Reykjavík Grapevine - 25.07.2003, Blaðsíða 14

- the reykjavík grapevine -14 july 25th - august 7th, 2003
F I L M S
NOVOCAINE
FROM THE RENTAL
PASSING THE
WORD ON USSS
What drives a man to donate hours
and days and months of his work
without hope of financial gain is beyond
Grapevine, which is sure its check is still
in the mail. 28 year old Eiríkur Leifsson
has done just that. He started writing the
script of “Ussss” in the winter of 2000
(incidentally the snow heaviest winter in
Iceland since 1957, which may or may
not have inspired indoor productivity).
Shooting commenced in August
2000, and took about 6 weeks. Post
production had to be put off for a year
while the scriptwriter/director worked in
construction to finance it, having already
mortgaged his house. The film was
finally ready in the autumn of 2002, but
again had to wait while cinemas decided
upon a slot to fit it in. It was finally
premiered on 17th July, incidentally
on the same day as Terminator 3, but
whether Arnie and his
robots will eclipse this
story of two Reykjavík
losers remains to be
seen.
The film starts
intriguingly enough with
a woman approaching
a man lying in a bathtub
with a chainsaw. We
then meet a couple of
cops, who pick up an
Afro-Icelander to use
for target practice. Said Afro-Icelander
seems remarkably nonchalant about
his fate, but whether this is due to stoic
calm or lack of dramatic ability is unclear.
The other main characters are a couple
of losers who run a used record shop,
whose paths cross with aforementioned
policemen as well as a nasty kiosk clerk,
leading to an inevitable bloody climax.
Of the six main characters, five of
them are played by friends of Eiríkur, plus
an uncle of a friend who has previously
had walk-on parts in some films. All of
the leading actors performed in between
day jobs as photographers, students
and cement workers, but some have
since gone on to study acting. The
policemen´s uniforms were borrowed
from a retired officer and the serial
numbers taped over, while their vehicle
is Eiríkur´s mothers Landcruiser.
The film quality is shoddy, but once
you get past this, the film is actually
surprisingly entertaining. The actors
might not be winning any Oscars for their
performance (then again, considering
the performances that do, they just
might), but they all look the part, and
manage to get through their roles
without major embarrassment. The
policemen are deliciously over the top
bad guys, and there are no good guys to
sympathise with, but the amorality of it
all is quite acceptable from an indie film
and quite amusing. The script is very
much written around the realities of low
budget film making and the settings had
to be in locations available for shooting
in the evening and on weekends. The
plot is as crude as the camerawork,
but is sprinkled with often entertaining
dream/story sequences, and certainly
manages to hold on to your attention.
A nice touch is the bullet-through-a-man
-and-then-a-vagina-on-a-poster shot.A
subplot about a serial killer girlfriend
might, however, have been better left
out. It is all a bit Tarantino, as are most
films from new directors these days
(although it resembles the wonderful
Danish Tarantino inspired work, I Kina
Spiser De Hunde, even more), and
whether this is parody or homage is
unclear, but in the end it doesn’t matter,
as it is never dull. Against the odds,
then, this is one for the street.
VG
Steve Martin is back in the dentists
chair, or at least overseeing it, for the
first time since Little Shop of Horrors.
Helena Bonham Carter seems at first
to be reprising her Fight Club role, but
instead of cruising support groups,
she goes to dentists and beds them
(or, more to the point, chairs them) in
exchange for prescriptions.
Steve Martins character seems to
have it all, he´s a successful doctor
with his own practice and his girlfriend
looks like Laura Dern, so it´s hard to
see what attracts him to the misfit
Bonham. The only excuse given is his
desire to do it in the chair, which his
girlfriend refuses to oblige him in, or
perhaps its just a case of opposites
attract. This, of course, unleashes a
series of events that tears his perfect
life apart. Fortunately, that is one of
the few predictable things about his film.
Perhaps it says something about the
state of moviemaking these days that
seeing a film which doesn´t drag you
through a collection of scenes that you
constantly feel like you´ve seen before
towards the inevitable happy ending
fills you with joy and love for your fellow
man. The fallible, but still occasionally
brilliant Martin delivers his best film in
quite some time, in his first semi serious
role since the promising but ultimately
disappointing Spanish Prisoner. But
this film manages to see its premise
through, rather than frustrate towards
the end, which seems like no mean feat
these days. The dentist metaphors are
a particular joy, and this is certainly one
of the few films in recent memory that
has a man playing with his penis and
a dental minicamera as a pivotal plot
twist.
VG
PHONE BOOTH
It was with that dreaded sinking
feeling that I watched the opening
scenes of Joel Schumachers latest
offering, a slightly extended music
video complete with break dancers
which looked suspiciously like time
wasting. Why, I asked myself, would a
91 minute flick need a five minute pop
promo filler. The answer, a desperate
need for cinematic padding, was, as it
turned out, one of the many potential
problems you face when you set a film
almost entirely in a phone box.
The initial premise seemed promising
enough. Farrell plays a faintly sleazy
two-timing young turk named Joey, a
fast talking publicist who bluffs and
charms his way around New York City.
Conducting an affair with Katie Holmes,
he has taken to calling her from a public
phone booth so that his calls to her
won’t come up on his mobile phone bill.
His call is cut off by a sinister voice that
seems to know all about him, can clearly
see him in the box and who threatens
to shoot him should he try to leave the
phone booth.
And just about here it all starts
to unravel. What follows is a series
of clichés, from the irate hookers
screaming to use the phone to the
ensuing siege style showdown. A
towering leading man to anchor the
film might have partially saved the day.
Sadly Farrell largely fails to convince in
a difficult, static and wordy role.
Farrell’s task is not eased by a
flaccid, repetitive and more than
occasionally embarrassing script.
After about 20 minutes of increasingly
tiresome verbal jousting between
Farrell and “the voice,” Forest Whittaker
arrives in the guise of a cool headed
and perceptive police chief, and not a
moment too soon. Whitaker´s appealing
character and his solid performance
lends some badly needed weight
to the proceedings. However, it not
ultimately enough to save a disjointed
and strangely unengaging film. And, of
course Schumacher, to whom subtlety
is a dirty word, directs in customary
sledgehammer style to drive the final
nail in the coffin.
John Boyce