Being John Malkovich Review
by "Mac VerStandig" (critic AT moviereviews DOT org)November 17th, 1999
Being John Malkovich
3 and 1/2 Stars
Reviewed by Mac VerStandig
[email protected]
http://www.moviereviews.org
All Hallows Eve, 1999
Being John Malkovich is an original film of genius. Many may have problems comprehending the movie's complex, multi-layered plot and its box office will consequently look to be no better than mid-range. However, a video shelf life prolonged by second viewings should make this film a cult- if not a mainstream- classic.
Craig Schwartz (John Cusack) is a 30-something year old puppeteer who seems to be wasting his life away, waiting to someday find a job in the marionette business. Craig's wife, Lotte (Cameron Diaz), is a pet-freak who goes so far as to take her chimpanzee to a psychiatrist. They live in an apartment in the only city that could possible tolerate, not to mention accept, them: The Big Apple.
Craig finally comes across a job where he can use his hands and fingers, a filing assistant, and is quickly hired. His office space may be the only thing more bazaar than his animal-infested apartment; it is on the 7 BD floor (which requires a crow bar and the emergency alarm on an = elevator to access and has ceilings that appear to be about four feet high), the secretary has a hearing impediment similar to one of Gilda Radner's old Saturday Night Live characters and his boss is a 105-year-old man who openly shares of his necessity to urinate in a sitting position and desires to have sex with the aforementioned secretary. Yet the oddest feature of his new office is a tiny door behind a filling cabinet. The door is a portal into John Malkovich's head. When you enter this portal you are sucked into Malkovich, seeing through his eyes and partially controlling him. Then, after 15 minutes, you are spit out onto the New Jersey Turnpike. Once Craig discovers this hidden door, the possibilities become infinite.
Andy Warhol once suggested that everyone would have 15 minutes of fame. In this movie, everyone has at least 15 minutes of Malkovich. This seems to hit on one of society's more voyeuristic obsessions: knowing others' every movie. For Craig being Malkovich is an opportunity to be a sexually attractive man with name recognition. For Lotte it is an opportunity to have sex with other women. (She is so inspired the she even decides at one point to "85talk to Dr. Feldman about sexual = re-assignment surgery.") But when Malkovich gets inside of Malkovich it is a horrifying experience that is hilarious to watch. (It would be ruining one of the film's great moments to say any more.)
John Malkovich is, obviously, key to this film. He deserves credit for taking the role as himself despite the film's critical plot device of him having name recognition but relatively little role recognition. Should this production become the cult classic that it likely will, Malkovich may discover that he has accidentally gone from one extreme to another. He portrays a dramatic character in his next film, The Messenger, and may find that people have difficulty taking him seriously since he spoofs himself in this movie. (Well timed Halloween masks of his face were included in the press kits, a fine example of the level of lampooning in this film.)
Rod Sterling became so well respected because he fully explored the Twilight Zone, an interesting place that could have been left only half covered. Unfortunately, this movie falls short of doing that. At the beginning, after Craig has discovered the portal and used it for the first time, he contemplates the great philosophical questions that arise. For example, he had a piece of wood in his hand when he entered Malkovich. When Craig fell on the New Jersey Turnpike, it was gone. So, what happened to the wood? The movie could have been even more engaging had it explored these options but the film dodged them altogether, thus falling short of its potential. Although this is a real pity, you must remember that this flaw only exists because great films like this are held to a higher standard.
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