[4.2]
Thrilling dialogue and energetic performances elevate this adaptation of John Guare’s stage play, a simple storyline that slowly builds in complexity. The film jumps around in time, with scenes built around a middle-aged wealthy couple, Ouisa and Flan Kittredge, gleefully telling groups of similarly wealthy New Yorkers about their exciting encounters with a young con-artist, Paul, who claims to be the son of Sidney Poitier. Rather than simply being a narrative framing device, these moments of storytelling are part of the broader themes of the play, about living in the moment versus using life as mediated currency (in a world where extolling a tale of adventure is more valuable than the original adventure itself). The Kittredges are at once embarrassed by their victimization, but are able to spin their break-from-normalcy into an attention-gathering tale that grants them more authority and prestige (Flan clearly loves repeating what a dangerous scenario they were in: “he could have slit our throats!” he utters several times). As an audience, we aren’t unfamiliar with con-artist stories, so as the first act proceeds, we watch Paul effortlessly spin his web around the Kittredges while wondering what he will do next. When he is caught and thrown out of the house, without having stolen anything, we know there must be more to this long-con. But as the film proceeds, and motivations remain elusive, we begin to see the possibility that the con itself is the goal.
Stockard Channing and Donald Sutherland look like they are having a blast as the rich, slightly-out-of-touch-but-not-unlikeable Kittredges. Guare’s sharp writing and Fred Schepisi’s sympathetic directing avoid the trap of portraing the stereotypically vapid and oblivious upper class. As Paul regales the Kittredges with his exegesis on ‘The Catcher in the Rye’, we see a glimmer of recognition in their eyes. While they clearly love money, they are also moved by art and philosophy and creativity. Channing and Sutherland balance the cruel, racist impulses of these characters with their humane traits. They show us how the Kittredges vaguely understand the messages Paul imparts on them, but also how the systemic class structure they live in closes back around them, allowing them to easily sink back into their comfortable worlds ruled by a strict set of customs and values. This complicated acting by two veterans is matched by a fascinating, illuminating performance by Will Smith as the enigmatic Paul. With little ‘real’ about him, Paul could simply be reduced to an empty character, more of an inciting incident than a human being. But Smith adds an honest complexity to Paul, offering a genuine truth glistening underneath layers of lies [side note: while Paul effortlessly seduces his prey (and us) with his mind and body (he undresses for information), Will Smith very clearly draws the line at an on-screen-kiss with a man; Smith is comfortable portraying a homosexual, but, perhaps afraid of harming future acting opportunities, his gay kiss is limited to a cowardly, obscured shot-reverse-shot]. Paul has no identity of his own, and every quality of his (including his name) is questionable. But if there is no “original” Paul, if his personality is solely built out of the composite characteristics of people he meets and wants to emulate, then doesn’t this construct of a person become more ‘real’ than whatever came before? In a key scene early on, when Paul is dazzling the Kittredges with his charm and intellect, he expounds on the connection between killers and ‘The Catcher in the Rye.’ The examination of Holden Caulfield and his anger at ‘phoniness’ is particularly amusing in that everyone in the room, nodding in acknowledgement, is wearing their own phony mask.
Paul also talks about imagination, about building a life around the possibilities of what we can imagine, and this dialectic of imagined-vs-reality is drawn not just around life, but around art. Guare has no qualms with loading his film up with symbolism, so of course Flan is an art dealer, and of course the central piece of his collection is a double-sided Kandinsky (a “fake” that doesn’t exist in real life, but is a composite of two separate “real” paintings) that exudes chaos or control, depending on which side is shown. But even while Guare’s script makes his themes rather obvious, he doesn’t settle for simple polemics regarding authenticity. Paul “the con man” is the film’s most sympathetic character, but are his lies an admirable use of his imagination or, as hinted at the end, part of an illness, a serious delusion? The joy of this movie is that it lets its ideas ruminate, never allowing them to touch down on the concrete. One fantastic scene (that the film returns to more than once) takes place at the Sistine Chapel. The workers are cleaning the painting, removing the dirt and grime built up over centuries, revealing the “true” image that hasn’t been fully seen since its paint was fresh. The well-connected Kittredges are allowed to examine the painting up close, and one of the workers tells Ouisa she can touch it. “It’s just a fresco,” he says. So, as Ouisa later recalls with sly joy, she slapped the hand of God. Michelangelo’s painting is both a holy representation of the Divine and “just a fresco”.
Interestingly, while the adult characters are handled with complexity, Guare seems particularly vitriolic toward youth. The rich children are bratty forces of privilege, lacking in nuance and drive. They don’t know what they want and don’t seem eager to really interrogate themselves to find it. They are the typical “phonies” that Holden Caulfield loathes. Before we meet any of the children, we learn that their parents know almost nothing about them (Paul is so readily accepted into these strangers’ homes because he knows more about the children than their parents do, and his behavior paints him as the child these adults wish they had). When the children do show up onscreen, however, they are bafflingly obnoxious. They lash out with unprovoked anger, and the scene with one son screaming into his telephone before throwing it out the window is perhaps the low-point of Guare’s dull satire on youth. Paul is again the exception because he is “acting” like an adult. The contrast between generations is matched by the contrast between classes, as we meet one young couple that Paul also cons, but surprisingly he seems to give them even less consideration than he did the Kittredges. We assume that Paul would share an affinity for the young starving artists, but he uses them, taking up their time, apartment, and then their life savings (not to mention the young straight man’s anal virginity). In a sense, Paul’s presence reminds me of The Visitor in TEOREMA: wherever he shows up, he becomes the object of desire. He unleashes people’s imaginations of what they want, and this can either inspire destruction (the young man’s suicide) or transformation (in the final shots, Ouisa seems to have come to a grand realization, seeing the world in a new way).
The rest of the cast is an interesting mix: Heather Graham, Ian McKellen, Bruce Davison, and Anthony Michael Hall, as well as Anthony Rapp and J.J. Abrams playing two of the spoiled children. The movie is wall-to-wall dialogue, delivered in a snappy, theatrical way. Schepisi keeps the film flowing, even as it jumps effortlessly from present to past. There are a few references to the dog statue in Central Park (and the camera lingers on it) that make it seem an important element, but its meaning is lost on me. Even still, the film is packed with fun, insightful nuggets to ponder (why does Paul risk everything he has built with the Kittredges on a prostitute that he knows he will get caught with?). And the amount of time spent discussing the merits of the musical CATS and the ludicracy of adapting it into a movie have extra hilarity now that it has become a reality. Never underestimate the possibilities of the imagination.
burning retina 