RUSHMORE **** (out of four)
-a review by Bill Chambers ( wchamber@netcom.ca )
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starring Jason Schwartzman, Bill Murray, Olivia Williams, Brian Cox
screenplay by Wes Anderson & Owen Wilson
directed by Wes Anderson
Max Fischer, a fifteen year old student of Rushmore Academy, puts down his newspaper and makes his way to the chalkboard, at which point he deftly answers an impossible mathematical puzzle. His classmates applaud his genius.
And then Max wakes up, having dozed off during a school assembly. A new lecturer is introduced-Herman Blume, a low-key tycoon whose bizarre but inspired speech prevents Max from falling back to sleep. Blume will become his idol, and everywhere I was convinced Rushmore was going from that obvious opening sequence the filmmakers avoid like the plague. The movie is anything but predictable, and nothing less than brilliant, a comic masterpiece that would win Best Picture in a perfect world.
Max's grades are dropping, but he dedicates himself to extracurricular activities-over fifty of them, in fact. (His favourite is Drama Club; his plays are hysterically funny in their earnestness.) Rushmore is not so much an educational institution to Max as an outlet for his gregarious and impetuous nature. No action better demonstrates this than his relentless pursuit of teacher Miss Rosemary Cross (radiant Williams, permitted use of her British accent again after playing The Postman's American girlfriend); with the assistance of steel investor Blume, Max plans to erect a marina and dedicate it to his love interest. Rosemary is a few years Max's senior, and a widower to boot-she barely entertains the dreamer's affections, eventually growing to prefer the company of Blume.
The film features a colourful bouquet of supporting characters, from Max's trusty peewee messenger (Mason Gamble) to Seymour Cassel as Max's barber father. (Max attends Rushmore on scholarship.) One of the real revelations here is Murray, who has not had a part this worthy of his talents since Groundhog Day. His comedy here is so subtle-as the manic-depressive multi-millionaire Herman, he conveys hate for his dumb sons with a glance, love for Rosemary with almost that same look, and his devotion to Max-despite his age, he's tightly part of Max's circle of friends/assistants-is endearing. One scene in particular, which could be interpreted as Blume's suicide attempt, is inimitably riotous-his unfiltered cyncism on display again at last.
Not to give Schwartzman the short-shrift. Where did this guy come from? Schwartzman's performance is so pitch-perfect I wondered if Rushmore had been written for this unknown, Hollywood's Best Kept Secret. (The answer is, "no," according to director Anderson.) Further research uncovered that Schwartzman is the son of Talia Shire (Rocky's Adrian-and sister to Francis Coppola). No other member of Schwartzman's legendary family has hit it so thoroughly out of the park the first time at bat. He has none of DiCaprio's androgyny, Renfro's handsomeness, or Taylor-Thomas's smugness holding him back-meet the anti-teen idol, and revel in this young actor's inspiring debut.
Congratulations to Anderson, Wilson (who can be seen as the blonde guy in Armageddon), and co. for crafting a surprisingly confident, utterly unique comedy that's thrilling in its inventiveness and heart-warming in its sweetness of tone. (Though I was disappointed by their previous effort, the aimless Bottle Rocket, both movies demonstrate what hopeless romantics Anderson and Wilson are.) If there's an adjective I've missed, feel free to add it-just thinking about Rushmore reconfirms my faith in modern cinema.
-December, 1998
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