Cinema Corner

So the theological contemplations of “Signs” are not necessarily an unfair match against the reptilian reactivity of “xXx.” We have enjoyed both at successive matinees in this “second honeymoon rehearsal” week.

“Signs” scared the bejeebers out of us; Margaret even shrieked at one point, and we spent lots of time clutching each other’s hands. Now that’s probably related to the bereft-spouse theme, but all in all it did its job quite effectively. The family dynamics were powerfully, lovingly sketched; the child actors did a tremendous job of communicating both the cloud that hung over their house, and their deep love for their father and uncle. (By contrast, Gibson slipped over the top once or twice.) Joaquin Phoenix depicted his character beautifully and gently.

Nonetheless, I was left with a less than savory aftertaste. My theological vocation intervened, provoking me to wonder to what species of clergyperson Mel Gibson bleonged. He evidently was accustomed to the idea of hearing confessions (suggesting that he was on the more catholic end of the spectrum, though ovisouly not Roman Catholic), but he refers to himself as “a reverend,” a locution that most Episcopal clergy eschew (we’re priests, and even our more protestant clergy probably refer to themselves as “ministers” rather than “reverends.” “Reverend” is an adjective, as in “the Reverend Mr. Hess,” not a noun, as in “I’m not a Reverend any more.” But that’s probably too persnickety of me.

More substantively, I guessed the pivotal plot device early on in the movie, and I kept wondering why Mel Gibson didn’t make the connection himself. Likewise, at a tremendously important moment of the plot, no one called the police—not that the police could necessarily have done anything, but it struck me as so natural an action as to require explanation when Gibson didn’t do it. And Shyamalan’s aspiration to Hitchcock’s legacy stood out too pointedly. He shows every sign of deserving the succession—Hitch had ups and downs, too—but his subtlety convinces me more readily than his allusive claims to the throne.

So in the end, the movie did its work, very powerfully, but was not quite as persausive in retrospect as it was in the viewing.

By contrast, “xXx” (to which I went as a sign of my utter devotion to my beloved) began with several marks against it: the unlikeliness of Vin Diesel as a plausible hero, the inevitably derivative txture of yet another spy action movie; even the proximity of the upcoming Bond feature. I was prepared to wince my way through a halfbaked ripoff of the classics of the genre. Yet Diesel convinced me; not that his character was true to life, or was anything but a flesh-and-blood comic-book character, but that the cutout had been crafted with intelligence and craft. Indeed, Diesel has so prepared for an X franchise that I’d advise Bond to lay low for a while. Bond just can’t expect to rival Diesel’s visceral adrenalin rush, and he’s bound to seem dowdy when compared to Diesel’s unvarnished carnality.

The plot shows the same typical holes that generally beset such thrillers. At one point, Diesel hollers, “That boat will get to the city in thirty minutes,” without his having any information on that topic, and everyone else in the movie seems not only to have accepted his word, but to have synchronized their timers to his shouted estimate—and the relative speeds of the boat inthe water and the car on the road seem capriciously related. But I expect that of spy movies; all this one lacked was a digital timer that slowed after it hit thirty seconds and stopped altogether at 00:00:01.

So Vin Diesel looked unlikely, but won me over; and Night Shyamalan promised much, and delivered, but with a vague letdown afterward. Who'd have guessed?

DRMA: “Strange Brew,” Buddy Guy; “ “Hard Headed,” James Cotton; “Into the Fire,” Bruce Springsteen; “Junco Partner,”, James Booker; "Come On Back", Keb Mo; "When That Great Ship", William & Verey Smith ; "Working My Way Back to You", Spinners; "He Can Be Found", Louvin Brothers; "Moist", Morphine "Nothing Happened Today", Boomtown Rats; "I Pity the Poor Immigrant", Bob Dylan; "Walk On Gilded Splinters", Johnny Jenkins & Duane Allman; "Tear Off Your Own Head (It's a", Elvis Costello; "Maybe", Alison Krauss; "Mississipi", Bob Dylan. Permalink -Main Page-
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