Hollywood Homicide Review
by Jonathan F. Richards (moviecritic AT prodigy DOT net)June 18th, 2003
IN THE DARK/Jonathan Richards
HOLLYWOOD HOMICIDE
Directed by Ron Shelton
Rated PG-13, 11 minutes
First the good news: "Hollywood Homicide" is about as much fun as a summer movie has any right to be. It's a lampoon of cop-buddy movies and police procedurals and Los Angeles real estate and New Age mumbo-jumbo and the music biz and probably a few dozen other things. Harrison Ford hasn't had this good a time making a movie since his Star Wars/Indiana Jones days, and that's a lot of long faces under the bridge. He's teamed with young hunk Josh Hartnett, who also gets to lighten up after "Pearl Harbor" and "Black Hawk Down". For Harrison's love interest, there's the gorgeous Lena Olin as a radio psychic, which is as good news as you could ask for, and Lolita Davidovich adds more beauty as a limousine Hollywood madam. There's an assortment of bad guys for every taste, and a smorgasbord of cameos that range from Motown rockers Gladys Knight and Smokey Robinson to rappers Kurupt, Dré, and Master P, with drop-by appearances from such as Eric Idle, Lou Diamond Philips, Frank Sinatra Jr., and Old Reliable, Robert Wagner, and a more extended bit of work from Martin Landau. There's a witty, knowing froth of a screenplay by ex-cop Robert Souza and director Ron Shelton that feels as if it was whipped in a blender on the hysterical setting, and Shelton's direction keeps the proceedings moving with the same unflagging good humor he's shown in movies like "Bull Durham" and "Tin Cup". Shelton's best results have come in sports movies, and this one makes pretty good sport of the cop-buddy genre.
Now the bad news: this movie is getting killed by the critics. "Lackluster", "humiliating", "alarmingly unfunny", and "a snail-paced bore" are some of the poisoned arrows shot from the quivers of America's Finest. And I swear I don't know what movie they saw.
Joe Gavilan (Ford) is a Hollywood homicide cop with enough ex-wives to form a church and enough alimony payments to finance one. He tries to make ends meet by moonlighting as a realtor. His partner is K.C. Calden (Hartnett), who does his moonlighting as a yoga instructor, but really wants to give it all up and become an actor ("It's my bliss...I have to follow my bliss.")
When a hip-hop club erupts in a firestorm of gunfire that leaves the bodies of four rappers strewn about the premises, Joe and K.C. head up an investigation that leads to a record company, presided over by smooth-as-silk Antoine Sartain (Isaiah Washington). There's also a bad cop, an Internal Affairs investigator named Macko (Bruce Greenwood) who is trying to rig corruption charges against Joe, and a bad ex-cop (Dwight Yoakum) who may have done in K.C.'s father, once his partner and now a dead cop.
But sorting through the plot lines of this movie is not the point, except insofar as the plots are send-ups of the cop genre. This movie is about its dialogue, its characters, its ideas, and its energy. It's a jigsaw puzzle with a sense of humor. K.C. is working on his Stanley Kowalski for a showcase production of "A Streetcar Named Desire" (Joe, running lines with him, says "Who writes this stuff?"). Joe spends most of his time on his cell phone trying to swing real estate deals - when the owner of the hip-hop club mentions that he's house-hunting, it's like throwing catnip in the lion's cage.
The last part of the movie is an extended chase sequence that features helicopters, elevators, cars, bicycles, lots of running and jumping from one building to another, and even Ford sliding down a banister on the seat of his pants. There are some miscalculated moments in this long section, a few jokes pushed maybe one stop too far, and a body falling from a rooftop that seems to violate the rules of engagement that a comedy ought to respect. Aside from that, my only real gripe is the old pet peeve about the guy getting out of the bed where he's been making passionate love and we discover he's still wearing his boxers.
But Ford and Hartnett have an easy chemistry, and Shelton gives them free rein to enjoy themselves with the jokes. Ford rediscovers Han Solo, the wisecracking adventurer from a quarter-century ago with a lopsided grin and an irresistible sense of devil-may-care. There is a great sense of mischief heaped all through this movie. An example: Hartnett careening through L.A. traffic at the wheel of a commandeered car with two hysterical children in the back screaming "We're going to die!", replies with the philosophical tolerance of a Zen master "Yes, we're all going to die some day," and the screams from the back seat ratchet up a few decibels.
The critics who hated "Hollywood Homicide" may be on to something, but luckily for me, I missed it. It's a helter-skelter movie that shows affection but no reverence for the genres and the attitudes it skewers, and I suppose there are bound to be some who will take offense. But if you listen to them, you'll be depriving yourself of one of the bright spots in the traditional vast wasteland of summer movie entertainment.
More on 'Hollywood Homicide'...
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