At the
Movies A
comedy that works, a satire that wobbles, a mystery that
probes
By JOSEPH CUNNEEN
One of the central problems of recent attempts at romantic comedy
has been that contemporary fashion dictates that its central couple proceed to
sexual athleticism only a few shots after they meet. Next Stop,
Wonderland (Miramax) has cleverly avoided the trap by not allowing Erin
Castleton (Hope Davis) and Alan Monteiro (Alan Gelfant) to meet until almost
the end.
Amazingly, the tactic works, perhaps because the movie, directed
by Brad Anderson from a bright screenplay he wrote with Lyn Vaus, is
unpretentiously lighthearted, and because Hope Davis is credible as an
intelligent but vulnerable young woman whose fatuously leftist boyfriend (Phil
Hoffman) is just moving out on her as the movie opens.
The absence of plot isnt much of a drawback since Next
Stop, Wonderland offers an amusingly close observation of todays
yuppie mating dance. You dont have to believe that you and your perfect
partner are ultimately destined to meet in order to enjoy the way in which Erin
and Alan just miss each other all over Boston -- on a train, at a party, even
on the telephone. Theres a fine soundtrack of bossa nova music directed
by Claudio Ragazzi, and its hard not to laugh at the succession of male
deadheads who answer the misleading personal ad (frisky) that
Erins domineering mother has placed in a local paper.
Erin, a Harvard Medical School dropout working as a nurse, is
still mourning a father who was both heart specialist and poet. Something of
what he taught her on a vacation in Ireland -- to value silence without
loneliness -- becomes real in Hope Davis characterization. Alan, an
upright ex-plumber earnestly studying marine biology and working in the Boston
aquarium, is a less credible character, perhaps because he figures in a
complex, unresolved plot with loan sharks using his fathers gambling
debts to pressure him.
A few years ago Id have said a young woman like Erin
wouldnt go out with anyone who answered her ad, but times have changed.
Shes annoyed at her mother for placing the ad but is inevitably curious.
In any case, she does a wonderful job fielding a series of hilariously inept
attempts to impress her. The competition is so weak that when a handsome
Brazilian ethnomusicologist (Jose Zuniga) to whom Erin had given an injection
asks her to fly to Sao Paulo with him, it seems like an attractive offer.
But the camera has systematically involved us in Alans
situation, establishing him as an attractive alternative to all the jerks --
including his lawyer brother -- who have tried their line on Erin. He sticks to
the books when the boys want him to go partying, he resists Julie (Carla
Buono), a fellow student who makes a play for him in the hope his tutoring will
get her through a microbiology course, and weve watched him noticing Erin
on several occasions when it seemed they would finally meet.
The whole thing wouldnt work if Hope Davis didnt
convince us that she is as intelligent as she is wistful, that she can enjoy
being quiet because she has a sense of humor.
Fortunately, Next Stop, Wonderland, doesnt claim
its fated couple will live happily ever after; it does something more
interesting: Make us glad theyve met.
A Merry War (First Look Pictures) is a handsomely mounted
English romantic satire about a self-styled poet. The movie is based on an
early George Orwell novel, and director Robert Bierman captures the styles and
attitudes of Britain in the 30s with amused detachment. Even more
important, he has guided Richard E. Grant, who plays the deluded Gordon
Comstock, through a performance so airily amusing we almost forget how
insufferable the poet really is.
Comstock is a glibly successful advertising copywriter who makes a
grand gesture of quitting his job when his first book of poetry receives a good
notice in the London Times. Hes not even sobered up when he learns that
the review was written by his amazingly patient editor friend, Ravelston
(Julian Wadham). Comstock wanders through the city reciting fatuous verses
about nature and issuing denunciations of materialism, before dropping into the
tearoom where his sister works and righteously demanding another handout.
Contemporary young women will find it hard to identify with
Rosemary (Helena Bonham Carter), Gordons long-suffering fiancée,
who waits for him to settle down as patiently as she continues her work as
graphic artist. Much of the movies humor derives from the obvious sham of
Gordons outbursts against the middle class, symbolized by the aspidistra
houseplant. As his censorious landlady tells him, An aspidistra in the
window is a guarantee of respectability.
The story never develops any genuine suspense, especially since
Gordons former boss is always prepared to welcome him back to the ad
agency. Photographer Giles Nuttgens offers handsome shots of an earlier London,
and director Biermand uses the movies advertising theme to fine comic
advantage. Comstocks comic struggle against his own unshakable bourgeois
background explores new possibilities when he is forced to move to a seedy
neighborhood and grows ecstatic at its disrespectable ethos.
Some will anticipate the final plot twist which, appropriately
enough, depends on Gordon finally accepting his middle-class fate. As
Orwells title put it, Keep the Aspidistra Flying.
Those looking for something exotically different would do well to
seek out The Eel (New Yorker Films), a Japanese film directed by the
internationally respected Shohei Imamura. Before the credits roll, we see a
sensational crime of passion. An already suspicious husband returns early from
a fishing trip, walks to his house in darkness, seizes a knife, briefly watches
his wife with her lover, then stabs her repeatedly. Afterward, he covers her
body, takes his bicycle and rushes to the police station to surrender.
Imamura has no interest in exploiting sensationalism. There is
psychological depth, genuine compassion and hope of redemption in this complex
narrative. We next see the husband, Takuro Yamashita (Koji Yakusho, who was so
good as the comic lead of Shall We Dance? a year ago) leaving
prison eight years later, paroled into the custody of a Buddhist priest. Grim
and submissive, he is completely uncommunicative -- except with a pet eel he
was allowed to keep in prison.
He listens to what I say, Yamashita explains, and
myths of endurance and rebirth are suggested by his fishing companions
account of the yearly migratory pattern of Japanese eels.
There is a harsh beauty to the deserted coastline where the
ex-prisoner opens a barber shop, and we become deeply involved in whether his
emotional repression is primarily a matter of shame, guilt or distrust of
humanity, especially women. When he stumbles across Keiko (Misa Shimizu),
unconscious after attempting suicide, he first wants to avoid involvement, but
by returning with friends, he is instrumental in saving her.
Since Keiko is getting over an unhappy love affair and does not
want to return to Tokyo, the Buddhist priest and his wife urge Yamashita to let
her help in the barber shop. Though Yamashita resents this intrusion --
Ive had my fill of women, he tells her -- the shops
business improves, and Keiko suspects a kindness underneath Yamashitas
taciturnity when he rushes her to a doctor on his bike after she cuts her
finger.
We expect a conventionally romantic solution, but Imamuras
intentions are more elusive. The plot includes gangster melodrama growing out
of Keikos past attachment to an unscrupulous business associate, gentle
comedy involving a young man who borrows the barber pole in the hope of
attracting a UFO, and Yamashita and Keikos recurring nightmares in which
it is often difficult to separate reality from dream.
The emotional extremism of The Eel is ultimately
justified by the need of both Yamashita and Keiko to deal with their pasts. The
ending is surprisingly touching.
Joseph Cunneen is coeditor of Cross Currents.
National Catholic Reporter, September 18,
1998
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