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 The King
The King is a stunning bit of Southern Gothic, served up
Texas style. Set in Corpus Christi, giving it a creepy overlay
of religion, the horrors that are presented here are absolutely,
thrillingly shocking. Directed by James Marsh and co-written
by Marsh and Milo Addica, this sordid little story could
give Joyce Carol Oates fits of envy.
Elvis (Gael Garcia Bernal) is an attractive young man who
has just been released from the Navy. He takes his duffle
bag and his rifle, and seeks out David Sandow (William Hurt),
a pastor who lives with his wife and two kids and now runs
a church with a large, loyal congregation.
When Elvis meets David, he explains that he is David's
son from a time before the pastor found God. David is taken
aback by the news, however, and not anxious to introduce
his adult child to his family, or his church. He firmly asks
Elvis to go away.
Yet the young man has other ideas. Quietly, he preys on
the Sandows, and carefully, deliberately seduces David's
virginal daughter, Malerie (Pell James), never telling her
as he deflowers he, that she's his half-sister.
Elvis' actions towards the Sandow family only get more
evil–and as a result, more tense and engrossing. (Note: “Elvis” is
an anagram of “evils”.) Even when the film tests
the limits of believability, which it does, it remains spellbinding.
Audiences will be riveted watching the nasty chain of events
unfold, but there are delicious ironies to be found in the
luridness of Elvis' actions. It would be a sin to reveal
anything more, except to say that Marsh has concocted a tale
that, like Bernal's performance, is simply mesmerizing.
The filmmaker also coaxes phenomenal work from his supporting
cast. Hurt immerses himself in the role of David, getting
everything—his facial hair, mannerisms, and accent—just
right. As Malerie, Pell James is extremely impressive, capturing
her characters' innocence and longing perfectly.
The film may prompt viewers to question Elvis' enigmatic
character, but it ends on such a satisfying, if disquieting
note, that, ultimately The King is quite unforgettable. —Gary
M. Kramer
Poseidon
Gay audiences have long felt a particular affection for
the seminal 1972 disaster epic The Poseidon Adventure. The
film's queer appeal can be credited to its intoxicating amalgam
of outrageous 1970s fashions; often over-the-top performances;
campy, near-ludicrous dialogue like “What a stupid
way to die, going to the john!”; and a story that revolved
around a band of misfit characters struggling for survival
on a capsized ocean liner.
Unfortunately, Wolfgang Petersen's $160 million remake,
whose title has been shortened to simply Poseidon, lacks
the camp appeal of the original while serving up a series
of cardboard cutout characters and often inane, mind-numbing
dialogue. But, in an apparent effort to attract queer audiences,
there is the presence of Richard Dreyfuss as a lonely, suicidal
gay man who's been dumped by his long-time partner right
before the cruise and is now contemplating throwing himself
overboard. The acclaimed Oscar-winner, who appeared in another
1970s-era, ocean-bound thriller (Jaws), brings some much-needed
gravitas to the proceedings.
For those who have seen the original Poseidon Adventure,
the story is virtually identical–centering on a luxury
cruise ship that gets turned upside down when it's struck
by a 150-tall rogue wave on New Year's Eve in the North Atlantic.
A small group of survivors remains, struggling to climb their
way to the top (or rather, the bottom) of the fast-sinking
ship in order to attempt a dangerous escape through the propeller
shafts. Petersen uses the film's original premise, but starts
from scratch with a new screenplay (by Mark Protosevich)
about a motley group of contemporary characters, including
a bad-boy gambler (Josh Lucas); a heroic former firefighter
and ex-New York mayor (Kurt Russell), his loving daughter
(Emmy Rossum) and her secret fiancé (Mike Vogel);
a widowed mother (Jacinda Barrett) and her 9-year-old son
(Jimmy Bennett); a shy but courageous stowaway (Mia Maestro)
and the waiter who helped sneak her on board (Freddy Rodriguez).
The actors, all game, do what they can with a script chock
full of wooden dialogue that offers little in the way of
fleshed-out characters, humorous levity, or philosophical/moral
underpinnings. Dreyfuss, though, is one of the few standouts,
drawing his character with real emotional shading–poignant
pathos, touching bitterness, and true compassion.
Of course, audiences don't go to see a film like Poseidon
to watch the character dramas. They go for the exhilarating
action. And white-knuckle thrills are Petersen's specialties.
The film's most seat-squirming set pieces are a scene in
which the survivors trap themselves in ballast room while
it drowns them in water and a harrowing, eight-minute sequence
in which they must crawl through a claustrophobia-inducing
ventilation shaft.
If you're looking for edge-of-your-seat, mindless summer
entertainment, Poseidon might just be your bag. But if you're
a fan of the original film, with its oddball characters and
campy, shrieking dialogue like, “Just panties—what
else do I need?,” you may come away disappointed. —Christopher
Wallenberg
Twelve and Holding
In his feature film debut, L.I.E., frequent Six Feet Under
director Michael Cuesta turned the coming-of-age flick on
its head with that movie's tale of a teenaged boy who begins
a morally questionable relationship with a known pedophile.
For his follow-up, Cuesta again turns to the emotional confusion
of adolescence for inspiration, doling out another thematically
intense, though less compelling observation on the loss of
innocence. After his twin brother is accidentally killed
in a fire started by a couple of trouble-making bullies,
12-year-old Jacob (Conor Donovan) and his friends Leonard
(Jesse Camacho) and Malee (Zoë Weizenbaum) find their
carefree lives interrupted as they deal with the aftermath
of the tragic event and their own developing maturity. If
the plot sounds similar to those of similarly themed movies
such as Stand by Me and 2004's woefully overlooked Mean Creek,
it's because Twelve and Holding shares many traits in common
with those films. And though it might sound like it's weighed
down by some pretty heavy material—and it often is—the
film is an oddly humorous one, with sporadic doses of humor
tossed in to keep things light. Sometimes the brevity pays
off; at other times Cuesta's strangely whimsical (and sometimes
naggingly precious) touches dilute much of the story's emotional
resonance. But if the director seems detached from the drama,
he is also limited by his source material—Anthony Cipriano's
promising but flawed script is littered with annoyingly on-the-nose
dialogue, making these kids sound far too mature and well-read
for their age. In spite of the film's flaws, Cuesta does
manage quite a balancing act directing his cast of seasoned
veterans (Linus Roache and Jayne Atkinson as Jacob's emotionally
wracked parents, Annabella Sciorra as Malee's distant mother)
and young up-and-comers. As the trio of pre-teens, Donovan,
Weizenbaum and Camacho especially inject the movie with its
most successful moments of realism. Their unaffected, convincing
performances are, in fact, the stuff of true angst—adolescent
and otherwise. —Ken Knox
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