GRAND CANYON
A film review by Richard John Rauser
Copyright 1992 Richard John Rauser
Before I saw GRAND CANYON someone told me that "it's just like THE FISHER KING." Which, in my opinion, was a strong recommendation.
Well, I just saw GRAND CANYON. And it was nothing like THE FISHER KING. THE FISHER KING was a brilliant movie. GRAND CANYON, on the other hand, was bland, yuppie trash.
I won't bore you with a detailed summary of the events in this stupid film, but to put it simply, this movie deals with the inner emotional and spiritual struggles of a group of yuppies who try to come to terms with their inner feelings. (Don't ask me what that's supposed to mean -- ask the nearest yuppie if you can pull him away from his cappucino; I hope I misspelled that). [You did. -Moderator]
While THE FISHER KING was a deep and powerful film on many levels, GRAND CANYON is shallow and nauseating on many levels. In one scene, Kevin Kline's wife (Kevin plays a wealthy lawyer who, in spite of all his material comforts, feels a gnawing, emotional restlessness. I also felt a gnawing restlessness -- in my stomach) finds an abandoned baby while jogging. Later, as she weeps pitifully, she tries to convince a reluctant Kevin that they should adopt the baby. She says to him, "You think I want to adopt this baby because there's something missing in my life, but it's not true! This baby was brought to us by fate!"
At this point several middle-aged women pulled out hankies. I pulled out a vomit bag.
Danny Glover is equally sickening as sweet, wise, intelligent, all-around *perfect* garage mechanic who is so introspective and so in touch with his feelings that you'd swear the guy moonlights as a spiritual guru somewhere in east Asia.
Naturally, the black working-class Danny (who of course has no problems of his own to work out) helps the white, yuppie Kevin to come in touch with his own feelings. The male bonding between these two is quite sickening -- not because there's anything wrong with male bonding, but because the way this film does it you'd think that it's a growing trend in the Nineties, like Rubick's Cube or skateboards.
Of course, GRAND CANYON has the done-to-death theme of racist cops. At one point Danny's young nephew is running along the sidewalk when, for no reason, two L.A. cops pull a gun on him, yell at him and call him names, and push him to the pavement. They promptly slap on the cuffs. Several middle aged women in the audience slowly shook their heads, oooing and aaahing at what a horrible, wretched, twisted society we live in. If the kind of trash that GRAND CANYON spouts is true, no wonder people aren't in touch with their feelings -- they're too busy being harassed by Nazi cops. The middle-aged men in the audience weren't oooing and aaahing; they were too busy pondering their own inner struggles in light of this amazing film.
Of course, just so the script writers can't be accused of being *tooooo* biased, they threw in a nice cop. In the most disgusting, nauseating scene you'll have to endure in this glitzy piece of garbage, this nice cop says to a weeping young woman (who plays Kevin Kline's secretary in the film -- she's crying because he won't have an affair with her) "I just haven't found the right girl...yet." She eyes him with stunned adoration.
Most of the people in the theater leapt from their seats at this point crying, "See? You can still find love! Even in the Nineties!" I wanted to hiss, "The Nineties have just started, you friggin' idiot! What makes them so unique!?!?!" But I was too busy heaving into my vomit bag for the second time.
Steve Martin is quite good in this film, but only because he parodies the million-dollar yuppie character that Kevin Kline glorifies. However, Steve's character doesn't "get in touch with his feelings" and we're left to mourn him by the movie's end for his, uh, spiritual isolation (I guess).
This movie ends with a scene so sentimental you'll want to telephone Mom and Pop: the main characters all journey to the GRAND CANYON (except for Steve's character -- we're busy weeping at his moral decay, remember? He doesn't get to come along on this feel-good spiritual trip) and gaze with wonder and awe at the natural spectacle before them. In light of it all, (says Danny Glover) their own problems seem rather small.
Then the credits came up. Credits have never looked so good. I leapt up from my chair and hurried out, making my way carefully past the countless yuppie couples who were either in tears or excitedly discussing amongst themselves how this movie must have come straight from Mt. Sinai. All I was thinking about, however, was how two hours of my life had just been stolen from me. I wanted to sue for damages.
I still can't get over how that blasphemous fool I talked to compared this movie to THE FISHER KING. THE FISHER KING was a brilliant, brilliant, brilliant film. It was stunning in its emotional power and amazing in its philosophical depth.
GRAND CANYON, by contrast, was like a sentimental, two-hour episode of MIAMI VICE: ridiculous in its attempt at being deep, and sinking under the depth of its own pseudo-philosophical weight. IF you're a yuppie who is itching to understand what the "Nineties are all about" and are dying to get in touch with your inner karma, this film is for you.
Otherwise, avoid.
-Rick J. Rauser
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