The last fiction feature by George Hickenlooper, who died in October at the age of 47, “Casino Jack” still suggests a career in progress, of promise rather than attainment. (He’ll likely be most remembered for “Hearts of Darkness,” the “Apocalypse Now” making-of feature.) Kevin Spacey stars as Jack Abramoff, the disgraced GOP lobbyist who recently completed a prison sentence, a movie-mad con man whose predations against the political system were enumerated earlier this year in Alex Gibney’s superior “Casino Jack and the United States of Money.” The opening scene, a go-get-’em speech by Abramoff between spats of toothpaste in a public-toilet mirror is typical of the film’s overkill, a royal shooting of the faux-Mamet wad that Spacey manages not to give a convincing lilt. (The screenplay is by Norman Snider.) “Mediocrity is the elephant in the room” is part of the peroration: bland and without self-knowledge, although Abramoff’s presented as a smart cookie gone wrong. “We’re under horrific assault from the worst forces in our culture!” he brays into the phone. An ill-judged score veers tonally to the comic in scenes that aren’t funny, although Jon Lovitz makes a blissfully bored sybarite and the late Maury Chaykin plays world-weariness to a fault. Whether from budget or choice, other small details chafe, such as the relentless expository dialogue and the actor playing anti-tax advocate Grover Norquist having a Canadian accent. (The actor playing the fallen Tom DeLay looks more like Jeb Bush.) “Don’t fucking mess with my chi, dude, we are super-fucked here” is typical of the profane rants of Abramoff’s partner, Michael Scanlon (Barry Pepper). Facts and data run amok, as if the movie thought it were a fat nonfiction book. Audiences, whether versed in the particulars of the on-screen scandals or not, may well say the same. Adam Swica’s cinematography is handsome, however, and editor William Steinkamp also edited “Tootsie,” “Out of Africa” and “The Scent of A Woman.” With Kelly Preston, Graham Greene. 108m. (Ray Pride)
Ray Pride is Newcity’s film critic and a contributing editor to Filmmaker magazine.
His multimedia history of Chicago “Ghost Signs” will be published soon. Previews of the project are on Twitter and on Instagram as Ghost Signs Chicago. More photography on Instagram.
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Heart: A Review of Soul The real world is soulful, too, in Pixar's bountiful life of the mind.
Uncanny Ally: A Review Of M3GAN "M3GAN" sells itself in its first handful of seconds in how it introduces the handiwork of roboticist Gemma (Allison Williams, "Get Out") and her present product, PurrPetual Petz from Funki.
Heart of Darkness: A Review of The Batman The three-hour film noir unfolds briskly, an intensive study in the pervasive interplay of power, money and corruption in what seems like perpetual rainy night.
The last fiction feature by George Hickenlooper, who died in October at the age of 47, “Casino Jack” still suggests a career in progress, of promise rather than attainment. (He’ll likely be most remembered for “Hearts of Darkness,” the “Apocalypse Now” making-of feature.) Kevin Spacey stars as Jack Abramoff, the disgraced GOP lobbyist who recently completed a prison sentence, a movie-mad con man whose predations against the political system were enumerated earlier this year in Alex Gibney’s superior “Casino Jack and the United States of Money.” The opening scene, a go-get-’em speech by Abramoff between spats of toothpaste in a public-toilet mirror is typical of the film’s overkill, a royal shooting of the faux-Mamet wad that Spacey manages not to give a convincing lilt. (The screenplay is by Norman Snider.) “Mediocrity is the elephant in the room” is part of the peroration: bland and without self-knowledge, although Abramoff’s presented as a smart cookie gone wrong. “We’re under horrific assault from the worst forces in our culture!” he brays into the phone. An ill-judged score veers tonally to the comic in scenes that aren’t funny, although Jon Lovitz makes a blissfully bored sybarite and the late Maury Chaykin plays world-weariness to a fault. Whether from budget or choice, other small details chafe, such as the relentless expository dialogue and the actor playing anti-tax advocate Grover Norquist having a Canadian accent. (The actor playing the fallen Tom DeLay looks more like Jeb Bush.) “Don’t fucking mess with my chi, dude, we are super-fucked here” is typical of the profane rants of Abramoff’s partner, Michael Scanlon (Barry Pepper). Facts and data run amok, as if the movie thought it were a fat nonfiction book. Audiences, whether versed in the particulars of the on-screen scandals or not, may well say the same. Adam Swica’s cinematography is handsome, however, and editor William Steinkamp also edited “Tootsie,” “Out of Africa” and “The Scent of A Woman.” With Kelly Preston, Graham Greene. 108m. (Ray Pride)
