah).
As far as action, dialogue and comedy go, the highlight
is a scene where one Gerry finds himself trapped on a very high
rock with no way to get down (there's no explanation of how he
got up there), while the other Gerry attempts to make a
"dirt mattress" to cushion his pal's fall. There's also talk about conquering Thebes.
In other words, this ain't your typical movie.
More
so than Solaris, or even Dancer
in the Dark, Gerry might be the most polarizing
film to hit theatres in a long time.
It has already scooped up a pair of Independent Spirit
Awards (for Van Sant and Savides), as well as a special citation
at the Toronto International Film Festival, where people fled my
press/industry screening in droves unseen since the Kevin
Smith-produced Vulgar.
To me, it seems like Van Sant's attempt at a palette
cleanser following Psycho gluttony. What I do know is that Gerry is dividing audiences into two
camps: Those who
insist the film is pure allegorical mastery, and those who think
it's a big pile of self-indulgent bullshit.
I guess you can chalk me up a bit closer to the former
than the latter. I
do know this: I'd
rather watch Gerry a dozen times before I'd even think
about sitting through Gods & Generals again.
| 1:43
- |
 |
for
language |
|
