#29 | February 19 - 25, 1998  

It seems I jumped the gun a bit last issue with Titanic. As it turns out, the movie wasn't playing anywhere (in Moscow) this past last week. In the meantime, however, Jimmy Cameron's period boat flick was nominated for a record-tying 14 Academy Awards, which means that it sucks even more than I managed to imply. About the only thing the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences nominating board did get right was all but ignoring Titanic's cast (with the exception of Kate Winslet, who--while certainly outperforming her colleagues--didn't particularly need to be nominated either).

Frankly, I'm surprised Leonardo DiCaprio wasn't nominated. He seems to have lost any acting ability he ever had, he's popular with the teeny-bopper set, and he has weird eyebrows--what more do those voters want? Maybe he should have volunteered for a schlong-shot, not that it did any good for Marky Mark in Boogie Nights. Then again, that was a prosthetic penis.

And speaking of nudity, how did Titanic manage to squeak by with a PG-13 rating? Usually, so much as a flash of female nipple is enough to merit an R; on top of prolonged nipple shots, Titanic even has butt cheeks smashed against fogged-up carriage windows. It's a well-known fact that the difference between an R or PG-13 rating often translates into millions of dollars at the box office, so you can bet your ass that a decent chunk of change went into some rating-board honcho's pocket.

Still, I know all you People-reading yahoos are probably just pissing yourself with anticipation to go see this blockbuster, so I'll make a deal with you. I'll be willing to overlook the lemming-like behavior that watching Titanic represents if you promise NOT to do the following three things:

        1. Cry at the end and then make statements to your friends like "If you don't cry at the end you probably don't have a pulse" (even as a joke);
        2. Risk rupturing your bladder because you're "afraid you'll miss something important" if you go to the lobby to take a piss;
        3. Even think about seeing it again.

Do we have a deal?

If you really feel like watching a big-studio yawner, I'd prefer you to see Switchback. Like Titanic, it more or less sucks, but with the advantage of not having been nominated for a single Oscar. It also clocks in at just under two hours, so you'll have plenty of time afterward to drink or whatever it is you do in your spare time for entertainment.

Switchback's vital stats are as follows: suspense-thriller in which serial killer is tracked by FBI agent through the American West; directing debut of Fugitive and Die Hard writer Jeb Stuart (I had no idea they let people named Jeb direct movies these days); stars Dennis Quaid and Danny Glover (both seemingly non-entities for several years now), as well as that Marine drill sergeant guy from Full Metal Jacket; has a ho-hum impaling that does double-duty as homage to Dr. Strangelove. Pretty standard stuff really. It's also one of those movies where the title sounds like a piece of technical jargon (mountain weather systems or railroads being the most likely source here) but which they never get around to explaining. On the minus side, this is something of a rushed venture for all involved. For Quaid this means doing a half-ass impression of Harrison-Ford-as-put-upon-everyman (you've just gotta assume that Harrison refused this role), while Glover merely transplants his Lethal Weapon character to an unfriendly environment. Full Metal Jacket guy, meanwhile, gets to sport bushy prosthetic eyebrows that constantly look as if they're going to fall off. There are even copy-editing errors in the opening credits, with a lone Jeb Stuart listed as Executive Producers.

But this doesn't mean Switchback is an unpleasant experience: you'll just need to maintain a certain attitude. First, turn your bullshit detector way down to its lowest setting. Otherwise you'll be walking out of the theater long before Quaid declares his intention to traverse a mountain pass during a winter storm in one shoe. Then remind yourself, although the flick is firmly entrenched in the Suspense-Thriller genre, there's nothing particularly suspenseful or thrilling about it. There are a few plausible red herrings, but the killer's identity is revealed long before the mechanics of his intricate plot (which mechanics, upon close inspection, make less-than-complete sense). And except for some scar tissue or maybe a slight limp, everything works out just swell for the good guys.

Now that you've rid yourself of any selfish drama/entertainment expectations, you're all set to enjoy the movie as it was meant to be enjoyed, i.e., as a cinematic slide show intended for a board room. As we all know, executive slide shows are about justifying expenditures, a game at which old Hollywood hand Jeb is obviously a pro.

Note that every expensive stunt/effect-heavy scene that is basically irrelevant to the movie's development is accompanied by plenty of supplemental flourishes to draw sufficient attention to the exploit at hand. The final moment of the epic train battle is the most fully realized example: the obligatory technical jargon ("wing release") takes center stage, the stirring music comes to its stodgy climax, and the super-slow-motion shots let you count every last one of Dennis Quaid's nosehairs. None of this makes for even remotely interesting cinema, but you can sure tell they spent a hell of a lot of dough on it.

That's enough for a studio exec, and it ought to be good enough for you. So quit your griping.

I haven't actually been able to see this week's other new flick, so I'll just give you the pertinent details. It's called The House of Yes, was directed by first-timer Mark Waters, and stars Parker Posey and Tori Spelling, along with some other unrecognizable types. Normally, I'd dismiss a movie with Spelling (by far the worst performer on a 90210 series not exactly known for its acting excellence) in a lead role, but with Parker Posey and plenty of incest as mitigating factors I'm willing to give it a little leeway.

The information and reviews available are sketchy at best, so I don't even have a vague prediction about quality. If you're considering this one, know that it's an indie production that was picked up by Miramax for distribution, which indicates that the incest will be more along the lines of an ABC After School Special than The Cement Garden. In other words, it should be as predictably "independent" as Switchback is mainstream.