Two stars. Rated R, for profanity, violence, drug use and sexual candor
By Derrick Bang
Bill Murray has been Hollywood’s
magic bullet for a little over than a decade now, ever since delivering such a
memorable performance in 2003’s Lost in
Translation.
See anything you like? Richie Lanz (Bill Murray) is unsurprisingly awed by his first glimpse of Merci (Kate Hudson), little realizing that she'll soon become a business partner. |
His presence automatically enhances
the quality of a given film, no matter how small the role. As a star, he can
elevate familiar and otherwise mediocre material (as with, say, St. Vincent); as a supporting or bit
player, his scenes are standouts. (Olive
Kitteridge and Zombieland come to
mind.)
There’s something about Murray’s
deadpan expression that speaks volumes, but defies ready description.
World-weary but not defeated. Smugly condescending, but not to the point of
cruelty. Skeptical but, nonetheless, open-minded.
His characters always seem on the
verge of saying something along the lines of “Show me what you’ve got; I’m
ready to be amazed” ... even as his glance implies serious doubt that the
person in question has anything, let
alone anything amazing.
In short, Murray is a guaranteed
treat.
But not even he can save this
film.
A closing-credits text blurb
explains that Rock the Kasbah honors
Setara Hussainzada, the “girl who danced” during her 2008 performance on Afghan Star, Afghanistan’s answer to our
own American Idol. Merely singing on
live TV in that country is highly dangerous for women; to do so brands them as
blasphemers in the eyes of fundamentalists, who are inclined to view killing
such “transgressors” as wholly justified.
But to compound the felony by
dancing? Unthinkable.
Okay, Hussainzada’s courageous
act definitely demands a story, and scripter Mitch Glazer has embraced that
challenge. But rather poorly, as it turns out. Rock the Kasbah hasn’t the faintest idea what it wants to be —
comedy, drama or rock-hued homage — and not even a director as talented as
Barry Levinson can create a pearl from this tone-deaf grain of sand.
Depicting the senseless futility
of war, particularly a tribal and/or religious conflict, seems to demand a dollop
of dark humor; some would argue that it’s the only way to remain sane in the
midst of gory madness. And, no question, some snarky classics have found
precisely the right tone: Dr. Strangelove,
Catch-22, M.A.S.H. and Levinson’s Wag
the Dog come to mind.
But Levinson and Glazer never even
get close here; their film is too grim to be truly funny, but too ludicrous to
be taken seriously. It borders on cultural disrespect and sexism, and it’s also
random and sloppy; Glazer introduces plot points and secondary characters who
wander vaguely into the narrative, shine for a few scenes, and then simply
vanish.
I often wonder how some films get
made: how anybody, at any point in time, could have detected merit in what
seems — and it must have been obvious
— such a blatantly bum script. This is one of those scripts.
The time is roughly a decade ago,
give or take. Murray stars as Richie Lanz, a has-been music promoter reduced to
a Van Nuys office, where he swindles talentless, wannabe singers out of their
life savings. (Right away, a premise that’s supposed to be funny, but which
Levinson cuts rather too close to the bone. We feel uneasy, not amused.)
Richie talks a good show, having
persuaded one of his clients — Zooey Deschanel, as Ronnie — to pull double-duty
as his secretary. She’s got a reasonable voice but is a hopeless performer,
even as she buys into Richie’s descriptively rich anecdotes about how he “made”
Madonna, or bonded with Stevie Nicks, and so forth.
Actually, Deschanel’s presence is
one of this film’s few genuine highlights, not to mention an extremely subtle
gag. Indie-pop fans know full well that she’s a talented singer/songwriter, and
half of the popular touring duo She & Him; watching Ronnie flail helplessly
on stage here is a droll hoot.
With nowhere else to go but
further down, Richie accepts a rather weird offer to bring Ronnie on a USO tour
of Afghan towns safeguarded by American soldiers. Ronnie hates the idea; she
can’t even endure the plane trip, let alone the Humvee ride to their first
hotel, with its sandbag fortifications.
We spend a bit of time with
Private Barnes (Taylor Kinney), who seems likable enough. Kinney makes him
personable, but don’t get attached; he just sorta wanders out of these
proceedings. Arian Moayed proves more stable as Riza, a taxi driver who
(reluctantly) becomes Richie’s guide, translator and cultural advisor.
In short order, we also meet
Merci (Kate Hudson), a smokin’ hot prostitute who services long lines of
American soldiers in her double-wide house trailer; Jake (Scott Caan) and Nick
(Danny McBride), a pair of opportunistic arms dealers who supply weapons to
anybody with ready cash; and “Bombay Brian” (Bruce Willis), a mercenary who
takes an instant dislike to Richie (which I’d say shows good taste).
Give Hudson credit: She makes the
most of Merci’s introduction — a smoldering scene with Murray, framed to iconic
perfection by cinematographer Sean Bobbitt — which evokes pleasant memories of
her equally incredible, back-lit entrance in 2000’s Almost Famous.
But that’s only momentary
distraction. Knowing where this story is supposed
to go — as trailers, interviews and media clips have made abundantly clear —
Levinson and Glazer spend (waste?) an interminable amount of screen time with such
sidebar characters. Indeed, we’ve already met the young woman fated to turn
Richie’s life around, during an opening prologue; waiting for this penny to
drop becomes a test of patience.
Finally — finally — Richie winds up in the Pashtun village where Salima (Leem
Lubany) has secretly taught herself to sing. Hearing her practice, late one
night, Richie has the anticipated epiphany: his entire being transformed by the
voice of an angel.
But the obviously cultural
hurdles persist, starting with the fact that Salima’s father (Fahim Fazil, as
Tariq) isn’t about to let his daughter “disrespect” Allah in such a fashion.
And, suddenly, we’re hit with more auxiliary plot points and characters, most
notably the Afghan Star host (Beejan
Land, as Daoud Sididi) who must be persuaded to put Salima in the next
competitive round; and a rival Pashtun strongman (Jonas Khan, as Nizar) who
wants to kill Tariq and take over the village, in order to grow poppies and
sell opium.
Right about this point, savvy
filmgoers will recognize that we have enough plot contrivances for the next
half-dozen movies. And none of them really work here.
Granted, it’s refreshing —
wonderful, really — to see a young Muslim woman portrayed in such an uplifting,
positive manner. Lubany puts genuine heart and passion into her handling of
Salima, and she gets more emotional juice from her heartfelt speeches than
Glazer’s Yoda-esque dialog deserves. And, yes, Fazil is similarly engaging as
Salima’s obviously conflicted father: definitely more than a one-note role.
But it’s too little, and much too
late. Glazer’s script even robs us of what should be the emotional climax — whatever
does or doesn’t happen to Salima, during her Afghan Star appearance — and detours instead to a nasty tribal
skirmish. How could a director of Levinson’s talent misjudge his third act so
badly?
And while there’s more than a
little irony attached to the fact that Salima sings a pair of classic Cat
Stevens songs — in English, heaven forefend — some viewers may not be ready to
overlook that former pop star’s 1989 swipe at Salman Rushdie, following
Stevens’ re-emergence as Yusuf Islam.
Rock the Kasbah is an unsatisfying mess. Even
Murray frequently seems at sea, flailing his arms as if hoping for Allah to
drop some freshly inspired script pages from the sky. It’s an often wincingly
uncomfortable performance in a weirdly incoherent storyline.
Better luck next time, Bill.
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