200 Cigarettes Review
by Alex Fung (aw220 AT FreeNet DOT Carleton DOT CA)March 12th, 1999
200 CIGARETTES (Paramount - 1999)
Cast: Ben Affleck, Casey Affleck, David Chappelle, Guillermo Diaz, Angela Featherstone, Janeane Garofalo, Gaby Hoffmann,
Kate Hudson, Catherine Kellner, Courtney Love, Brian McCardie, Jay Mohr, Nicole Parker, Martha Plimpton, Christina Ricci, Paul Rudd
Screenplay by Shana Larsen
Produced by Betsy Beers, David Gale and Van Toffler
Directed by Risa Bramon Garcia
Running time: 101 minutes
Note: Some may consider portions of the following text to be spoilers. Be forewarned.
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Industry cynics and detractors of the recent groundbreaking agreement between Columbia and top WGA screenwriters need only consider Risa Bramon Garcia's feature film debut 200 CIGARETTES to be persuaded of the necessity of a good script. Shana Larsen's tepid, exasperating screenplay is so consistently witless that even the gifted ensemble cast on display here is largely helpless to salvage much of
consequence from this mess.
In this case, it's a remarkable assemblage of thesps: the list of players reads like a roll-call of some of Hollywood's most promising and appealing young actors. Among them include Martha Plimpton, a consistently underappreciated talent; Janeane Garofalo, who
invariably can be counted upon to walk in and steal the scene in everything she does; Paul Rudd, such an affable presence in CLUELESS (and who survived the lame THE OBJECT OF MY AFFECTION); Courtney Love, whose beguiling turn in THE PEOPLE VS. LARRY FLYNT was a revelation; Christina Ricci, now clearly among the top actors of her generation; and both Affleck brothers (Casey provided particularly strong support in TO DIE FOR). These are performers whose mere presence in a film would merit minor interest -- package them all into one movie, and my curiosity is piqued.
Crushingly, the cast is wasted in a tawdry collection of would-be comic pratfalls, paired off in meandering threads to preen and screech and volley lousy dialogue back and forth. The whiny
characters are so thoroughly and relentlessly obnoxious (save for Kate Hudson's poised, prim young lady, who naturally become the butt of the picture's running gag and gets to spend half the movie wandering through scenes with dog excrement liberally smeared on her jacket -- yes, this is indicative of the film's level of humour) that none of the subplots are remotely engaging. The rambling multiple storylines weave and ultimately intersect during the
seemingly-interminable running time, but I'd hesitate to describe the overly-cluttered 200 CIGARETTES as Altmanesque: here's a film where the destination is not only inevitable, but it's no fun getting there, either.
Set in New York City's East Village on New Year's Eve, 1981, the theme of the film is, of course, love -- or at least its distant cousin, sex. On their way to a party, in rapid succession we regretfully meet our dozen-odd characters: longtime pals Kevin (Mr. Rudd) and Lucy (Ms. Love), who may or may not take their friendship to the next level; neurotic party host Monica (Ms. Plimpton) and ex-flame Eric (Brian McCardle), who analyse their failed
relationship in pseudo-comic fashion; Val (Ms. Ricci) and Stephie (Gaby Hoffman), who (in the movie's most ineffectual subplot) teeter around in high heels and constantly squabble with ridiculously unauthentic accents while in frantic search of the festivities; Bridget (Nicole Parker) and Caitlyn (Angela Featherstone), scrambling to find some male companionship of the one-night stand ilk before the stroke of midnight, and so on. Ambling through the threads is Disco Cabbie (Dave Chapelle), suavely doling out sagelike advice like a Venus Flytrap on wheels.
Although the ostensible destination is Monica's year-end bash, amidst the overbroad slapstick it remains clear that the plot-thin picture's interest lies with the humour-tinged dissection of the convoluted nature of relationships amongst the self-absorbed twentysomething crowd depicted here: in this respect, it's a bit like a Kevin Smith script -- albeit without clever dialogue, wryly astute observation, endearing characters and Star Wars references, which doesn't leave it with very much. Love can be funny, in all sense of the word, but with these repugnant characters run through such startlingly unfunny scenarios, it's all too easy to not give a hoot about their romantic fates.
The only thing this excruciating picture has going for it is its retro soundtrack, chock-ladened with pop hits of the era -- some 49 in total -- which run throughout the entire film to evoke the period (although the gaudy costume work is more than enough to consequently negate this). Befitting a casting director in her helming debut, Ms. Garcia has filled the picture with much talent -- I have to assume that the cast was largely drawn to this venture because of her relative clout (casting credits include such big-budget Hollywood spectacles as TWISTER, THE PEACEMAKER, SPEED 2, and HARD RAIN) -- only to maddeningly see it go to waste. For the most part, the cast are real troupers and dutifully wade through this morass of tripe (Ms. Garofalo arguably comes off the best, although Ben Affleck goes through the picture with a vaguely pained expression with which I could empathise), but are understandably unable to surmount the level of this material. A superior showcase for Kate Hudson, Casey Affleck and Christina Ricci would be the upcoming Morgan J. Freeman film DESERT BLUE -- but then again, this isn't too difficult of a feat.
[ * (out of four stars) | Alternate Rating: D- ]
- Alex Fung, February 27, 1999
email: [email protected]
web : http://www.ncf.carleton.ca/~aw220/
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Alex Fung ([email protected]) | http://www.ncf.carleton.ca/~aw220/ "X-FILES fans come up to me in malls expecting me to be able to fill them in on the whole conspiracy. Half the time I have no idea what they're talking about." - Martin Landau
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