Hurlyburly (1998)
Directed by George Miller
Written by David Rabe

That should tell you something right there: if it was a smash-hit play in the 80s it cannot possibly be worthwhile in the shiny new 2000s. OK, so I'm overstating the case, but only to drive home the fact that Hurlyburly is a complete waste of time and energy on everyone's part and a dripping gob of spit in the audience's collective eye.

A big name cast consisting of Sean Penn, Kevin Spacey, Chazz Palminteri, Robin Wright-Penn, Gary Shandling, Anna Paquin, and Meg Ryan, weighs down a script that, with less somber performances, might be entertaining or even funny. Alas and alack, everyone takes themselves way to seriously here, with little humor or humanity in sight. Penn offers a few fleeting moments of vulnerability which play like a fresh summer breeze in the county morgue, while Palminteri probably gives the best performance – but since everything is so overwritten and over-indicated it was hard for me to decide whether I liked him or wanted him to plunge off a cliff. I pretty much wanted everyone in this film to die, if only to get them to shut their filthy yaps.

Basically, Sean Penn likes this chick (Robin Wright-Penn, Penn's wife), but in a moment of abandon agreed to let his best friend and roommate Kevin Spacey sleep with her, since they had only just met. Now Penn is pissed that they went through with it because he really likes her, and knows that Spacey doesn't like her but just wanted a good tumble.

Palminteri slinks around the house as a moody fringe character actor trying to patch up his always-screwed-up marriage while hoping for "the big break" (which should be a familiar enough situation for Chazzie). Anna Paquin plays a homeless waif whom Gary Shandling brings over as a present, and Meg Ryan plays a performance artist who will "do" anyone.

All this is just a reason to give a bunch of otherwise decent actors "free reign." This "free reign" is what all actors talk about, especially in conjunction with directors like Robert Altman, Woody Allen, and Martin Scorsese. Anthony Drazen, however, is not anywhere near their league (he's not even allowed to sell peanuts in the metaphorical ballpark of film), and gives his actors enough rope to hang themselves, resulting in a completely insufferable film.

Let me give you an example of a typical scene. Open with Sean Penn snorting coke, looking haggard, muttering to the television. Kevin Spacey enters and looks bemused and annoyed and the two get into an argument about oranges or something. Then Chazz comes in on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Then Paquin appears and someone has sex with her. Then Shandling appears, pretending to be cool, and snorts some coke and laughs.

Then Meg Ryan appears and pretends to be drunk. Then everyone gets in a big long argument, but all they're doing is yelling at each other about the problems they're having and why won't anyone listen to them. Then Chazz storms off and you think he might do something stupid or violent. Then Spacey storms off and goes to a nightclub or trendy bar with Shandling. Then Paquin hitches a ride with a trucker and disappears. Then Meg Ryan is thrown out of a moving car. Then Penn is left alone, muttering at the television, and calls Spacey on his cell phone.

Fade out. Fade in. Two years have passed for no apparent reason. Repeat previous scene, with Robin Wright-Penn popping in to make Penn even more frantic and annoying than before. Now try sitting through this nonsense for 122 minutes.

My guess is that Rabe was trying to make a statement about how disconnected "our modern lives" are, but whether it's his own fault, or the director's, or the actors', the film succeeds only in disconnecting me from caring, and making me realize how little I have in common with these losers. Audience reaction was mixed, with some folks walking out during the film while others laughed and applauded, and I suppose when this is finally released the critics will be equally divided. I sat there in utter frustration after a fairly promising start, hoping someone would finally break down and say something of substance. It was not to be.

Penn is fine, as usual – he always gives it his all. Spacey is his aloof self, putting in no more effort than is necessary to hit a mark and say a line. Shandling is inexplicably cast, and not very good. Palminteri is OK, as noted above, while Meg Ryan huffs and puffs to climb the hill of good acting (she's like Avis, she tries harder, and you gotta give her marks for effort).

Wright-Penn, however, is one of my least favorite actors, chiming in one notch above Helen Hunt. I have yet to see a performance of hers that I enjoy in the slightest – her approach is all facial spasms and whining – and I didn't even like her as Princess Buttercup in The Princess Bride (all things considered, a highly overrated and over-watched film that has not aged well, with the exception of Wallace Shawn's consistent brilliance).

Another somewhat related aspect I feel compelled to mention is the teaming up of Sean Penn with his wife. Look, I endured She's So Lovely and I endured this, but I am simply not going to see another film with both Penns in leading roles. They are not Hepburn and Tracey, they are not Hanks and Ryan, they are not even Fred and Arnold Ziffel. They have no chemistry together and zero appeal, and they should not EVER make another film together. I mean it this time.

The film has a very clubby, inside-Hollywood kind of feel to it, but not in an interesting, The Player kind of way. It instead feels forced and self-conscious, and most of the in-jokes freeze on exposure to the audience – and this in a theater filled with members of the Screen Actors Guild. All of which is a long-winded way of saying, don't bother.

Loud Bassoon rating scale

Review by Crimedog