Gerry Review
by Jon Popick (jpopick AT sick-boy DOT com)February 26th, 2003
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The last time Gus Van Sant directed a Damon-Affleck script, the film (Good Will Hunting) hit Oscar gold. The Gusmeister is back behind the camera for another Damon-Affleck project, but the odds of Gerry finding the same kind of success seems robustly unlikely. Gerry is a very different picture - it's completely improvised, and it's full of the kind of long (and I mean long) static shots that will make kids weaned on MTV reach for a non-existent remote control out of frustration. The best way I can explain the premise is to compare the film to that "Pines Barren" episode of The Sopranos that most of the public despised; you know, the one where Paulie and Chris get lost in the woods.
If that description isn't enough to scare you off, consider this: The Affleck in question is Casey, not Bennifer. You say you don't care, so long as Gerry features the same snappy dialogue Hunting did? Good luck, partner. The wordplay is so sparse, the script could have been written on a bar napkin (if they bothered writing one, that is). Think it'll be okay if the action is decent? That's another swing and a miss. The highlight here is a scene that shows the sun setting. Like from daylight to darkness. In real time.
It's almost like Van Sant (Finding Forrester) was trying to pretend he was Kiarostami trying to do Beckett or Buñuel, only with big American actors. He plops Ocean's Eleven stars Damon and Affleck (in addition to co-writing with Van Sant, all three also have an editing credit) on the outskirts of the desert, in search of a maguffin we only know as "the thing." Unwisely, the duo decide to avoid the beaten path of a wilderness trail in an attempt to stay away from tourists, even though we see nobody else in the film until the very end. They get lost and, eventually, choose to "fuck the thing" and turn back. But they get even more lost. They're wearing black shirts and have no hats, backpacks or supplies. Oh, and they both call each other "Gerry," in addition to using the word as a derogatory verb. Kind of like when you're at a restaurant and the waiter drops a tray of glasses and you refer to him as a Gannon.
Never looking as concerned as they should, at least until it's way too late, the two Gerrys freeze at night and ultimately become dehydrated and...well, completely mad. It all looks frighteningly authentic as captured by Van Sant's usual cinematographer Harris Savides, who immortalizes a lifetime of postcard-worthy desert images (Gerry was filmed in Argentina, Death Valley and parts of Utah). As far as action, dialogue and comedy go, the highlight is a scene where one Gerry finds himself trapped on a very high rock with no way to get down (there's no explanation of how he got up there), while the other Gerry attempts to make a "dirt mattress" to cushion his pal's fall. There's also talk about conquering Thebes. In other words, this ain't your typical movie.
More so than Solaris, or even Dancer in the Dark, Gerry might be the most polarizing film to hit theatres in a long time. It has already scooped up a pair of Independent Spirit Awards (for Van Sant and Savides), as well as a special citation at the Toronto International Film Festival, where people fled my press/industry screening in droves unseen since the Kevin Smith-produced Vulgar. To me, it seems like Van Sant's attempt at a palette cleanser following Psycho gluttony. What I do know is that Gerry is dividing audiences into two camps: Those who insist the film is pure allegorical mastery, and those who think it's a big pile of self-indulgent bullshit. I guess you can chalk me up a bit closer to the former than the latter. I do know this: I'd rather watch Gerry a dozen times before I'd even think about sitting through Gods & Generals again.
1:43 - R for language
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