Secretly Great Movies: Die Hard With a Vengeance.

The story you know: 

After a five year hiatus, Bruce Willis reprised his role as embattled NYPD cop John McClane, rejoining original director John McTiernan. With Samuel L. Jackson along for the ride, McClane becomes caught up in a sadistic game of "Simon Says" as the duo pinball across New York defusing bombs and trying to catch the bad guys. The film got mixed reviews, with even the positive ones being typically patronizing: Roger Ebert, giving the movie three stars, described it as a wind-up toy.

The shocking truth:

Die Hard With a Vengeance is actually the best Die Hard movie.

From the standpoint of auteur theory, it's the only true sequel. The lackluster second installment (which most people only remember for the part where McClane talks about the Glock 7, a fictional gun made out of porcelain which can bypass airport metal detectors) was directed by Renny Harlin, the mastermind behind A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master (a huge letdown after the awesome Dream Warriors) and the epic pirate flop Cutthroat Island. The fun but regrettably neutered Live Free or Die Hard was directed by the guy behind the Underworld series, i.e. those tedious vampire movies you never bothered to see. McTiernan, meanwhile, directed Die Hard and Predator, two achievements that eclipse any latter-day sins you might care to charge him with, including lying to the FBI.

But better than the original? Go back watch McTiernan's 1988 action masterpiece, the greatness of which I am not disputing, and notice how the film's otherwise faultless marathon of walking over broken glass and killing terrorists screeches to a halt whenever the characters of Sgt. Powell and Argyle, McClane's hapless sidekicks, enter the frame. This is during the height of Reginald Vel Johnson's career of playing likable supporting cops, but he's just not really up to the task here; the maudlin sequence where he outlines his tragic fall from grace due to an accidental shooting is time that could be much better spent cracking wise and dispatching smarmy eurotrash terrorists. (De'voreaux White, who played the totally superfluous limo driver Argyle, was more or less never heard from again.)

"I can rebuild him. I have the technology."

With a Vengeance, based on a non-Die Hard script called "Simon Says", rectifies these mistakes by introducing the most memorable character in the entire series: Zeus Carver, the hard-nosed electrician from Harlem who provides the perfect counterpart to McClane's one-man army in a soiled wifebeater. Jackson and Willis' chemistry is enviable, and only magnifies the disappointment at seeing McClane paired with the weiner from the computer commercials in Live Free or Die Hard.

It would've been easy for a tone-deaf actor to turn With a Vengeance into a very uncomfortable 2 hours, but Jackson's Carver steadily resists easy stereotypes of Farrakhan-style black nationalism: he is unafraid to call McClane on his shit, delivering most of the film's sharpest dialogue without ever becoming tokenized or irritating, and bringing dignity and depth to what could've easily been a one-note character. Where Die Hard With a Vengeance falters in comparison the first one--most notably in the disappointingly anticlimactic finale, and the fact that Jeremy Irons' perfectly enjoyable turn as Simon still can't eclipse Allan Rickman's note-perfect Hans Gruber--Zeus ably fills in the gaps.

There's another huge thing that With a Vengeance has going for it, and which the fourth movie ruthlessly redacts: a welcome re-imagining of McClane himself. The indestructible average Joe of the first movie is delightfully muddied here, turned into a kind of alcoholic lowlife as counter-terrorist, charmingly disheveled and solving Simon's riddles through the haze of a hangover, instantly filling police vans with the stink of cheap whiskey. I much prefer this McClane to the scrubbed-down, hairless, post-AA action figure of Live Free or Die Hard.

"This is for The Bonfire of the Vanities, motherfucker."

With the best McClane, the best sidekick, and action sequences that match the first movie's easily, the only thing working against With a Vengeance is a lack of novelty--which, for a lot of critics, is sadly the only vital ingredient in a film. But this is hands down the funniest, most sharply written and effortlessly enjoyable of the Die Hard movies. Even with two more entries reportedly planned, I'm skeptical that the series can be redeemed without the presence of McTiernan--although if the rumors of Patrick Stewart as the villain pan out, I'm there on opening day regardless.

Footnote: parts of The Dark Knight also bear a striking resemblance to Die Hard With a Vengeance, most notably the sequence where hero-taunting villain Simon the Joker threatens to blow up a school hospital, using the ensuing panic as a cover to advance his own elaborate schemes. (Of course, Joker being the Joker, he actually does blow up the hospital, in a stunning scene that reminds you of the days when movies used real explosives instead of computers--in other words, when giants like John McTiernan walked the earth.)

Secretly Great Movies: The Shape of Things.

The story you know (or don't):

Neil LaBute gained some critical notoriety at the 1997 Cannes festival for his debut film In the Company of Men, a jet-black "comedy" (it's not "ha ha" funny) about the war of the sexes, featuring a wonderfully warped debut performance by Aaron Eckhart. LaBute, originally a playwright, followed up with the similarly dark-hearted Your Friends & Neighbors, which didn't fare quite as well with critics. The Shape of Things can be seen as the third in a kind of trilogy with these movies, and like In the Company of Men it's basically a filmed version of one of LaBute's plays. It concerns a schlubby geek (Paul Rudd) who catches the eye of a tempestuous artist (Rachel Weisz).

The shocking truth:

Shocking is right: The Shape of Things doesn't have any of the bloodletting or dismemberment of a good slasher film, but it's still brutal enough to qualify for honorary horror status. LaBute's films (by which I really mean these three) basically do a demolition job on human relationships, revealing the inherent cruelty, sadism, and self-serving sociopathy underneath all the anniversary presents and self-help books. There are still good guys in his universe, but they're nearly always victims. LaBute's writing is like what Jim Thompson's books might look like if you removed all the bullets and beatings, leaving just the hideous, hideous lies.

Much has been made in recent years of the "manic pixie dream girl" archetype, as exemplified by cardboard hipster Zooey Deschanel in tripe like (500) Days of Summer. Part of what's made The Shape of Things age so well is how devilishly it subverts this trope, which hadn't even been codified yet when LaBute's film was released. Weisz's volatile character does for the MPDG what John Jarratt's murderous Aussie predator from Wolf Creek did for Crocodile Dundee, turning the cliche inside out and giving it a set of flesh-ripping teeth. That's not a knife, this is a knife.

If Zooey is Morrissey, Evelyn is Sakevi from GISM.

As Evelyn (who we first meet defacing a piece in a museum), Weisz seems to promise adventure, danger, sensuality and all that to mild-mannered Adam, who we know instantly is the kind of nice guy who has probably never had a real girlfriend, and certainly never one as comely as Weisz. When Evelyn seems genuinely interested in him, Adam can't believe his luck. The rest of the movie plays out with the fine grain of real life: Evelyn convinces Adam to get in shape and take better care of himself, and his best friends (Frederick Weller and erstwhile love interest Gretchen Mol) are initially thrilled for their singleton buddy. But as time goes by, they suspect that Evelyn is exerting too much influence over an increasingly pliable Adam, and the tension mounts.

Seriously, if you haven't seen it yet, do it. Don't read any further--just watch!

[SPOILERS AHEAD!]

In the film's "shower scene", it is revealed that Evelyn has been using Adam for her MFA thesis, treating him as clay to be sculpted into a more attractive human being by encouraging him to lose weight, wear contacts, and even get plastic surgery. In order to "work" on this raw material, she had to feign a wide range of emotions, above all her attraction to and romantic interest in him--and for the project, she has even videotaped the two of them in bed. (Ecce homo, indeed.) In her presentation, she announces that she will not be accepting Paul's marriage proposal--instead, the engagement ring will become part of the exhibition.

Well?

The Shape of Things gets incredible mileage out of this twist, which is a classic "should've seen this coming" moment. Except that nothing Evelyn does up to that point is especially egregious or beyond the pale in terms of what really goes on in everyday relationships; the idea is that this could happen to anyone. Or at least, anyone dating an art student working on a mysterious project which Adam never asks too many questions about--perhaps out of respect for a cliche (and entirely MPDG) mystical process of communion with the muses, which must remain absolutely secret until it's finished. As we find out, the truth is anything but. In its reptilian bloodlessness, the end of The Shape of Things makes the sadistic climax of Audition seem almost touching by comparison: at least Asami cares for the man she's mutilating. (The two movies would make for a great double feature.)

As Evelyn betrays Adam, so the film betrays us. As viewers, we're nearly as shocked and hurt as Paul, which is a common enough response when a film reveals that everything you've been suspending your disbelief for was, in fact, a spurious fiction. But instead of "it was just a dream", Evelyn offers the excuse that "it was just art"--in her words, "I am an artist; only that"--and our knee-jerk response is to deny her. But can we? The film manages to put us in the shoes of stodgy old art patrons confronted with modern art's bizarre innovations: is the scandal of paint dripped on a canvas really art? Or a urinal, renamed as a fountain? Or Adam?

Tracey Emin, O(MPD)G.

The film also holds out the possibility that there was a quantum of truth in Evelyn's elaborate lie: a whisper to Adam early in their courtship, which we see but don't hear. When Adam asks her about it in the film's final moments, she says that she meant it--whatever it was. The lacuna at the heart of the story lets us wonder, and fill in the blanks with free-associations from our own lives and relationships. What's authentic, and what's artifice? Are our efforts to "improve" our mates really benevolent, or coercive? Is ignorance bliss? When it comes to love, what, if anything, is real? And what do we mean by "real", anyways? The rabbit hole beckons.

[END SPOILERS]

The Shape of Things is the best kind of "smart" film: it never revels in its ability to confuse you, and it still manages to feel like a punch in the stomach while dealing entirely in ideas. And, it does it all without cheating. It's a little-seen film, and one that I imagine a lot of viewers--maybe even most of them--will finish watching in anger. But that's kind of the point, isn't it?

Mind-fudging end note:

What did LaBute do after crafting this complex and sophisticated human drama? He directed the remake of The Wicker Man. Yes, the one with Nicolas Cage. As a friend of mine so elegantly put it: "Neil LaBute's gotta eat."

"So I'm thinking, like, bigger and more hysterical." "Yeah, that sounds great."

Secretly Great Movies: Rounders.

The story you know:

Matt Damon, fresh off Good Will Hunting, teams with an up-and-coming Edward Norton (Rounders came out a month before American History X) for a largely overlooked little movie about the cutthroat world of high-stakes poker, which got mixed reviews and failed to make a huge splash at the box office. At the time of its release, most viewers had probably never heard of the game that the whole movie is built around: a quaint variation of poker called "Texas Hold 'Em."

The shocking truth:

Obviously, times have changed. Rounders has aged extremely well, which is what usually happens when you  successfully predict the future. Since it left the multiplex, Hold 'Em has lassoed the public imagination thanks to increased TV coverage of tournaments, the growing popularity of online poker, scintillating depictions in books like James McManus' Positively Fifth Street, and movies like, well, Rounders. By 2006, Hold 'Em was so popular that it became James Bond's game of choice in the series reboot Casino Royale (as opposed to the much more passé Baccarat, the high-stakes game that Bond plays in the novel).

Texas Hold 'Em now saturates the media landscape, but Rounders has a crackling, card table authenticity that still resonates. The film is littered with sharp, card-savvy dialogue, peppered with quotes from poker legends like Doyle Brunson and Amarillo Slim--and it even features a guest appearance by World Series of Poker champion Johnny Chan.

Orange sold separately. 

But Rounders would be a great movie even if it was about crossword puzzles or Boggle. It features the kind of cast you rarely see assembled outside of superhero movies: in addition to Damon and Norton, you get John Turturro, Famke Janssen, Gretchen Mol, John Malkovich, and Martin Landau (here playing a sage jurist and looking more than ever like political philosopher John Rawls). Ebert, in his review, claimed that Rounders (which is directed by noir revivalist John Dahl) is less a noir than a sports picture, but he's just slightly off the mark: it's a western.

Rounders is basically Unforgiven with cards instead of guns, featuring a main character in denial about his innate talent for killing people winning huge pots, who in the end accepts his destiny just in time for a climactic showdown. But Damon's character here is a genuine white hat, coming across like an agreeably toned-down version of Will Hunting: instead of a prickly, supergenius janitor, he's an eminently likable working stiff with a natural gift for fleecing suckers. And Norton gives one of his best performances as the Lando Calrissian to Damon's Han Solo.

For some critics, the film's weak link is Malkovich, as the scenery-chomping Russian mobster KGB. As Peter Travers puts it, "Malkovich soars so far over the top, he's passing Pluto." But the actual history of high-stakes poker is littered with such eccentrics, and given that he displays the kind of sly cunning usually associated with survival in the darkest corners of the Soviet Union (as well as table success), isn't it possible that the KGB we see is actually something of a put-on by the character himself, designed to catch his opponents off-guard and trick them into making a mistake? Stranger things have happened. (And besides, lines like "Lays down a monster...the fuck did you lay that down?!" practically demand Malkovich's chewy delivery.) By way of contrast, Turturro here is a model of restraint, perfectly deadpanning one of the best lines in the movie during a meeting with Damon: "Long time, Knish. How are you?" "The same."

"Pey dis myan hyis mahney."

I've often argued that Rounders is the rare movie that actually cries out for a sequel, which would more or less write itself. We catch up with Mikey years later, now an internationally renowned WSOP champion, beloved for his balance of no-nonsense humility and at-the-table ruthlessness. He's preparing to compete with a cocky, hotshot favorite (choose your own actor)--when all of a sudden Worm turns up to ask for Mikey's help, and time is running out...Miramax, get in touch for a full treatment.

Secretly Great Movies: Freddy Got Fingered.

Part one of an ongoing series examining movies that are often dismissed, marginalized, or ignored, but are actually awesome. Being a born contrarian, these are often my favorite kinds of movies.

The story you know:

Released near the height of Tom Green's brief moment of mega-stardom, Freddy Got Fingered garnered almost universally negative reviews, with a notable exception from New York Times scribe A.O. Scott. The film chronicles the misadventures of an aspiring animator named Gord (Green), and his fraught relationship with his disapproving father (Rip Torn). In a mostly negative review, Roger Ebert conceded that maybe he just doesn't get it, and that one day the film would be viewed as a "milestone of neo-surrealism." Freddy Got Fingered won 5 Razzies, and when onstage at the awards ceremony "Green began to play the harmonica and did not stop until he was physically dragged off."

The shocking truth:

The day Ebert prophesied has come. The Wikipedia page for Freddy Got Fingered now has a section for "Resurgence", and refers to how this initially reviled film has attained a cult status thanks to a sensibility that some consider "avant garde" or "akin to performance art." Chris Rock is a confirmed fan, and no doubt others will eventually come out of the closet. Kind of reminds you of another strange, offbeat movie that was initially reviled by critics and later gained a considerable cult following, prompting a revision of its initial judgement: The Big Lebowski.

But you don't have to go online to find evidence of Freddy's influence; the heirs to its deranged brand of humor are everywhere. It could be argued that Tim and Eric Awesome Show Great Job, Aqua Teen Hunger Force, Wonder Showzen, and just about the entire lineup of Adult Swim original content since Freddy owes a significant debt to Green's over-the-top, absurdist aesthetic.

And even if you hate all of those shows (as plenty of people do), the fact is that Freddy was always a great film. Beneath the film's shocking surface lies a universal story about growing up and struggling for parental approval. Or maybe all the horse dicks are cover for an even more disturbing subtext, as this article from Cinema de Merde indicates. Either way, there's a lot more to the film than the juvenile gross-outs that many viewers dismiss it for: it's like Breaking Away as directed by Luis Buñuel, with funnier jokes and doodles instead of bikes.

"I'm sick of symmetry."

In a featurette on the film's DVD, Rip Torn--with an absolutely straight face--even calls Green the best director he's ever worked with. And Torn is not exactly an actor known for his easygoing manner with directors; when outraged by his direction on the set of Maidstone, he hit Norman Mailer in the head with a hammer, while Mailer's children screamed for mercy. (Perhaps this was karmic retribution for Mailer headbutting Gore Vidal.)