 Bartleby (2002) Glover, who brings a weird beyond-indie vibe to everything he's in, was surely drawn to the ambiguity and absolute singularity of Bartleby … but unfortunately, the only good idea in the film is Melville's. Everything that director Jonathan Parker brings to the table is ham-fisted horseshit. My principal complaint is that people stuck in pointless, soul-killing cubicle jobs need to stop making movies about it. If you can't out-do Office Space, please, don't fucking bother. Because you know what? You have no insights that anyone else with those jobs hasn't already come up with on a daily basis. The film takes Melville's tale and puts it in a contemporary public-records office, setting the stage for every generic "office job" snipe you would expect. About five minutes in, I began to be reminded of Haiku Tunnel, a movie so thoroughly miserable that I didn't even dignify it with a review. Much to my surprise, later in the film, the star of Haiku Tunnel (desperately unfunny and pathologically self-serving fuckwit Josh Kornbluth) shows up in a tiny role – perhaps thirty seconds of screen time, but enough for me to write the movie off entirely. Although I'd already done that by then. The director's seeping wrongheadedness pervades everything about Bartleby. The office is given a deliberately showy color scheme, which is visually engaging but utterly wrong for the story. The characters are all "quirky"—perhaps my biggest pet peeve about comedic screenplays. The staging is amateurish and comes off like a pilot for a justifiably unsold sitcom. The soundtrack hinges on the use of a theremin, almost to the degree that you can feel the filmmakers pulsating with pride at their "hipness." "Hear that? Did you hear it? We have a theremin! We're COOL!" Well guess what, theremins stopped being cool in like 1958. I don't know what's worse anymore, hipsters or almost-hipsters. The cast is led by David Paymer (great actor, sure, but leading man?) and supported by the anti-hilarious Maury Chaykin, a surprisingly solid Joe Piscopo, and the great, but sadly unnecessary Glenne Headley. Piscopo, as a one-dimensional womanizer, actually got most of my sympathy throughout the film simply because his hostility was a vent for my own. Glover is good, bringing a depth of sadness to the role that is about the film's only saving grace. But I wouldn't even say this is a must-see for Crispin Glover fans, because it just sucks. Too bad, too. I was excited to see this film, and walked away like someone had just farted in my face for the better part of 90 minutes. "I would prefer not to" have Jonathan Parker be allowed to make any more movies. He fucked this one up but good.
Review by Emily Ann Ivory |