One star. Rated R, for violence, profanity and sexuality
By Derrick Bang
Bad movies prompt all manner of
conversational snorts and giggles, while heading home and often well into the
following day.
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| Gardner (Matt Damon) and his sister-in-law, Margaret (Julianne Moore), react in stunned silence to the newest ludicrous indignity inflicted upon their family. |
Really bad movies leave us in stunned silence,
unable to process the why and how such a travesty could have survived the
lengthy vetting process that must be endured by all major studio productions.
This is a really bad movie.
The Coen brothers have hit both
extremes during a long and productive career, and of late they’ve been getting
sloppier; A Serious Man, Hail, Caesar! and their misguided 2012
remake of Gambit are a far cry from Fargo and No Country for Old Men.
Suburbicon may be their worst stinker yet.
As a satire — and I admit, that’s
speculation — this film’s message is too garbled, sloppy and tasteless. But
it’s far too weird, random and exaggerated to be taken seriously, with almost
every character an overblown burlesque. They may as well be wearing clown
suits.
Co-scripters George Clooney (who
also directs) and Grant Heslov appear to have been inspired by the post-WWII,
postcard-perfect Levittown suburban communities: the sort of cheerful towns
characterized in TV shows such as Father
Knows Best and Leave It to Beaver.
What’s often lost to history is the fact that Federal House Administration
lenders restricted housing rental and sales agreements, in all Levittown
developments, to (and I quote) “the Caucasian race.”
That issue came to boil in August
1957, when William and Daisy Myers moved their family into a section of
Pennsylvania’s Levittown community, becoming the first African-Americans in the
all-white enclave. The nasty results were captured by filmmakers Lee Bobker and
Lester Becker in a documentary titled Crisis
in Levittown, Pa., which remains
jaw-dropping, cringe-worthy viewing (and is readily available online).
So: Part of Cooney’s film, set in
the late 1950s in a Norman Rockwellian, Levittown-esque community, depicts —
with impressive authenticity to actual events — what occurs during the first
few weeks after an African-American family moves into a home that shares a back
fence with the house belonging to Gardner Lodge (Matt Damon), his wife Rose
(Julianne Moore) and their adolescent son Nicky (Noah Jupe).
The problem is that this concept
has been married — by shotgun — to a shelved Coen brothers script called Suburbicon, populated by the usual Coen
misanthropes and overwhelmed “regular folks” with poor judgment, and a proclivity
for ill-advised decisions.
It’s not a good fit.
Clooney likely believed that
everything could be linked by the mantra that Things Are Not As They Appear.
Suburbicon residents seem friendly, kind-hearted and decent, but they’re
actually — all of them — despicable
racists. Gardner is introduced as an honest, hard-working family man, and Damon
plays him as an ordinary, white-collar American who likely plays catch with his
son, and takes pride in his role as provider.
But as events proceed, this
impression of Gardner begins to fray around the edges.
Similarly, the horrifying,
late-night invasion of Gardner’s home by thugs Ira and Louis (Glenn Fleshler
and Alex Hassell) seems a direct response to Nicky’s having been encouraged to
include new back yard neighbor Andy (Tony Espinosa) in local baseball activities.
The cause and effect appears obvious: a Twilight
Zone response to those with the impudence to violate Stepford community
rules.
Again, subsequent events make
that a hasty assumption.
Trouble is, that end of this
misbegotten narrative has absolutely
nothing to do with the escalating hostility endured by the new neighbors: a
parallel plotline which, ultimately, goes nowhere. And, in so doing, becomes an
insensitive, tone-deaf scenario that does nothing to address, indict or even
comment upon race relations in our pre-civil rights era.
This highly charged situation has
no point of view, and — indeed — no point at all. In effect, this half of
Clooney’s film merely revisits the 1957 documentary, as if rubbing our noses in
bad behavior is, in and of itself, sufficient.
It isn’t. It’s also egregiously
one-sided “history.” While the events recreated here are accurate, they’re
incomplete; plenty of Levittown residents were outraged by the heinous behavior
of their racist neighbors, and stood up for the new family.
As far as the more grotesque half
of this film, Gardner and Rose — confined to a wheelchair, following a recent
traffic accident — share their home with her twin sister Margaret, whose
constant help and support have made her a semi-permanent resident. Both women
are played by Moore, thanks to the cinematic trickery also currently on display
in Breathe. (We seem to be having a
run on actors playing twins.)
It’s hard to view any of the
adult performances as actual acting, because they all move, talk and behave
stiffly, like Stepford robots (which I’m sure was a deliberate choice on
Clooney’s part).
Damon’s Gardner, for all his
surface ordinariness, is blankly emotionless and quiet to the point of near
immobility; there’s no there in his
expressions. Moore makes Rose compliant and withdrawn; in contrast, Moore’s
Margaret is bubbly and artificially cheerful, an insincere smile plastered onto
her face. She often natters in the sing-song manner of a character awaiting the
next number in a stage musical.
Rose and Margaret’s brother Mitch
almost feels genuine. Gary Basaraba plays him as a bull in a china shop: a
socially inept fellow who tries too hard to be part of the family, which merely
pushes everybody away. We’ve all endured one of these relatives, particularly
with respect to the uneasy dynamic he shares with Nicky, forever wanting to be
the boy’s bestest uncle.
We never see much of Mr. Meyers
(Leith M. Burke), but Karimah Westbrook brings grace and dignity to her mostly
silent role as Mrs. Meyers, keeping her head high as things get worse.
Oscar Isaac injects a very welcome note of acting prowess as a
third-act character whose identity and intentions I’ll not reveal here, out of
respect for the poor souls still willing to give this flick a try. Suffice it
to say that things truly come alive once Isaac appears ... because, yes, on top
of its many other sins, this film is boring.
Nicky and Andy are the only two
truly normal characters, and (of course) that’s also deliberate: two children
resilient enough to get on with friendship and kid stuff, while doing their
best to ignore the idiotic behavior of all adults. Both Jupe and Espinosa are
excellent young actors; I’d love to see them paired in a serious coming-of-age
story set during the same period.
Jupe gets put through quite an
emotional wringer during the third act, and he rises — quite persuasively — to
each occasion.
Production designer Jim Bissell
is the true star here, having crafted an impressively immense, cookie-cutter
Suburbicon from actual neighborhoods and CGI enhancement. The pastel colors,
period furniture and cars — along with the “anonymity and sameness” clothing
from costume designer Jenny Eagen — are both authentic and hilariously square.
Indeed, this film’s best sequence
is its prologue: a faux “sales video” that drips with irony, and is designed to
entice folks into joining this idyllic community. Too bad Clooney et al couldn’t deliver on anything else.
That prologue aside, Suburbicon is an ugly, repulsive and disgusting
mess. Adding insult to injury, it’s also a spectacular example of the “what
happens next?” script that
deliberately, annoyingly, leaves viewers hanging.
Seek your pleasures elsewhere.
This one’s a total, jaw-dropping waste of time.
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