CLAY PIGEONS Reviewed by Jamie Peck
The story at least gets off to an interesting start, as dim gas station attendant Clay (Joaquin Phoenix) finds himself in hot water with his married sexpot lover (British actress Georgina Cates, doing great Midwestern trash) - her husband learned of their secret hanky-panky and killed himself, but not before making it look like murder and implicating Clay. "Pigeons" takes a turn for the worse, however, around the time the body count eerily starts to rise, a mystery that may or may not be related to a mysterious cowboy named Lester Long (Vince Vaughn) who drifts into the sleepy Montana burg and quickly befriends Clay. The FBI shows up hot on the trail of a serial killer, and it's then - quite late in the game - when the movie finally comes alive.
These flickers of greatness probably have something to do with Janeane Garofalo, whose turn as the cynical agent in charge of the investigation, at first doubting Clay and later helping him, is the best thing about "Pigeons." The precise moment she shows up, you can actually _hear_ the film improving; Garofalo may be her usual acidic, deadpan self, but her talents fit the role snugly and serve as a sardonic contrast when things get too silly. And things get too silly too often - as "Clay Pigeons" chugs towards its conclusion (which is completely ludicrous, by the way), a series of distracting plot holes and contrivances attempt to wrap things up, but all they really do is turn what once was a wildly unpredictable movie into a wildly convoluted mess.
Vaughn and Phoenix don't fare as well as their female co-star, though it's not their fault. Vaughn gives a vibrant performance, but no amount of animation could ever hide that Lester Long is a two-dimensional cartoon. Talk about not knowing what you have - this guy can create fireworks with a role that's up to his juicy comedic rhythms (see "Swingers"). Phoenix plays the straight man to Vaughn's court jester; he's supposed to be our tour guide through this topsy-turvy world, the guy we root for and sympathize with in spite of his flaws. If only David Healy's script hadn't made his flaws so glaring, that might've been possible. "Clay" the movie and Clay the man, then, are too much alike - dumb nogoodniks that just barely scrape by thanks to the aid of one sarcastic little lady.
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