Mr Diablo found himself at rather a loose end on Sunday afternoon and decided, by default, to go to the pictures. After examining the newspaper he found that the only vaguely acceptable choice was Joel Shumacher's 8MM. The local art-house cinema was showing a number of films of little interest so he shrugged his shoulders and ambled down to the multiplex in order to view hollywood product.
Mr Shumacher is responsible for a number of films which Mr Diablo has placed in his "pet hate" category. He has not seen, and does not intend to see BATMAN AND ROBIN but is still jarred by the unaccountable popularity of the asinine THE LOST BOYS. He intended not to dwell on the distant past as he walked into the darkened cinema but to assess the film on its merits and will attempt to keep his personal biases under control as he writes this review.
8MM is an exploitation film. The genre has given audiences such "gems" as BASIC INSTINCT and thus, being forewarned by virtue of having read a number of reviews beforehand, Mr Diablo was looking forward to scenes of gratuitous prurience, no small amount of violence and, perhaps, a poorly executed nightclub scene. 8MM was, sadly, nightclubless but boasted an impressive array of scenes set in underground pornography dealerships; perhaps by way of consolation.
The plot is quite simple. An unexpectedly stiff-upper-lip private investigator, Tom Welles (Nicholas Cage in an unnecessarily overwrought performance) is called in to determine the authenticity of a supposed snuff film found in the personal safe of a defunct tycoon. He is convinced that it is real and is asked to determine the source of the material. Mr Diablo is an absolute sucker for urban folklore and such a premise was potentially enthralling, especially when the matter was examined by Andrew Kevin Walker, the scriptwriter of the excellent SE7EN. He was disappointed to find that the best laid plans of mice and men had gone sadly awry.
This problem initially became apparent within the first half hour of the film in a series of vignettes of Mr Cage's initial investigations of the seamy side of hollywood. Multiple dissolves and the use of not-quite voice over diminish the immediacy of the goings-on to the extent that Mr Diablo was feeling decidedly restless by the film's halfway point.
Given that 8MM is largely exposition, with the violent payoffs occurring towards the end of the film, Mr Diablo could have expected better. He is a fan of films which develop slowly and, in the best of all possible worlds, logically. 8MM develops slowly, yes; logically, reasonably. Mr Walker's script, however, never rises above the level of thick-eared private eye hokum, requiring the cast to labour over occasionally ludicrous dialogue as well as frequently (and unnecessarily) segueing into a sub-plot concerning Welles' marriage and private life. This sub-plot is couched in terms of a theme relating to Welles' loss of innocence but themes seem decidedly out of place in a film which, despite its dark visuals, remains determinedly lightweight. 8MM is a mystery that fails to be mysterious and a thriller that fails to thrill.
The visuals almost have something to recommend them but, thanks to Shumacher's unerringly heavy-handed touch, they manage to give the film a merely sleazy feel where a sense of mystery was required. Evidently, this is the director's attempt at style over content (of which there is, regrettably, little) and Mr Diablo is an avowed fan of the aforementioned (he is unwavering in his dedication to the films of Dario Argento, for example) but Shumacher is no stylist. Attempts to contrast scenes rich in colour with the washed-out look which pervades the sequences that are relevant to the plot are extremely misplaced devices in a films that is attempting to ride on the strength of its script. Stabs made at attention to detail simply end up as so much visual clutter and the final sequence set in a cramped and dimly-lit house features a ludicrously mobile camera.
Mr Diablo was not convinced that he would witness acting of any particular standard but was pleasantly surprised by the performance of Joaquin Phoenix as Max California, a porn merchant who aids Welles in his quest for the truth. Peter Stormare turns in an enjoyably scenery-munching exhibition as the maker of the snuff film but the remaining members of the cast manage to be boring at best and ludicrous at worst.
8MM is a mess. Worse still, it's an only intermittently entertaining mess. Mr Diablo has only ever walked out on one film but 8MM came close on a number of occasions. Mind you, this may have been a combination of the innate tedium of the film and the innate stupidity and excessive volume of Sunday afternoon multiplex-goers. He still awaits with keen anticipation the next horror outing that makes it to the big screen in the backwater that he calls home. In the meantime, 8MM returned little for the $10 investment save an unusual premise and some unpleasant violence.
Mr Q. Z. Diablo.
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