Birdman: Or The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance

During a key scene in "Birdman: Or The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance," Michael Keaton's character, Riggan, a washed up action star trying to make a comeback, gets in a heated discussion with a snobby theater critic. After the critic promises to ruin his new broadway play with a stroke of her pen, Riggan excoriates her profession by asking "what has to happen in someone's life for them to become a critic?" He continues saying that critics risk nothing with their opinions and contrasts the artist's experience of giving their heart and soul to a project and creating something out of nothing. "Birdman" is a truly remarkable film about the creative process and what artists endure to make their creation a reality. 

Throughout the film, Riggan is surrounded by different collaborators who constantly bombard him with different perspectives and problems that he needs to face in order to realize his vision. His fellow actors possess their own opinions and nuance of performance; His manager encourages career acumen, that is decisions Riggan has to make in order to realistically keep his status in the film industry; His daughter is the negative voice calling him a has-been; His ex-wife knows the actor as a regular person outside his career and tries to make him a better family man; finally, Riggan has voices in his head representing both insecurity and his momentary triumphs and rise in confidence. 

A notable aspect of "Birdman" is the layered acting. Indeed, this was a high level ensemble effort with no one person totally stealing the show. Michael Keaton is great as Riggan because in many ways, he is playing a version of himself. Mirroring Riggan and Birdman, Keaton played Batman in the early nineties and is currently looking for a career renaissance. Ed Norton gives one of the best performances of his career as Mike, the temperamental actor who values absolute artistic integrity over success. Emma Stone, who plays Riggan's daughter, officially elevates herself from teen idol to a great actress. Even Zach Galafinakis shows acting prowess as Riggan's dose of realism, albeit in a comedic fashion.

But the truly amazing aspect of the film is the directing. Alejandro González Iñárritu has invented a new type of film, one that unfolds organically in real time with continuous forward movement. The movie almost looks like one complete, uninterrupted shot with characters coming and going and then reappearing. Technically, there are only 16 cuts in the entire movie, compared to other films which could have hundreds. This style of film is one that I have never seen before, at least since Alfred Hitchcock's "Rope," which also seems like one continuous shot. The style of directing creates a breathtaking intensity which becomes instantly addictive.The soundtrack, which is mostly composed of jazz drumming, perfectly matches the pace and spirit of the film. Just as the complexity of jazz demands attention, so does the movie garner your complete engagement. "Birdman" is certainly a huge technical feat, one that is immediately impressive.

SPOLIER ALERT: I'm going to talk about the ending and its meaning. The movie begins with the epitaph from Raymond Carver's gravesite: "And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so? I did. And what did you want? To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth." In many ways, "Birdman" is about seeking acceptance and admiration from the rest of the world. Riggan is seeking to regain his popularity, even to improve on it by adapting a work of literature to the theater. He wants to be an artist, not merely a celebrity as he is often accused of being. Many of the surreal moments of the film serve to show his inner emotional struggles. At one of his lowest moments, Riggan is convinced of his prowess and popularity in the action world, at least in the past, by an incarnation of his former Birdman character. He is then able to fly literally and figuratively on this emotion above the fray, able to pursue his endeavor with confidence.

Near the end of the film, Riggan makes a decision to replace a prop gun which he uses in the final scene of the play with a real gun in an effort to commit suicide. He shoots himself and the audience and critics laud him as inventing "super realism" in the theater. Of course, it is fitting that Riggan shoots himself at that moment of the play because the story matches his own inability to find love. I also think the plot is a commentary on celebrity and how the audience loves to see an artist melt down and destroy themselves. Riggan's exploits become a version of reality television.

The ending is a bit vague, yet makes sense given the big picture. Riggan is in a hospital bed after shooting himself. He did not die and suffered lacerations on his face. You should notice how his bandages look fittingly like his Birdman mask. After Riggan is told of his artistic triumph and praise, he sees an apparition of Birdman and then jumps out of a hospital window. His daughter then returns to the room and looks out the window, offering a cryptic smile. The enduring question is whether Riggan jumped to his death or flew away as he did earlier in the film. We will never know, but the thematic end is the same no matter what happened. Emma Stone pokes her head out the window and looks down in horror and then up with a smile on her face. Whether or not his body was on the pavement or in the sky, Riggan finally got what he wanted: his play, reputation and artistic integrity soared. The ironic aspect is that Riggan unwittingly made a brilliant artistic choice to actually kill himself in the play. As many artists, he benefitted from the unexpected virtue of ignorance. 

Saving Mr. Banks

In "Saving Mr. Banks," Walt Disney is pitted against the curmudgeonly writer of "Mary Poppins," P.L. Travers. In a key scene, they square off and give their respective opinions of the project. Travers views Mary Poppins as a more serious character imbued in her dark past. Ever the optimist, Disney pleads with her to let him reimagine the character as a happy one. He wants her to sing, dance with cartoon penguins, and ultimately rescue not only the children for which she nannies, but also Mr. Banks, a cold, characteristically British father to his family. Take a wild guess who gets their way?

This film is very entertaining and well-acted. Tom Hanks, in particular, is tailor made to play the iconically avuncular Walt Disney. He assumes the role with a twinkle in his eye and a song in his heart. Paul Giamatti, who has a second rate role as a limo driver, shines as an extension of the perpetually happy Disney company. For anyone who has seen "Mary Poppins," and we all have, there is an interesting story to be told, an unlikely and nearly impossible collaboration between two polar opposites, whose arguing creates one of Disney's enduring films.  

Yet, there lurks an annoying and morally repugnant Disneyesque device in "Saving Mr. Banks." For the love of god, must we sugarcoat EVERYTHING to make it palatable? Do we need our spoonful of Disney sugar for anything potentially disturbing? Will Disney allow us to feel a full range of emotions for a bloody change?

Disney argues to take a story rooted in Traver's good natured but desperately alcoholic father, who, despite the work of a helpful nanny/nurse, succumbed to consumption. "Mary Poppins" is an allegory for good intentions that fail, as they often do in life. Despite this deeply personal story, Disney wants to exorcise the film of any negativity, or at least any negativity that can't be overcome. In essence, he wants Mr. Banks to sing "Let's Go Fly a Kite," when, in reality, he would have been singing "Let's Go Throw a Clot." While watching, I began to sympathize with Travers and her obsession with the integrity of her story against corporate commercialization.

But the most interesting aspect of "Saving Mr. Banks" is the fact that it is guilty of the above sugarcoating itself. Walt Disney and friends certainly get the Disney treatment. Disney is presented as the greatest guy on earth, notwithstanding the reality that he was a rabid anti-semite and Nazi sympathizer who invested in German banks during World War II. There really should be a penetrating movie about Walt Disney because it would be fascinating. He was a man who accomplished so many great, imaginative things, but, like most human beings, had serious shortcomings. And that's the point. There are complexities to stories and to characters, particularly when they are based on a true story.

While I was entertained, I could not stomach the inescapable fact that Disney released what could be the most self-serving film of all time. This film was Walt Disney presented by Walt Disney. How could he be wrong?

Straight Outta Compton

In a press conference following a riot that erupted after a show in Detroit, a reporter asked the members of N.W.A. to comment on the violence detailed in their lyrics. Ice Cube answered point blank: "Our art is a reflection of our reality." "Straight Outta Compton" succeeds in being a timely movie because like N.W.A.'s music in the early nineties, it reflects a current problem of police militarization, racism, and brutality. Seeing N.W.A. speak out about Rodney King and life in Compton, CA, we are reminded that not much has changed in thirty years.

At it's heart, "Straight Outta Compton" is a rags to riches story of how alienated African American outsiders with something to say marketed themselves and their new art form. In many ways, the genius of early rap artists had just as much to do with their business acumen as with their musical or lyrical abilities. Many traditional music producers simply did not get the explicitness and political undertones of the rap movement, which were the attributes that made it great. Rappers took it upon themselves to disseminate their own music and even start successful companies (ie: Death Row). N.W.A's rise to stardom by their own hand is very impressive, to say the least.

While Dr. Dre gets his due as a brilliant behind the scenes artist, the true hero of the film is Ice Cube, whose importance and talent has been overshadowed by his current family friendly ventures. Ice Cube was the soul of N.W.A. who had the most to say about economic squalor and the treatment of the black community by law enforcement.

The movie's noticeable failing is that it intentionally glosses over Dr. Dre's history of violence against women. Ironically, the conspicuous absence of Dre's personal shortcomings actually drew more attention to the issue, causing the artist to apologize in the press. I think presenting Dr. Dre's penchant towards violence with women would speak not only to the film's theme about how violence begets violence, but also elucidate a significant problem in hip hop, which is the continued degradation of women.

Still, the movie is well made and acted. It is certainly worth seeing and contemplating, especially given today's problems with race and law enforcement. It also makes us remember that music at one time was motivated by a message and not only concerned with profits.

The Big Lebowski

"The Big Lebowski" is one of those rare movies that works on multiple levels. In one sense, the film can be viewed as an entertaining stoner comedy with many colorful characters. The movie has a massive list of hilarious one liners, most of which seem like weird non-sequiturs about Vietnam, nihilists, feminism, etc. The movie operates as kind of a Scooby Doo episode in which The Dude and friends are caught in a crazy mystery surrounding a rug and a kidnapping. To be sure, the movie works very well on this level. But what makes "The Big Lebowski" a truly original and great film is the philosophical milieu in which it operates. The entire movie is essentially an identity crisis for The Dude, who is exposed to different political and social philosophies during his epic adventure.

The film begins with a portrayal of The Dude as the prototypical American male. We see tumbleweeds rolling past the screen and are introduced to an old fashioned cowboy character known as "The Stranger" who talks about the Dude as if he is a legend of some kind. It's worth a momentary pause to reflect on the meaning and history of the word, "dude." While there can be multiple definitions, I think the movie evokes the nineteenth century understanding of the term. The word is derived from a colloquialism said by western cowboys in reference to easterners who wore brand new, store bought clothes. The moniker "dude" was used by cowboys to identify someone who was between two places: the city and the frontier. In this film, the Dude is between two places: a pacifist who perpetrates no evil himself but who passively watches it as it happens around him. The film centers around the Dude's forced entry into the outside world and civic responsibility. Surrounded by different philosophies and modus operandi, the film is the Dude's odyssey through conflicting ideologies and how the representatives of each system use the gullible, largely ignorant protagonist to their advantage.

It is no mere coincidence that the whole chain of events is sparked by thugs mistaking The Dude for someone else and desecrating his rug. It is his connection to this material object, his one material weakness that "really tied the room together," that spurs his identity crisis. This corrupting result of materialism is demonstrated later in a dream sequence in which The Dude is chasing his magic carpet only to be violently pulled back to earth by his other beloved material object, his bowling ball.

Embarking on his journey, the Dude meets a collection of people with differing political and social philosophies who challenge his spectator worldview. At each encounter, he goes through the same process: the Dude is exposed to the philosophy; he flirts with and even repeats lines from the belief system; and thankfully, throws off those beliefs and returns to himself. In each case, the human representations of the respective philosophy turns out to be a complete fraud.  

As The Dude goes in search of a new rug, he meets another Jeffrey Lebowski, the man for whom he was mistaken. It's as if he sees the bizarro version of himself: a rich old man with many philanthropic achievements, most notably the "Little Lebowski Urban Achievers." But as the movie pushes forward, we find out that the rich, high achieving Lebowski is a major fraud; he is a blundering fool on a fixed income who embezzles money from his charitable foundation to cover up a fake kidnapping.

The other large philosophy constantly hovering over The Dude is the militarism of his friend, Walter Sobchak. The Coen brothers somehow anticipated the rise of neoconservatism under George W. Bush as early as 1998. Walter is comically obsessed with Vietnam and consistently supports preemptive violence to solve conundrums. In perhaps the best example, Walter draws a gun during a disagreement at the bowling alley, an action which garners his bowling team a league penalty. Later, when stonewalled by a teenager who supposedly stole The Dude's car and money, Walter destroys a corvette that he suspects was purchased with the stolen money that was in the backseat. Of course, the corvette actually belongs to a neighbor, foreseeing the future mistaken identity between Iraq and Al Qaeda during the Bush years.

The movie takes place during the first gulf war, a conflict that Walter is all to happy to support. It is chock full of references to the cold war and communism and how the wars in the middle east are an extension of both. Sobchak describes the current conflicts as"a bunch of fig-eaters wearing towels on their heads, trying to find reverse in a Soviet tank." But like the other pontificating forces in the film, Walter is also a fraud. Despite his obsession with hardline violence and demonstrations of power, we find that he bends to the whim of his ex-wife by sheepishly babysitting her tiny dog. Also, mirroring the neocon movement, Walter's violence is inexplicably mixed with pacifist religious values. He refuses any action on the Sabbath  citing"Shomer Shabbas! Shomer fucking Shabbas!" Finally, when Walter's intense plans ultimately fail, he takes no responsibility for his actions and insists: "Fuck it, dude, let's go bowling."

"The Big Lebowski" has many other characters who represent a hypocritical system of belief or ethos. "The Jesus," one of the funniest characters in the film, has obvious ties to Catholicism and the secret shame of the religion, pedophilia. The Dude is also introduced to the other Lewboski's daughter, a radical feminist who later uses his trusting nature to get impregnated by him without his knowledge. The Dude also meets Jackie Treehorn, a pornography mogul, who stands for excess and the corrupting power of money. Of Treehorn, The Dude says: "he treats objects like women." Finally, my personal favorite is a group called "the nihilists," who proudly extol that they care about nothing. Walter has two hilarious rebuttals to the nihilists: "There's nothing to fear Donny, these men are cowards" and "Nihilists! Fuck me. I mean, say what you want about the tenets of National Socialism, Dude, at least it's an ethos." Judging from his conflicting comments, Walter doesn't know what to make of a group without a belief system.

The key quote in the movie, which leads to the interesting final question of the film, is "The Dude abides." One one hand, this can be viewed as a compliment, supporting the idea that The Dude is a benevolent force above petty wars and politics. On the other hand, The Dude's agreeableness and escapism into a world of perpetual bowling and laziness can be viewed as a bad attribute. Isn't it a problem that The Dude almost totally ignores the outside world? Isn't that how the ideologues in the film gain power and perpetrate evil? In this way, The Dude can be viewed as a typical American inside a nonchalant bubble, letting the highly ambitious control the fate of the country. After all, when The Dude is finally brought into the real world in which there is a constant battle of political and social ideologies, he is inept and confused in choosing one. I think the Coen brothers leave this point up to interpretation, as they should. The lazy man who stands for nothing may not directly perpetrate evil, but evil can be perpetrated in the name of the willfully ignorant. Perhaps this concept points to the central animating aspect of the film: mistaken identity. In the end, how do we judge the The Dude?

The Coen Brothers have a celebrated filmography that includes masterpieces like "Fargo," "No Country for Old Men," and many others. "The Big Lebowski" deserves to be in this pantheon because of its utter originality and interesting contemplation of America in the 1990's. This movie was not immediately successful or well received, but has grown exponentially in popularity over the years. "Lebowski," as it is affectionately known, is a film that takes a few viewings. While it is funny enough on its surface, its comedy only grows more profound when viewed in the background of American culture and the battle for a controlling philosophy.  





   

The Passion of the Christ

The question surrounding "The Passion of the Christ" is not how well it is made, but why it had to be made in the first place. There is no denying that Mel Gibson is a talented filmmaker. If Gibson's goal was simply to portray the depth of Jesus's suffering, then he made a perfect film. From the opening scene in the Garden of Gethsemane, it grabs hold of your attention and doesn't let go until the end. Moreover, Jim Cavieziel's performance as Jesus is truly amazing. Given his devout faith, he gives a very heartfelt depiction, one of the best ever put on film.

Ironically, the reason why this film is so good also raises troubling questions about the necessity of making a movie about the passion narrative. "The Passion of the Christ" bears strikingly resemblance to all of Gibson's other successful films, all of which glorify suffering and violence to the highest degree possible for a mainstream film. Whether in "Braveheart," "Apocalypto" or  "Payback," each of Gibson's protagonists endures everything from disembowelment, decapitation, defenestration (my favorite word---we actually needed a verb to describe pushing someone out of a window) to the untimely death of a child. Additionally, many of Gibson's films have an occupying power with its proverbial boot on the neck of a population seeking freedom or atonement. The English in "Braveheart" are interchangeable with the Romans, and to a lesser extent, the Sanhedrin, in "The Passion." Gibson likes his barbarism and civilization stories, and sometimes questions who the real barbarians are.

The problem with borrowing these common themes, particularly the obsession with violence, from Gibson's other movies is that it actually detracts from the importance of Jesus's suffering. Is Jesus just another William Wallace yelling in defiance at the hour of his death? Does Jesus's story warrant more than Wallace's silly, cartoonish death in which he yells "Freedom" despite having the contents of his intrathoracic cavity ripped out? Certainly, Jesus had a bigger impact on the world than William Wallace did and deserved a death with the full story and power behind it. But we never get to see that.

The other problem with adding Gibson's barbarism versus civilization trope is that it continues to single out the Jews (used nefariously as a generalized group) as the people who are solely responsible for Jesus's death. Not only is this somewhat historically inaccurate, but it has led to a millennia of antisemitism throughout the world. Gibson, who has a preexisting penchant for being over the top, made it very clear who the enemies of Jesus were. Jewish high priests in the film have exaggerated features, most noticeably rotted teeth, cracked lips, and cruel looking faces. In reality, the responsibility for Jesus's death lies just as much at the feet of the Romans as it does the Sanhedrin. The difference is that the Romans look nice and pretty in Gibson's film. Interestingly, against the grain of historical knowledge, Gibson portrays Pontius Pilate in a most sympathetic manner. He is the leader of an occupying force in a barbaric land. As the story goes, he finds nothing wrong with Jesus and even tries to save his life by offering to execute Barrabas, a violent murderer, in his stead. The Jewish leaders refuse and Pilate famously washes his hands of Jesus and allows (not orders) his crucifixion.

Yet, the actual history of Jesus's death is far more interesting. Jesus was a Jewish nationalist who spoke against the Roman occupation of Palestine and wanted to return the territory to Jewish home rule. This goal not only entailed protesting against the Romans, but also Jewish leaders in the Sanhedrin who continued to cooperate with the occupation and quell protest. In other words, Jesus had two enemies: the Romans and the Jewish high priests, both of whom would eventually kill him to quiet his insurrection. Throughout his life, Jesus's actions and messages centered around rejecting the legitimacy of Roman rule and the cooperative Jewish authorities who ruled the temple with overbearing rules and taxation. Jesus repeated actions and phrases which rejected both authorities: he "cured" lepers and the unclean and told them to enter the temple in clear violation of the rules; he overturned the tables of monied interests in the temple and set the sacrificial animals, which were to be taxed, out of their pens; he recruited working class fisherman on the coast and paraded into Jerusalem under the shades of palms, proclaiming his own power and rejecting that of the Roman-Sanhedrin complex; finally, he spoke about uprooting the social structure, preaching that the first would be last and the last would be first. Jesus's rejection of the Jewish high priest aristocracy was key to Jewish independence.

In reality, given his reputation for killing a plethora of previous messiahs, Pilate would have been more than happy to crucify Jesus, as he would any other Jewish upstart who created disorder. When the Romans hung the sign on Jesus's cross informing the crowd that he was "King of the Jews," this was not an ironic statement, but a clear charge of the ROMAN law Jesus had violated. He had rejected the established order of the Sanhedrin over the Jewish populace and sought to inspire revolution against the Romans. Pilate did not have to think twice about sentencing Jesus. As a small aside, the reason why Pilate is later exonerated from the responsibility of killing Jesus in the gospels is because those holy works were written at least a century later, during a time when Jews were trying to bury the proverbial hatchet with Roman rule. Blaming Pilate would incite too many Jews against the Romans in a time when peace was needed. In sum, Gibson actually missed a good opportunity to expound on his hatred of occupying powers and clear devotion for tribes fighting for independence.

But the final question is why Gibson thought making a film centering on the graphic suffering and death of Jesus or any human being was worth making. As I said above, the passion narrative has its roots in antisemitism throughout world history. But even more, I think focusing on Jesus's death in gory detail detracts from the entire story of Jesus, which is filled with teachings that say more about the nature of his ministry than his death ever could. Growing up Catholic, I am familiar with the concept that Jesus's death is the primary mechanism by which humanity's sins were forgiven and life everlasting made possible. Nonetheless, Jesus's death and subsequent resurrection were relatively unimportant in the first few decades of the Christian church. Jesus's power came from his message of Jewish nationalism. It was not until later that St. Paul changed the focus of the ministry to be more universal to disparate areas in the Roman Empire. This is the point, later in the game, when the stories of resurrection came into the picture---when the church needed to lift Jesus's status to outsiders. Jesus had been humiliated, crucified, and killed---his story was in desperate need of a plot device to restore his reputation among skeptics. After all, you can't have a messiah if he's dead and in ill repute.

The main point is that Jesus's death and resurrection only has meaning in the shadow of the rest of his life and ministry. It was his message of Jewish collaboration and shared protest against the occupiers and the Sanhedrin that led to his death. All of the sublime statements we remember Jesus saying about love, forgiveness, and social acceptance were said well before his death. Without those teachings and the subsequent writings of the early church, Jesus was just another would-be messiah (and there were hundreds of them) who was killed after he stirred up enough trouble.

"The Passion of the Christ" has some missed opportunities and goes overboard with the violence. Gallons upon gallons of blood are spilled in this film, and the kicks, punches, and torture are delivered liberally. I am not too keen on snuff and torture films---especially when they exist outside a larger story. Yet, it is a strikingly well acted and directed film that deserves some appreciation. In the end, they say the book is always better than the movie. Perhaps a dusting off the bible is in order.



     

Patch Adams

As I watched "Patch Adams," one question kept recurring in my head: Would anyone really want this ridiculous clown to be his or her doctor? The problem with this film is that it creates a caricature of the real Hunter Adams, who is, in reality, much more levelheaded. As any comedy starring Robin Williams, "Patch Adams" unfolds as yet another vehicle for him to be manic on camera.

One of the most glaring annoyances is the origin story of Hunter Adams. After feeling depressed and suicidal, Adams voluntarily checked into a psychiatric hospital. After helping a schizophrenic roommate overcome his debilitating fear of squirrels, Adams inexplicably decides that he wants to be a physician so he could "connect with" and "help" his fellow human beings. The problem is that his assertions are so general and vague that it has no causality to pursuing medicine. There are plenty of ways one could connect with and help others; being a doctor is only one option. 

The film never delves into, nor does it care, about why Adams choose to be a doctor when he is perfectly suited to be a motivational speaker, a therapist, or even a clown. Throughout the film, Adams NEVER uses science or medicine to assist anyone. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but if Adams wanted to lift people's spirits with rubber noses, pools of fettuccine, or balloon animals,  he could have done so without going to medical school for six years and incurring a copious amount of debt. Again, Adams does not use any medical device or knowledge in the film. As a medical student, I can safely say that doctors use science, not stand up comedy, to cure patients of serious ailments. 

Perhaps the most telling storyline of "Patch Adams" is when his pseudo girlfriend is killed by a deranged patient who she was trying to help at the behest of Adams and his philosophy. While the story seems to demonstrate that there is a limit to the inherent goodness of human beings, I read it a bit differently. In my view, it encapsulates the larger problem of the film and its view of medicine: when you are put in a position of great responsibility and you act like a clown in the face of respected medicine, you can kill people. So, in closing, when choosing a physician, don't pick the guy wearing a clown nose; pick the one wearing a battle ready stethoscope and current articles in his or her pockets.          

Tusk

One stormy night, several years ago, Kevin Smith smoked some marijuana and pondered if he could make a gross-out film in the vein of "The Human Centipede," but with better results. His toiling produced "Tusk," a film that will certainly polarize audiences based on their limits for handling disgusting, even disturbing sights. Despite the fact that I have little use for gory shock cinema, I think Smith succeeded in balancing the disturbing with the oddly amusing.

The story of "Tusk" is odd to say the least, and it will serve you better if I speak in generalities so as to preserve the surprises. Suffice to say, "Tusk" is about a young man, played by Justin Long, who finds himself in the house of psychopath who has an obsession with walruses. One of the ways in which Smith succeeds is that he gives his disturbing character an interesting backstory, one that only an inspired auteur could construct. We see the history and depth of psychosis inherent to the character known as "Howard How." Smith not only wants to gross us out; he wants us to be mesmerized by a good story. Howard How is not the one dimensional Nazi surgeon in "The Human Centipede." He does not seek to maim and torture for no reason. On the contrary, Howard How is motivated by loneliness and isolation, two intertwined traits that were the result of inner and outer torture in his past.  

One of the other reasons why "Tusk" succeeds is the casting. Normally, I loathe Justin Long and his rubber-faced shallowness, but his annoying persona is perfect for the character, who, let's say, gets what he deserves. Smith is smart enough to manipulate the audience into disliking the main character, which makes his series of unfortunate events easier to bear. The movie also stars a nearly unrecognizable Haley Joel Osment (of Sixth Sense fame), who has gained an equal amount of weight to what he lost in childhood adorableness. He is so plump, in fact, that he is able to play a character who looks and talks like the rotund Smith, himself. Finally, my favorite character was an Inspector Closeau inspired French speaking policeman played by Johnny Depp. Upon Depp's introduction, the movie takes a slight turn into more comedy than horror. Depp is perfect for this role, as he relishes in the ridiculousness, even comedic uselessness of the character.

As always, Smith has a knack for words, and in many ways, "Tusk" matches his previous successes with "Clerks" and "Dogma." In particular, Smith writes beautifully for the wannabe aristocrat/intellectual who teeters on insanity. The smart, snappy dialogue acts in interesting contrast against the poor skills of Justin Long and the gross subject matter. To be sure, my favorite part of Smith's movies is his writing.

So, here's the issue. I cannot in good conscience recommend this movie for a general audience. It will sicken most people. But for those curious few who intrigued by this type of horror film; and for those Smith fans out there, "Tusk" is a must see. More than anything, "Tusk" proves than even the most ludicrous premise can yield interesting results in hands of a gifted filmmaker.