8mm Review
by Michael Redman (redman AT indepen DOT com)March 4th, 1999
8mm takes "noir" literally
8mm
A Film Review By Michael Redman
Copyright 1999 By Michael Redman
*** (Out of ****)
People do weird stuff. This is one of the few indisputable facts about
human beings.
Your electrician builds altars to small furry woodland animals. Your son's
teacher dresses in an outlandish costume and screams with a frantic rock and
roll band. Your waiter is preparing for the end of civilization. No matter
where you are, some of your neighbors are involved in practices most people
would consider bizarre if they only knew about them.
And so, probably, are you.
Most of these are harmless. Some are even beneficial. But then, there's that
rich industrialist on the other side of town who's making snuff films.
Private investigator Tom Welles (Nicolas Cage) runs into that situation when a
wealthy just-widowed woman hires him. She's found a reel of film in her
husband's secret safe that seemingly depicts the actual killing of a young
girl. She wants to know if it's real and what it's doing there.
This begins Tom's journey into the seamy world of hard-core fetish porn. He
hires Max California (Joaquin Phoenix), an adult bookstore clerk who reads
Norman Mailer hidden behind an X-rated novel, as a guide through the strange land.
Snuff films are the urban legend of pornography. Extreme S&M movies, they end
with the authentic death of one of the participants. Rumored to exist for
decades, not a single genuine example has ever been found. The one Tom is
investigating appears to be the real McCoy.
Each stop on the tour of the grotesque takes him one step closer to the
producers of the depravity. And one step closer to total obsession with
avenging the girl he's never met. Even after learning of the extreme danger
he's in, he can't give up the case.
Director Joel Schumacher takes the term "noir" literally. Not only is this a
very gloomy story, it's an extremely dark screen. The predominate color in
every scene is black. At times the dimly lighted film resembles the garish
grainy film stock of its title.
Although his life with his wife and infant daughter presumably illustrate
Tom's "normal" side, you wouldn't be surprised to find Hannibal Lecter behind
the bedroom door. Like the rest of the film, even Tom calmly raking leaves in
his front yard feels creepy.
His supposedly loving relationship with his wife is an odd one. He limps in
bleeding from a head wound, having narrowly escaped being murdered, and her
first reaction is "How can you treat me like this?" If his home life is Tom's
reason to live, it's no wonder he spends most of his time at work.
The highly stylized episodes searching for the killers fare better. When Tom
and Max voyage into the underground basement flea market of vendors selling
"Way beyond XXX" wares, the scenes could have come from Fellini's "Satyricon".
There's so much going on that it's difficult to take it all in.
When the investigator finally tracks down the director of the film in a
decrepit warehouse, the images are some of the most disturbing since "Blue
Velvet". This is not a "feel-good" movie. It may even define the tiny genre of "anti-date film".
As well-crafted as the visuals are, the film has some problems. Tom's
character isn't very defined and some of his actions seem out of place. For
some reason, there are two different times where the suspense depends upon him
straining to get to a gun out of reach.
Cage is well-casted as the placid detective with obsession just below the
surface. He has a reputation for playing offbeat characters and can add Tom to
the list. It's certainly not one of his more recent action hero roles.
Phoenix adds a needed comedic touch to a film that otherwise might have
drowned in its own bleakness. James Gandolfini and Peter Stormare are
stand-outs as the vile but fascinating smut producers. Watching them is like
driving by the proverbial car wreck.
I don't think I'll ever want to see this film again. It's an ugly depressing
movie that makes you feel like taking a long shower to wash off the scum. It
is worth a viewing if you want to deal with it. Sometimes art isn't pretty.
(Michael Redman has written this column for two and three-tenths decades. He
took two showers and slept with the light on. Email your secret activities to [email protected].)
[This appeared in the 3/4/99 "Bloomington Independent, Bloomington, Indiana.
Michael Redman can be contacted at [email protected]]
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