A former film critic has chucked it in and now reviews movies before either of you have seen them.
Mann's first important movie, however, was the grossly underrated 'Manhunter' (1986) -a dazzling modernist interpretation of Thomas Harris's splendid novel, 'Red Dragon'. Harris, of course, also wrote 'Silence of the Lambs' - another terrifying novel which was turned into a horrifying film. I say 'horrifying' because it demonstrates the ease with which Hollywood appropriates classic literature and butchers it completely. Harris's original book was a skilfully written examination of the relationship between two sociopaths and an FBI agent. Jonathan Demme's 1990 film 'Silence of the Lambs' on the other hand is a crass crowd-pleasing gothic melodrama featuring a typically overblown performance from the High Priest of Ham and uber-luvvie extraordinaire, Anthony 'Danepak' Hopkins.
This is surprising because Demme, in his relatively short career, has made some nice movies, including 'True Stories' and 'Something Wild', which gave Melanie Griffiths what is probably her most memorable role as Lulu the black-bobbed supervixen cockteaser, opposite Jeff Daniels' hapless straightman. And Griffiths, as you probably know, was married a couple of times to teak-like smoothie Don Johnson of 'Miami Vice', the stylish and stylised 80s' designer cop show created by - you guessed it - Michael Mann.
Anyway, having achieved fame and fortune playing cowboys and indians in 18th-century New York State, Mann has now returned to the contemporary crime genre with 'Heat', a multi-million dollar, three-hour epic which under no circumstances should be confused with 'City Heat', the 1984 period-piece celluloid abortion, starring that doyen of the Hollywood wiggerati, Burt Reynolds. Nor should it be mixed up in people's minds with 'Heat and Dust', the totally rank Raj pot-boiler made in 1982 by Merchant /Ivory (the Sharwoods of the film world) and starring professional nudist, Greta Scacchi.
As the film in question is almost certainly destined to achieve classic status,
I feel it is my duty as a responsible reviewer to go with the critical flow on
this occasion and to provide the marketing department of the distribution
company with some sexy copy to be extracted quite cynically from the context of
my critical piece for their crummy posters. So be it. This movie is probably
shit hot, baby. And I mean, Steaming.
3 out of 10
Now here's the thing: Martin has made some great movies. Funny movies. Movies which are modern comedy classics: 'The Jerk', 'The Lonely Guy', 'The Man with Two Brains', 'Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid' and 'All of Me'. Sure, these films are right up there with 'This Is Spinal Tap', 'Withnail & I', 'Blazing Saddles' and 'Airplane'. But something happened - I don't know when exactly. Maybe around the time of 'Roxanne' or 'The Three Amigos'. Martin lost his sense of humour; his sense of the absurd. And he rediscovered Samuel Beckett.
OK. Woody Allen went the same way. They both grew up eventually and decided that they didn't want make dumb, lame-brained, pratfall and slapstick films any more (an ironic development given the recent rise of the Dumb Movie, courtesy of Jim Carrey et al.), preferring instead to explore the deeper recesses of the human psyche; to chart a course through the choppy, shark-infested waters of human relationships; indeed, to forge a path through the rain-sodden and stinking mangrove swamps of creativity and artistic enterprise. The trouble is, whereas Allen seems to have retained his integrity and wit, Martin has dived head first into the Hollywood equivalent of a jacuzzi full of rancid cheese.
He has made so many crap films of late (coming up for air briefly with 'Planes, Trains and Automobiles' and 'LA Story') that it is hard to think of him as anything other than a total sell-out and purveyor of MOR mush. So he has a PhD in Philosophy. So he collects modern art. These facts do not compensate for such atrocities as 'Parenthood', 'Housesitter' and 'Father of the Bride'. As for 'Leap of Faith'? Heap of Shit, more like. The man has clearly lost his bearings, choosing to appear in vomit-inducing celluloid celebrations of the Great (White) American Way, complete with middle-class angst and nauseatingly sentimental - but upbeat - endings.
This is truly a tragic waste of a great comic talent - one which was fully realised early on in 'The Jerk' and 'Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid' (both of which, incidentally, were directed by Carl Reiner, whose son Rob went on to make 'This is Spinal Tap'). Sadly, nothing that Martin has done in recent years can compare with the simple but endearing goofiness of these two movies, and despite Martin's unnecessary and largely unsuccessful attempts to update literary classics ('Cyrano De Bergerac' and 'Silas Marner') for modern pap-loving moviegoers, he will almost certainly be remembered most fondly for his role as the twitching white-trash idiot who sang 'I'm Picking Out A Thermos For You' back in the heady days of 1979.
As for 'Father of the Bride II', well, what can I say? How about, '
this film smells like the digits on the poster' (No. 2).
9 out of 10
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