Have you ever seen a film that just PISSES YOU OFF?

I saw one this weekend: a film so filthy and so utterly crap that I actually left the theater wanting to offer up the single-fingered salute to the credits. That film, my friends, is Mike Nichols' Closer. I can't say I wasn't warned, because I had heard that it was dreadful, and that I should definitely skip it; but somehow, that egged me on. I had to know. Also, it has been raining so hard that it may be time to actually build an ark, and I had exhausted the current crop of good films playing at the theater that doesn't involve driving my evil demon of a vehicle more than 5 blocks. Plus, Jude Law.

So, the film opens as sad-sack failed novelist turned obituary writer Daniel (Law, with the wattage of his beauty turned way, way down until he reveals the pathetic wretch without fabulous hair that lurks within) falls in love at first sight with "Alice," played by Natalie Portman, in the first role that gives her ample opportunity to flaunt her naked ass. A few years later, Daniel has smartened up his wardrobe and written a novel (destined for failure) about Alice, and though they are happily shacked-up, he develops a ridiculous obsession with Anna, the woman who photographs him for his book sleeve. Why? Well, she is played by Julia Roberts, and every film with Julia Roberts involves someone in love with her for precious little else. While obsessing over Anna, Daniel strikes up a raunchy internet sex chat with Larry, a dematologist played by King Arthur, er, Clive Owen, who is lumpish, crude and apparently desperate enough to wank in some dark little corner of the hospital to predictably stupid descriptions of sexual degradation written by a man pretending to be a misogynistic woman. Daniel (posing as Anna) sets Larry up to meet at the aquarium, where he knows Anna will be because he's been stalking her. Although Larry arrives and immediately starts in with the raunch with complete stranger Anna, she takes up with him, even though he is clearly a revolting person. Then, they all proceed to fuck around with one another, working out every permutation except the gay ones, to demonstrate that romantic relationships are based on lies, illusions, deception, and self-deception, as the film treats us to several torturously expository interactions underneath which the words "author's message" should be flashing. Then, in the last scene, it is revealed that Alice's real name is Jane.

SO WHAT?! Bottomline: WORST FILM OF THE YEAR. It made me feel like I needed a scrub, like after being exposed to radioactive waste. It was a hateful, filthy film. I'm going to have to start listening to Mr. Johnso, or something.

On the other hand, I also saw Kinsey, which I liked quite a bit. I'm not sure how accurate a film it is about the real Dr. Kinsey, but I liked the way the film seems to think about how a quantitative approach to human sexuality can't quite get the whole picture in focus, without actually coming to a conclusion, or purporting to tell us something "true" about human relationships and love that is, in actual fact, TOTAL BULLSHIT.

Ugh.

Comments

[Matt Ambrose]

I actually liked Closer. We should talk about it. I agree that it does make you want to take a bath... with that digusting, hairy, lumpy, beast Clive Owen, that is.

But seriously, I liked the film. We should talk. Perhaps rcjohnso won't love me anymore.

Kinsey ruled, except the end, which I felt was a little flacid.

[BLECH! (Jane)]

TOTAL CRAP. There. Have we talked?

[rcjohnso]

I will always love you, Mr. Ambrose.

But this film was bad, and I don't want to give it credit by saying "It made me feel dirty" or "I didn't like where it took me." It was just totally full of shit. Well crafted, but utter and complete bullshit. It had nothing to say about love or human relationships. Not 'nothing good' to say or 'nothing redeeming' to say... just nothing at all.

But I will always love you, Mr. Ambrose.

[Jane]

I didn't think it was even well-crafted. I thought it was heavy handed, simplistic and expository.

Also, it took me nowhere... except to the VOMITORIUM.

[tosho]

The most pretentious piece of film shinola, complete with multiple examples of flabby thigh slapping gratuitous male nudity (frontal and dorsal, gag!)doing the hetero beast with two backs, has to be Sideways. Dull, tedious, predictable and just the feeble fable hipster movie for those that continue to abuse the word yet yearn for a good wine/whine parable. I needed a hot shower and a cold colonic after seeing this greasy waxy buildup. Usually I like good corkage.

[Crazy Jane]

Nice review, Tosh. I'd say you attained excellent lingual corkage. I haven't seen it, myself, but reviews are mixed; and you are the second person who has expressed actual disgust with that film to me today. Frankly, I haven't felt too compelled to hit that one up.

Has anyone else seen it?

[anna]

"Anna, the woman who photographs him... is played by Julia Roberts, and every film with Julia Roberts involves someone in love with her for precious little else."

Hmmm, Notting Hill: Julia plays "Anna", 'nough said?

[Matt Ambrose]

Geeeez, people. I didn't the think the film was negative about relationships, simply about THESE relationships. It was a collection of portraits of the relationships of people who only deal with appearances - a prostitute, a photographer, an obituarist, a plastic surgeon. I won't defend the movie too forcefully, since I know you film nerds like to imbue your own aesthetic judgements with factual weight. I'll defer to your objectively better opinion... I mean, I only took that one class with Drew Casper.

I've not seen Sideways. This winter's crop of films has not been too appetizing.

[Jane]

Anna: Notting Hill is THE WORST OFFENDER. I mean, she is such a bitch in that film, and the only reason Hugh Grant, wearing his shambling English charm suit (which definitely doesn't fit him as well as the absolute cad suit) can only possibly be so besotted with her because she's Julia Roberts, stupid. Argh! I hate that movie!

Matt: Firstly, he was a dematologist, but I take your point - another in which the film is heavy-handedly expository. It doesn't save the film from sucking ass, and I have never taken EVEN ONE class from Drew Casper.

[Matt Ambrose]

If being a bitch disqualifies one from deserving love, then perhaps you WILL be eaten by wild bitches, bitch.

[meg]

I didn't feel as strongly as you did about *Closer* (probably too busy thinking about Clive Owen as a nice bit of rough trade), but I see your point. Special K and I did disagree about the loathsomeness factors of the characters -- he insisted that Jude Law was the sole ickster and that the others were just fine, whereas I thought everybody was unsavory.

I do, however, feel as strongly as Tosho about *Sideways*. Peee-yew, that stunk. After all that hype, I was expecting something more than *I Love Lucy* pratfalls. It's what's wrong with American comedy -- tell a lie and then spend the rest of the show trying not to get caught in it.

[Jane]

Matty: Lucky for you, it doesn't.

Meg: I think the blunt instrument of King Arthur was too fresh in my mind for me to enjoy Clive Owen in the role of a blunt instrument. And, I agree with you: no one wasn't loathesome.

Thanks for the .02 on Sideways...

[Matt Ambrose]

Please don't mention Clive Owen and the phrase "blunt instrument" in the same sentence. I might swoon.

[Matt Ambrose]

Okay, stop it.

[meg]

I'm with Matt -- CO can be my Commanding Officer anytime.

I had to avoid *King Arthur* for vascular reasons: Given that I teach and publish on medieval England, I almost certainly would have blown at least one gasket. And hunkahunkaburninlove as Clive Owen is, he isn't worth even one of my precious gaskets.

[Jane]

Meg: King Arthur is hilarious, and worth a spin in the DVD player on that basis alone. And, when I say "hilarious," I mean in a 1980's heavy metal video kind of way. Really, really funny. You won't blow a gasket if you go in knowing it's a laugh riot, will you?

Matt: Yes, ok? He's big and hairy hot. I noticed it when Julia Roberts was leaving him, and he was wearing his jeans and bare feet. Still, he grossed me out, along with the whole rest of the cast. And, seriously, Jude Law, a man whose sparkling, ludicrous beauty made even COLD FUCKING MOUNTAIN watchable whenever he was lighting up the screen, was stomach churningly revolting, and even ugly. Incredible!

[Tosho]

I usually spurn awards shows but I kept the Critics Choice Awards on in the background. I remember David Spade announcing a segment commemorating those we lost in the last year. I thought it was kinda odd for critics to memorialize dead actors. Then they started a scroll of the biggest bombs of 2004, FILMS that died horrific box office deaths. It was HILARIOUS!

[Heather]

I'm on the opposing side; I liked the film for several other reasons than what you disliked it.
I didn't see the film like you did. I'm a Damien Rice fan and for the exception of two other songs used, I was drawn into the use of 2 songs that Damien Rice wrote.
Other than the script, cinematography, & characters, I'm really drawn into a movie by the music they use or don't use.
I know you've been asked this before, but I'd like to chat with you too!

[Zooey]

I attend an acting school, and so it was no wonder that almost everybody in my dreaded community simultaneously ejaculated when this latest in play-based films came out.

And even though rcjohnso and another cousin of mine told me that it was bad, I still was compelled to see it.
And was the acting good? Clive Owen was a powerhouse in the wrong film, sinking to the disgusting, but sadly for the sake of a film that had nothing to say. It brings to mind the comparison of Christian Bale, who lost 65 pounds for the sake of an okay psychological thriller. Except that the Machinest was much better than Closer.

As for Jude Law, his best piece of acting in this, er, prolific period of his life was as Errol Flynn in the Aviator.

Rufus Wainwright also gets a nod for playing the gayest lounge singer to ever hit the silver screen.

[Erebus]

Came onto this site whilst researching 'Brick', seems pretty good, just had to get my two cents in on Closer. I really thought I was going to hate this film - ask me before I went, and my pre-cog review would have been close to Jane's. I believed the main thrust of this film was going to be hip, self-conscious cynicism and cruelty ("Oh my God, aren't we all just horrible, look at me strip back the terrifying truth of the human condition, cool, huh?") that the mean and horribly overrated Neil LaBute deals in.

Then I saw the film. It wasn't full of cuddles and learning, for sure - this is a cynical, cruel film - but I think in a good way. The real thrust is not to be trendy/cruel for its own sake - it's actually to blow holes through the cosy cliches of romantic relationships as so often portrayed in art/mass culture. I guess you'd have to be a fairly cynical person to align yourself with some of the film's ideology, and certainly one has to have tasted that all-encompassing yet oddly petty jealousy of past partners that is the film's obsession.

But the film was still very stagey, with loads of awkward dialogue, annoying design and a crappy ending. What saved it for me? Clive Owen - really bringing a desperately-needed touch of humour and roundedness to his character, and lifting the whole business immeasurably. Jude Law sucks, he's a meek, wet, vain and so wooden I thought someone had thrown a chair into shot in most of scenes. High point was Owen's "Y'cunt" to Law. Roberts was cold, distant as usual, but that sort of fitted. And Portman was charming - could she ever play a character who wasn't so winning? And I'm sure I could see her mouthing the words 'Marry me Erebus' in several scenes.

So, far from great, maybe not even good, a stagey, cold, wordy half-play half-film with wildly mismatched performances. However - deserves credit for at least attempting to show the true nature of the innoble human heart (reminds of the title of an Everything But The Girl song: 'The Heart Remains A Child'), and in doing so, for this viewer at least, answers the big question, who the fuck cares about these four twats in London? Well - I do.

Well, sort of.

[Erebus]

You don't know me, by the way. *coughs*