by James Serpento
There’s a lot to dislike about Vincent Gallo. In interviews he seems bound and determined to be the next Dennis Hopper and just sounds hopelessly out of place in a kinder, gentler (i.e., scared stiff) Hollywood. A derivative rebel without a cause.
At one point, Gallo took the questionable step of announcing that his yet-to-be-widely released film, “Buffalo 66,” was an instant classic—or something like that—and that was it for me. I was determined to hate it.
Surprise.
Though it’s far from classic, it IS awfully good and Gallo himself - except for the occasional misstep into faux angst of self-conscious “polar oppositism” (you know, “Come here, hold me” and then, the moment one does, a vicious “DON’T TOUCH ME!!”), Gallo is (shudder) oddly appealing.
He’s not pretty—not that he’d give a shit. Eyes like a deranged shark. A head that, in profile, belongs on a cathedral gargoyle. Shoulders hunched. Pants just barely making it to the top of his shapeless ass.
But then there’s that voice.
It’s the voice. For every physical element that pushes us away, his tortured character coos another strange, childlike phrase that compels us to return. And we do.
As for the film itself, it is, admittedly, a strikingly audacious piece. Using a strange, seldom-used film stock apparently caused some problems for his technicians—and I’m not at all sure it yielded results that would be worth too great an expense of pain-in-the-butt—but there is an undeniably effective evocation of the uneasy mix of barbarity and civility in suburban Buffalo.
His shooting style is similarly bold, though it appears to have rankled at least one director of photography into quitting, reportedly with Gallo’s profane condemnations ringing in his ears.
But it works, no question. Have we ever witnessed an “around the table” scene shot with such wry humor and invention? Not that I can think of. And his “dream-murder-suicide” shots are startling, eerie and cacklingly funny, even as they repulse.
Make no mistake, Gallo is the star of the picture. But he has also surrounded himself with some prodigious talents: there are the always superb Ben Gazzara and Angelica Huston as his parents; a sexy-as-all-get-out Christina Ricci as his unlikely love interest, displaying a sweet simplicity to which her sinister china-doll face gives the lie; Mickey Rourke in a pleasing parody of every bookie you’ve ever imagined; and, funniest of all, Jan Michael-Vincent as the semi-conscious owner of the bowling alley frequented by Gallo’s character. At one point, Vincent appears to forget a line; Gallo just keeps the camera running. Not since Tarantino “resurrected” John Travolta in Pulp Fiction has we seen a director meld the personas of actor and character so adroitly; it’s one of those moments that is almost embarrassing in the vulnerability displayed—and despite its “roughness,” it feels exactly right for this film.
Strong work. It’s too bad the “artist as asshole” schtick is so outdated. It remains to be seen whether or not Gallo will learn to share his toys, but if he does, he’ll make a first-class filmmaker.
Jill and Karen Sprecher’s Gen-X comedy “Clockwatchers” is an unexpected treat, due in large part to the presence of Parker Posey, American independent film’s bright treasure. (She’s a self-proclaimed “girl who can’t say no” to offbeat projects, even those without a gargantuan budget.)
Director Jill Sprecher penned the screenplay with Karen, who also produced. This always compelling chronicle of the sad/funny splintering of a friendship among four office temps delivers a fine, satisfying blend of comedy and “message,” blunted only slightly by the gratuitous voiceovers that “help us along.”
Especially delightful are the frequent glimpses of “the stupid things bored office workers do.” For anyone who has ever suffered corporate brain- rot while licking the boots of one’s superiors, these shots alone—I won’t spoil the fun by describing them—are worth the rental price.
Equally delightful, however, is the chilling way the friendship evolves. By the time we reach Posey’s final speech, we’ve been marvelously well-prepared—and does she ever deliver. Brilliantly alive and yet controlled, Posey is a public heartbreak, sublimely unwilling to go gently into the good night of unemployment.
Lisa Kudrow and Bob Balaban also appear, and their considerable gifts add much to the mix.