2007 DVD Review: Southland Tales

This movie pissed me off. Yeah, I understand that the proper reaction to Richard Kelly's colossal fiasco is supposed to be either bemused admiration for the director's mad vision or unabashed admiration for a misunderstood classic. Fuck that. Richard Kelly doesn't get a free pass to waste millions of dollars and thousands of feet of film just because he's got such a goddamn baroque vision that he can't be bothered to make something coherent or vital. Given the resources and concept at hand, Kelly could have easily made a compelling, provocative film that pointedly confronts the pathologies of American war culture. Instead, we get two and a half hours of muddled turgidity because if it made any sense, it wouldn't be deep, man. Hell, I could even forgive the incoherence if the whole thing weren't so damned leaden. Kelly claims that you've got to watch this thing a bunch of times (and presumably read the massive graphic novel prequel) in order to "get" it, but who would want to slog through most of this stuff again? For a movie that attempts to immerse the viewer in a slightly tweaked reality where nuclear attacks on American soil have turned the country into a sex-crazed, decaying police state, the proceedings are notably joyless. The pacing is slack and disjointed, the actors all seem to be whacked out on thorazine, and even the action scenes limp along like sick dogs. It's a wonder that these zombies can even find the strength to lift a gun, let alone fire one.

This problem is due to the fact that there are two movies here having a subtextual battle royale for the soul of Kelly and the viewer. One movie is a knowingly ridiculous sci-fi parody/satire, sort of a politically-charged Buckeroo Bonzai (when the Rock starts talking about sending monkeys through a tear in the fourth dimension, I was on the lookout for John Lithgow to pop up, yelling about the Overthruster). The other movie is a mopey, abstract metaphysical rumination in the vein of Kelly's first film, Donnie Darko. The two visions clash like Shiites and Sunnis. The intentionally goofy science fiction twists make it impossible to take the existential mutterings seriously, and the lethargic pace and solemn tone drain all of the fun out of the zany fourth dimensional monkey shenangians. Either film could have worked, and that is why watching Southland Tales pissed me off so much: there's a whole lot of potential squandered here. Kelly is attuned to America's cultural sickness like few directors are, and there are frustratingly brief glimpses of the masterpiece that could have been that pop up once a reel or so. Most notably, there's the oft-referenced musical number where Justin Timberlake, as a disfigured Iraq war vet, lip synchs to a Killers song while surrounded by dancing pin-up girls. Most reviews point the scene, either condeming it for being a pointless non sequitur, or praising it for being so unexpected and memorable. It is, indeed, a memorable non sequirtur, but it's also one of the most poignant dramatizations of the mind-space of a damaged Iraq war veteran I've seen since that imperial horrorshow began. Timberlake moves confidently across an arcade, in a sea of shimmying sex kittens, his posture full of bravado and laciviousness, undercut by the blood on his shirt, the lyrics to All These Things That I've Done blaring on the soundtrack, and the haunted look behind his eyes. This moment captures the aggressive drive to assert masculinity that propels young men to prove themselves on the fields of battle, as well as the regret and self-loathing that comes after seeing what really happens there. Kelly seems to think that if he can hit a sweet note every half hour or so, he'll keep the audience from walking out and they'll leave the theater at the very least giving him props for his vision. We can't hold the hamfisted voiceover, the failed thefts from David Lynch, or the deadend plot lines against him: that's the price you pay for basking in the challenging genuis of Richard Kelly. Well, I do hold all the dumb stuff in the movie against him. In fact, I hold the transcendently great moments against him, too: with more disicipline and focus, Kelly could have put together a powerful zeitgeist-channelling classic. Instead, Kelly just threw everything he had against the celluloid and filmed what stuck.