reVIEW (12)
PAPARAZZI

This review (a slightly altered version of the review entitled “Reality Through A Cracked Lens”) is being resurrected for no other reason than what I feel is my civic duty to warn the innocent of particularly bad movies they should stay away from…

After the harrowing The Passion of the Christ (and before the harrowing double-whammy of the run-in with the law and the overblown chase film that was Apocalypto), Mel Gibson returned to the secular world as one of the producers of Paul Abascal‘s Paparazzi, a revenge fantasy for those weighted down by the terrible burden of popularity.

Bo Laramie (Cole Hauser) is the up-and-coming star of Adrenaline Force, whose sequel is even now being filmed. But Laramie and his family quickly become the targets of a gang of paparazzi led by Tom Sizemore, who make the star’s life a living hell of popping flashbulbs and covertly-taken pictures. This harassment culminates in a car accident which injures Laramie’s wife (Robin Tunney), and puts his son in a coma. Unable to convince the police that the paparazzi caused the accident in the first place, fate conspires to put Laramie in a position to pass judgment over one of the guilty party. And thus begins his vendetta to punish those who have done harm to his family, while a detective, played by Dennis Farina, begins to grow suspicious of the action star.

Now, the inherent problem of the revenge fantasy as entertainment is the brand of morality it presents to the audience, given that these are films where individuals take matters into their own hands, and a body count is racked up, in the name of justice.
Laramie goes off the deep end and engages the sleazy paparazzi in a dangerous war to exact revenge. Okay. He does it since his family was hurt. We know this sort of thing happens.
The problem presents itself when there is no apparent consequence for the actions Laramie takes. There doesn’t even seem to be any psychological toll on him, for actions that include, among other things, premeditated murder. It seems to be just another script he’s acting out. Just another role he’s taken on: the alpha male defending his brood from predators.

And the paparazzi here seem like nothing more than a pack of ravening wolves, salivating for that next compromising photo, systematically destroying lives and reputations by distorting the truth to sell tabloids. Now, though it is possible that every single paparazzi in the world is irredeemable scum, it’s also entirely possible that they’re not. But as it is, in the film, it’s pretty black and white. These “photo journalists” are bad, and show no remorse whatsoever for the reprehensible acts they take to make a buck. So, in that sense, the film is definitely slanted. In that sense, there could possibly be a distortion of truth here as well; perhaps not on the level of the tabloids making up stories from thin air and suggestive photos, but a distortion nonetheless.
And though of course, granted this is a work of fiction, we must acknowledge that on a certain level, the revenge fantasy is a vicarious thrill for the audience. Every goon punched, every murderer shot, is a surrogate for every boss/employee/co-worker/random stranger we’ve ever had the irrational urge to hurt and maim. The revenge fantasy is exactly that: a fantasy that allows us to enact bloody, Technicolor surround sound rampages of righteous fury, while enabling us to go home with our hands and consciences spotless.

But when a revenge fantasy is presented to us as a real world scenario, as opposed to the hyperreal falsity of a Kill Bill, I feel there should be a responsibility to portray the consequences of the action on-screen. If the ostensible “good guy” is allowed to take the law into his own hands, and then allowed to get away with it without any scars, what does that say to us, the audience?
And don’t get me wrong. I’d hate to play the Morality Police. I just try to take any film on the ground upon which it stands. This is no hyperreal, ultraviolent tale that is so over the top, no one could ever mistake it for “reality.” Paparazzi is the story of a man, a husband and a father, pushed too far, who acts outside of the laws of man and God, to redress the wrongs done to him and his family.
What is doubly odd for me is the fact that Mel Gibson produced the film. For someone who faced so much furor over The Passion of the Christ because of his faith to back a film with a script such as this strikes me as strange.

But let’s leave that tack for awhile. Barring any sort of morality or message, the storytelling itself is just plain faulty. Laramie doesn’t get away because he’s particularly smart or has thought his way ten steps ahead of the paparazzi and the police; it just turns out that way. And quite suddenly, whatever suspicions the detective may have had just conveniently evaporate for no apparent reason. Plus, the cameos of certain Hollywood personalities are so gratuitous, they’re irritating. And I won’t even touch the Lady Di parallels.

Ultimately, Paparazzi is the worst sort of film to me: the kind that doesn’t seem to have consequences, where characters are allowed to act without any repercussions; the kind of film that seems to mirror not reality, but rather the false portrait of it Hollywood seems to favor. A world where we all have the impunity to do whatever we want, because in the end, just before the credits roll, everyone’s happy and smiling, safe and content in the knowledge that they have done right by acting in their own self-interest.
This is the world as seen through the lens of Paparazzi. I don’t know about you, but that’s not the world I choose to live in.

(Paparazzi OS courtesy of impawards.com.)

MASTERS OF HORROR
Season 2 Episode 9

“Right To Die”
Written by John Esposito; directed by Rob Schmidt

Clifford Addison (Martin Donovan) is a dentist who’s just been caught cheating on his wife Abbey (Julia Anderson). The troubled couple are driving up to their cabin to try and work things out when they get into an accident, which leaves Abbey in an unresponsive coma, and horrendous third-degree burns over her entire body.
Initially filing for a Do Not Resuscitate Order, Cliff doesn’t anticipate Abbey’s vindictiveness, as she begins to manifest as a charred, skinless grotesque—looking a lot like the skinned Julia from Hellraiser II—every time she flatlines. To Cliff’s cold horror, he realizes he can’t let Abbey die, or she may come back as a ghost and just end up killing him (or worse).

In the second suggestively-titled entry of the season (after John Carpenter’s “Pro-Life”), Rob Schmidt’s “Right To Die” plays like one of those E.C. horror comic stories where the cheating spouse gets into a whole lotta trouble at the hands of their vengeful partner.
This one though, isn’t nearly as entertaining as some of those classics.

Not only is the idea tired and familiar, but the introduction of Cliff’s lover, Trish (Robin Sydney), turns things vaguely ludicrous. The woman is so annoyingly transparent (she actually called Cliff a “mercy f*ck”), one wonders what Cliff saw in her in the first place. Was married life with Abbey so terrible that he not only risked everything for a tumble with Trish, but resorted to the things he does at the top of the story?
And that’s the other, major crime of this episode.

Narrative omission can be a tricky thing, and if bungled, merely leaves the audience feeling tricked and cheated, which is exactly what happens here. There seems to be no good reason for the episode’s opening to be edited the way it is, just so we don’t get to see the whole truth.
After all, it’s not like the opening sequence was being narrated by someone, who could pick and choose what and what not to tell—and show—the audience. From start to finish, the episode’s narrative is third person omniscient. So why don’t we get to see the entire truth from the get-go? (And shouldn’t we have learned about Abbey’s condition at the hospital?)
It’s an annoying narrative choice that sounds the death knell on this episode.

Granted, Schmidt is responsible for the “nothing really new in here” horror in Wrong Turn, and screenwriter Esposito penned the forgettable adaptation of Stephen King’s Graveyard Shift, so I really don’t expect much from either of them. (And how exactly did they rate as “Masters of Horror”?)
You’d think though that Martin Donovan—who’s come out in some excellent indie fare like The Opposite of Sex and Saved!, as well as Christopher Nolan’s remake of Insomnia—would have known better.
Not only is the episode itself sub-par, but he’s asked to play an entirely unsympathetic character who is not only ruled by his libido, but is stupid enough to have saved an incriminating video on his cell phone. And the excuse he spouts to Abbey is so lame, it’s laughable.
Oddly though, it’s almost as if Donovan was having some secret fun with this role, as if he was playing it as the blackest of black comedies.
Arguably, that could be some kind of saving grace, though it doesn’t change the whole “why didn’t you tell us the whole story up front?” issue, which then leaves us back at Square One: this wasn’t a very good episode.

Parting shot: Pixies die-hards may want to know that Joey Santiago did the score for this episode. (Though it really isn’t one to write home about. Sorry, Joey. Loved your work on Undeclared, though. And Robin Tunney shaving her head to “Free” is still one of the best scenes in Empire Records.)

(Right To Die DVD cover art courtesy of anchorbayentertainment.com.)