The critical reaction to this film has been, for lack of a better term, interesting: Some love it; most hate it. And considering its disastrous reception at Cannes, I’m surprised Sony Pictures decided to buy it at all. (In exchange for special-effects cash, Kelly had to cut at least a half-hour of material.) That said, this was one of my favorite films of last year, not just because it’s wildly postmodernÑan up-scale rock-and-punk homage to Pynchon and Philip K. Dick and David Lynch, complemented with a winking performance by busty Rebekah Del RioÑbut because it did what so many films today refuse to do: actively divide the audience. During its 144-minute run-time, Southland Tales elicited the full choir of emotions, making you feel happy and confused and depressed and bored and pissed off. Scorsese will never do that, and neither will Spielberg or CoppolaÑit risks branding them as something other than consistent and commercially appealing auteurs. (Ironically, another 2007 film, Julie Taylor’s Across the Universe, did the very same thing, only with a full-on glitz-gusto abandon that left most moviegoers with throbbing headaches.) If Southland Tales had been any less incoherent, Kelly would have failedÑthis is both his celebration of, and attack on, cinema. And given that a DVD is due out in early March, I’ll have two more months to think over this film before I can watch it again and, hopefully, flesh out my thoughts into a full, blathering, reference-heavy review.
Victoria’s Review, Rumsey’s Thoughts
by Adam Balz | Source: 35MM Theatrical Print
02 Jan 2008 4:36 PM | Submit Comment
