UNHAPPY OUT OF CONTEXT

CLOSER
Directed by Mike Nichols; written by Patrick Marber, based on his play; director of photography, Stephen Goldblatt; edited by John Bloom and Antonia Van Drimmelen; production designer, Tim Hatley; produced by Mr. Nichols, John Calley, and Cary Brokaw. This film is rated R. Running time: 110 minutes
With: Natalie Portman, Jude Law, Julia Roberts, and Clive Owen



Reviewed by Jim Correale

Regarding the wonderful 1996 film Beautiful Girls, one critic remarked that the title should have been changed to Immature Men because the male characters are so confused and clumsy when it comes to the opposite sex. At least we can attribute the actions of Timothy Hutton, Matt Dillon, and Michael Rapaport in the movie to a lasting immaturity and an ignorance of adult relationships. Despite their shortcomings, each character has a charm (yes, even Rapaport’s model-obsessed clod) that makes him rather likeable.

After viewing the film Closer, I would petition to have the name changed to Terrible Men, or maybe just plain Scoundrels. Dan (played by Jude Law) and Larry (Clive Owen) are the masculine sides of a love quadrangle. The former is feeble and slimy; the latter, aggressive and, well, slimy in his own right—maybe slimier. Anna (Julia Roberts) and Alice (Natalie Portman) are the female counterparts, and while they are more likeable than the men, that is only by comparison. Through a few slightly far-fetched chance encounters that blossom into serious relationships, this dysfunctional quartet becomes wrapped up in each other’s love lives—intimately shrink-wrapped, that is, with no room to breath.

Maybe the problem is that we barely see any of the protagonists’ lives outside of their fiery interactions. (The movie’s closing credits list only two other names besides the principals, and even those were incidental appearances.) Instead, the scenes jump to months or years later, when one or the other (usually both) of the couples is ready to implode. We witness outbursts of emotion, confessions, and apologies, and then someone walks out. The crumbling of one of the pairs then goes on to infect the other.

It’s not that actual relationships aren’t confusing, unpredictable, volatile, and otherwise difficult. Of course they are. However, our foursome is unhappy out of context. With very little back story it is hard to feel any sympathy for them. The character of Alice is said to have lived quite a life—sad or interesting or wild enough for Dan to fictionalize in a novel, yet we hear none of it. Are we to assume that because she’s a stripper that Alice’s stepfather molested her, forcing her to seek refuge on the streets, turn some tricks, take some drugs, and end up swinging naked from a pole? Or that Dan is a mild-mannered twerp because he had a domineering father and an overprotective mom? We don’t want to assign Jerry Springer-like stereotypes to these people, but we have nothing else to go on.

As for the scenes themselves, director Mike Nichols lets at least two continue for too long. One involves internet communication between two of the actors, and the other takes place in a private room at a strip club. These both could have been condensed by half and still conveyed the necessary information. Instead there is a whiff of prurience about each.

The acting in the film is a bright spot. It’s not Roberts’s fault that she is morose for the entire ninety-eight minutes. Being morose is all that she is asked to do, and she does it well enough, though it is odd to see such behavior in someone whom we are used to seeing with such an endearing smile. Each of the other three is also believable within the confines of his or her misery. Alice is the least deceitful of the four—again, that is by virtue of the substandard company. Still, she does project a vulnerability that, if fleshed out, could have made her more interesting. As it is, nothing but good looks makes the character intriguing.

Owen seems on the verge of violence in most of the interactions he has with his costars, and this makes for some discomfort. But when a slap does come late in the film, it isn’t from him. What is more discomforting is his, and Law’s to a lesser degree, graphic interrogation of the women, probing shamelessly to find out who did what to whom, when, where, and how much enjoyment was derived. It borders on the psychopathic, and when Larry has a final few devastating words for Dan after a meeting in which Owen establishes clearly who the alpha male is—Law all but rolls belly-up on the carpet to show his subservience—it becomes clear that he is, indeed, a sadist.

I don’t want these people anywhere near me.   

 

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