out of
I begin this review by dating it somewhat. Here is a film precisely made for the emotional aftermath of the September 11th tragedy. Some critics have hailed it as a wonderful throwback to the days of Capra. Some call it a perfect tale for our current state of the union. Many have called 9-11-01 as the day cynicism ended. Just five months later, you can find cynicism is alive and kicking, just as thoroughly as before. To call it cynicism is a bit unfair, because it carries a negative stigma. I think of cynicism more as hope and desire--we desire things to be great and perfect, but they rarely are. That disappointment and realization is often termed cynicism.
The Majestic is a perfect example of why cynicism exists. Here is a film that desires with all its heart to be considered in the same leagues as with the classic Capra film. It tries so hard, in fact, that it actually accomplishes the opposite: we view the Capra films, compare the two, and realize how good Capra was. With all the visual effects this film uses (and believe me, there are quite a few), you feel enthralled to know that Capra never had to rely on visual effects. He let his characters tell the story. It may have been sappy, but you still liked it. Someone needs to tell that to screenwriter Michael Sloane and director Frank Darabont.
Darabont's film begins in the 1950s, with a surprisingly hilarious satirical view of the studio writer. Our hero, Peter Appleton (Jim Carrey), sits, listening to studio execs shred and then restructure his film to be completely different. With voiceovers from famous filmmakers (Sydney Pollack, Garry Marshall, Rob Reiner, etc.), the film starts off with a bang. You settle in for a pleasant and entertaining trip. A word of advice: don't settle in just yet. Peter ventures out, dismayed that his film is being destroyed, only to discover he has been named as a Communist by a former friend of his. He escapes the pressure and goes for a drive. This turns out to be a bad decision, as his car crashes off a bridge and plunges into the cold river below.
Amazingly, he survives, with only the screenwriter's curse-of-a-disease as his injury: amnesia. He stumbles into the town of Lawson, a picture-perfect landscape of 50s nostalgia. Take the fictional "Pleasantville" and colorize it with a massive amount of elderly folks, and you have Lawson. Turns out, everyone seems to know Peter, or at least his face. Finally, Harry Trimble (Martin Landau) steps forward to claim him: his long lost son, once believed lost at war. Armed with pictures that bear an incredible likeness to Peter, he believes his son Luke has returned. The entire town follows suit, save one or two skeptics. One such skeptic is Luke's ex-fiancee Adele (Laurie Holden). It doesn't take much to convince her Luke has indeed returned, alive and well.
The rest of the plot is in no need of explanation. Suffice it to say that the Trimbles own "The Majestic", a rundown movie theater that was once a booming business. The entire two hours that follow are so predictable I found myself memorizing the dialogue before it was even said. It only really occurs to two people in the entire town that Peter may not be Luke. One criticizes Peter, claiming he doesn't want to see the town mourn again. The other figures it out logically. It would be easy to dismiss the town's ignorance on the simple fact that these townspeople wanted to believe Luke had returned. But the way the film lays it out for us, we can only assume they actually do believe it is him. When the inevitable moment comes, when the truth is revealed, we don't feel sorry for the town. We simply wonder where these people came from. They crowned this amnesiac man, who has no recollection of who he is or was, and paraded him around as a prize. When it turns out to be fake, they turn their backs. This kind of false sincerity always hinders this type of film.
Comparing this film to a Capra film is really a disservice to Capra. Capra probably never would have attempted this type of film, fully aware that it would never succeed. The only similarity is the hope in humanity that is infused in the story. Points go to Capra for doing it first, and doing it much better than it is here. Despite Capra's reliance on predictability, you never once wanted his movies to end any other way. Here, you pray it ends differently. I pleaded with the film to end on a small scale. I exclaimed out loud that if the film ended with the townsfolk parading Peter around, I would storm out of the theater. It does end that way, and I did storm out, but only after catching Matt Damon's name in the credits (he provided the only display of energy in this entire film with a simple voiceover).
Screenwriter Michael Sloane should probably deserve the most credit for this travesty of filmmaking. His screenplay is not only predictable, but oftentimes childish, unimaginative, sappy, and brutally dishonest. From grandstanding moments in courtrooms to deathbed tragedies to small, intimate romantic moments, The Majestic never once rings true. After Harry collapses from a heart attack during a reel change in "The Majestic" theater, his first words when he awakens are, "Did you get the reel changed?" This sort of mind-numbingly obvious attempts at humor stricken the film from achieving anything noteworthy. When "The Majestic" shows a film Peter wrote, you can't help but groan that the screenwriter actually had the nerve to take the obvious route. Amnesia can be done fairly well in films (Memento, for example), but when it is used here for such pathetic purposes, it just reminds you of how rare this problem is.
Don't cut Frank Darabont any slack however. Despite the screenplay's problems, many could have been overlooked had the film been directed with any sort of originality. Darabont, whose The Shawshank Redemption is one of my favorites, is a capable director, and you can only wonder what happened here. The film never once "feels" real. It feels like a studio-built set, complete with 3D matte paintings. He paints amazingly beautiful images, including the gorgeous theater itself (which reminds me, when did moviegoing become such a dull experience?). But these images add up to nothing. He wants to desperately recreate this "remembered" version of the 50s, but instead creates a version that feels like the 90s stuck in the 50s. Whenever Darabont can't decide what to do, he just closes in tight on the faces of the citizens. One particular moment, as the town gathers to remourn the loss of their soldiers who died in war, is so maudlin and overemphasized you may need to use your popcorn bag for a different purpose. This kind of grandstanding has never worked for as long as movies have been around. You think someone would learn not to do it.
Jim Carrey tries so hard with this material, almost at times screaming, "Give me an Oscar!" No, he will not get an Oscar for his work here, nor does he deserve it. His performance is just as artificial as the rest of the film. At least with his Ace Ventura character, you knew he was in on the joke. Here, he just seems to think he's giving a performance. Note to Jim: crying in a movie does not make you a good actor. Martin Landau has the thankless job of acting like the town crazy. That he has a heart is his only endearing quality. Laurie Holden is entirely miscast, looking as if she stepped out of a 90s model catalogue and into a 50s retro costume shop. Being her first film, she is surprisingly assured, but the screenplay doesn't give her anything to work with. Of the entire cast, only Bruce Campbell registers, and only because he's appearing in a film within this film. He understands the joke, and it's actually quite funny.
The Majestic is rated PG for language and some thematic elements. Here is a film that tries so hard to be good-natured and warm and patriotic that it overshoots its goal. It has a heart, and it tries, but that's not enough for any movie. Even Capra understood that. The Communism subplot only adds to the film's length, and never works by itself. At a little over two and a half hours, this final trial sequence feels more like fodder than actual plot. Despite the vocal cameos by Matt Damon and a lot of talented directors, The Majestic is a misguided and sappy mess of a film. It would be ironic that a film heralding the days of Capra and movie-going would make you desire to stay home and rent a film... directed by Capra himself. After all, it's better than watching this pile of self-indulgent crap.
| Rating: out of
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© 2002 Boyd Petrie |