All posts by One Guys Opinion

Dr. Frank Swietek is Associate Professor of History at the University of Dallas, where he is regarded as a particularly tough grader. He has been the film critic of the University News since 1988, and has discussed movies on air at KRLD-AM (Dallas) and KOMO-AM (Seattle). He is also the Founding President of the Dallas-Fort Worth Film Critics' Association, a group of print and broadcast journalists covering film in the Metroplex area, and was a charter member of the Society of Texas Film Critics. Dr. Swietek is a member of the Online Film Critics Society (OFCS). He was instrumental in the creation of the Lone Star Awards, which, through the efforts of the Dallas-Fort Worth Regional Film Commission, give recognition annually to the best feature films and television programs produced in Texas.

NURSE BETTY

After a summer of cookie-cutter comedies and blowsy action flicks, Neil LaBute’s “Nurse Betty” is good for what ails you. A surrealistic fairy-tale combining farce, hard-as-nails violence, satire, and whimsy in a way that in less skilled hands could be torturous but here seems utterly natural, it has the same kind of off-kilter, dark charm that made “Being John Malkovich” such a standout. It is, quite simply, one of the best pictures of the year.

Working for the first time from a script not his own, LaBute, whose “In the Company of Men” and “Your Friends & Neighbors” were harshly cynical and, some thought, deeply misogynistic, manages in this instance to meld his characteristically sour views on human nature with elements of exceptional sweetness, offering up a comedic dish that’s both tangy and somehow innocent despite some periodic bloodletting. The central figure is a Kansas naif, waitress Betty Sizemore (Renee Zellweger), whose sole vice is an overwhelming addiction to a soap opera called “A Reason to Love.” Her devotion to the show is certainly understandable, given that her husband, a used-car salesman named Del (LaBute regular Aaron Eckhart) is a thoughtless brute who’s fooling around with his secretary on the side. He’s also involved in some shady drug deals; and one day (Betty’s birthday, as it happens, though Del shows no sign of recognizing that fact), he’s killed in their living room by a pair of hitmen (Charlie and Wesley, played by Morgan Freeman and Chris Rock respectively) over an operation on which he’s tried to cheat their boss. Unknown to the gunmen, Betty, watching her soap in an adjoining room, has seen the murder, but the experience traumatizes her, causing her to forget the entire episode and to believe that she’s the nurse of the title, the long-lost fiance of her television idol, Dr. David Ravell (preening actor George McCord, played by Greg Kinnear). Taking the car in which (unbeknowst to her) the drugs sought by Charlie and Wesley are hidden, Betty takes to the road, heading for L.A. and a reunion with the man she assumes will greet her with open arms. Once there, like a fairy-tale princess-in-disguise, she becomes a heroine, earns the friendship of a family that takes her in, and even meets McCord and his show’s production staff; but none of this occurs in ways that you might expect (the clever script avoids the obvious while portraying Betty as an innocent who strides unscathed through the minefield of life). Meanwhile we watch Charlie and Wesley as they follow her trail. But this doesn’t happen in an expected fashion, either: the two men bicker over how best to proceed, and Charlie, a dignified, introspective fellow by nature, becomes obsessed with his increasingly idealized notion of Betty in a fashion which recalls the mesmerizing power that Kim Novak’s Madeleine had over Jimmy Stewart’s Scottie in Hitchcock’s “Vertigo.” Wesley, with a younger man’s rougher attitudes, explodes periodically over what he perceives as his older partner’s bizarre romanticism. The narrative comes to a climax as Charlie and Wesley locate their quarry and Betty is forced back into the real world, but again, the denouement has its share of surprises, involving among other elements two visitors from Kansas, inept Sheriff Ballard (Pruitt Taylor Vince) and intense reporter Roy (Crispin Glover).

From this precis one might assume that “Nurse Betty” is just a complicated farce, but though it certainly has the elements of that genre (mistaken identities, people who barely miss bumping into others they’re looking for) it isn’t numbingly mechanical in the way that farces often are. Instead it adds layers of characterization and emotion that enrich the mix beautifully. Zellweger’s finely-crafted Betty, for example, isn’t merely a hapless buffoon; she’s an individual of real heart and feeling whom one can actually sympathize with. And Charlie, played with wonderful dignity by Freeman, comes across as a person whose mercenary life is tempered by a soulful, reflective nature. The lesser figures can’t possess the same degree of shading, of course, and some of them–Eckhart’s Del, and even Kinnear’s McCord–are basically one-note creations. But most–Rock’s Wesley, Glover’s Roy, Vince’s Ballard, and Tia Texada’s Rosa–have more going for them than simple facade, and the viewer is also kept delightfully off-balance by the major shifts of tone that regularly occur, particularly as Betty’s idealized visions are threatened by doses of reality and as the actualities of Charlie and Wesley’s violent work burst into view.

“Nurse Betty” is one of those rare pictures whose marvelous unconventionality is wed to a technique that accentuates its strengths rather than camouflaging them, blessed with a cast that revels in its unruly textures rather than trying to smooth them out. It’s also a challenging film whose uniqueness will probably turn off audiences looking for the prefabricated product that Hollywood usually provides. But any filmgoer wanting a refreshingly distinctive experience will find it cinematic balm indeed.

THE WATCHER

F

Even in a sea of rotten serial-killer flicks, Joe Charbanic’s directorial debut sinks right to the bottom. Nasty, sadistic, ugly and pointless, it contains barely enough plot to fill a single episode of one of those terrible old cop series on NBC (“Hunter,” for instance), but it’s been padded mercilessly to feature length: it abounds with dreary flashbacks, lines of dialogue endlessly repeated in the apparent belief that all its viewers will be imbeciles incapable of catching their import the first time around,, shots of its FBI agent protagonist staring blankly into space to show his deep discontent, and scenes of his quarry strutting about cockily as he outwits his pursuers. Even with all this the dreary monstrosity times out at only 93 minutes, but it feels longer than “Lawrence of Arabia.”

The story can be dispensed with fairly quickly, since there’s so little of it. Ex-FBI man Jack Campbell (James Spader) is living the seedy life in Chicago, having moved there after failing to capture L.A.-based murderer David Griffin (Keanu Reeves) who, among many others, offed our hero’s married lover and thus sent him into a psychological tailspin. Griffin, feeling some sort of symbiotic relationship with his old nemesis, follows him to the Windy City and resumes his efforts there, taunting Campbell back into the field to duel with him once more. (One can presume some sort of homoeroticism at work here, but happily the script doesn’t follow up on the suggestion.) Campbell is also seeing pretty shrink Polly (Marisa Tomei), which should give you some idea as to who Griffin’s latest target will be.

The fundamental problem with “The Watcher” is that it generates absolutely no suspense apart from the grisly business of wondering precisely when Griffin will slaughter the victims he so assiduously stalks; and the cheap device of having the cops just miss locating the targeted women they’re searching for, or staging scenes in which hunter and hunted nearly bump into one another, merely accentuates the lack of storytelling substance. A few chases, on foot and by car, are tossed into the mix, but they come across as routine set-pieces, devoid of any imagination or excitement.

Under the circumstances the cast can hardly be faulted for phoning in their performances. Spader is his customary self–which means he’s intensely dour throughout; given the quality of the material, his perpetual look of pain is understandable. Presumably Reeves agreed to undertake the part of the hugely uninteresting killer (who, as is usual in such stories, seems inexplicably to have limitless resources to go about his bloody business without the need of a job) as a favor to Charbanic, who directed some of the videos made by his band; but his surfer-dude turn is reminiscent of his earlier roles than anything he’s done lately, and the shtick is pretty embarrassing. (It would probably be best for Reeves to avoid shooting any further projects in Chicago, too. It’s a lovely and photogenic locale, to be sure, but this fiasco and the 1996 clunker “Chain Reaction” suggest that the star and city do not mix.) Tomei has little to do but look either concerned or endangered; it’s another sad step down in the career decline of an Oscar-winner who might not have deserved her award, but surely doesn’t deserve tripe like this, either. Chris Ellis earns a few smiles as a tough-talking cop, even if his southern-sounding accent comes out of left field.

The denouement of “The Watcher” offers a final confrontation so extravagantly stupid as to set a new low for the genre; one can only be thankful at least that the killer’s M.O. of strangling his victims with piano wire isn’t portrayed as the result of trauma brought about by overly harsh music lessons in his youth (although such a silly diagnosis would have offered more of an explanation than any provided by the script). On a scale of “Se7en,” this soggy, unpleasant mess barely registers a 1.