MR. JONES
A film review by James Berardinelli
Copyright 1993 James Berardinelli
MR. JONES
Rating (Linear 0 to 10): 4.4
Date Released: 10/8/93
Running Length: 1:54
Rated: R (Mature themes, language)
Starring: Richard Gere, Lena Olin, Delroy Lindo, Tom Irwin,
Anne Bancroft
Director: Mike Figgis
Producers: Alan Greisman and Debra Greenfield
Screenplay: Eric Roth and Michael Cristofer
Music: Maurice Jarre
Released by TriStar Pictures
Motion pictures about mental illness can take many different forms. They can be "feel good" experiences like AWAKENINGS, powerful dramas like ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOOS NEST, blood-curdling thrillers like THE SHINING, moronic comedies like CRAZY PEOPLE, or stories lacking any foundation in reality like BENNY AND JOON. Unfortunately MR. JONES, the latest in a long line of these movies, falls decisively in the final category. The plot actually might have been kind of sweet if it wasn't so completely unbelievable.
Mr. Jones (Richard Gere) is, in his own words, a man with a "grandiose" personality - a child in a grown-up's body. However, by the definition of his psychiatrist (Lena Olin as Dr. Libbie Bowen), he's a "bipolar manic depressive", which means that his mood swings tilt wildly from exuberance to dejection. Unfortunately for Mr. Jones, Libbie is right, and he soon finds himself in a mental hospital fighting to cope with his problem so that he doesn't throw himself off a rooftop in a futile attempt to fly. During the course of his treatment, however, an amazing thing happens: Libbie and Mr. Jones fall in love, save each other's lives, and sleep together - and she never finds out his first name.
It's never difficult to be cynical about run-of-the-mill love stories - most of them lend themselves easily to flippant remarks - but MR. JONES is so littered with implausibilities that it's a classic example of something awaiting a skewering. Nevertheless, I'll start out with a few kind words: this picture isn't boring and it succeeded in retaining my attention for the unnecessarily-long running time of one-hundred fourteen minutes. Those who swoon at the mere mention of a weepy romance will probably enjoy this no matter what I say, as will fans of Richard Gere.
One of the primary rules of psychiatry is not to get involved with the patient. So why is it that in movies, this rule is so often broken? It happens again here, and for no good reason (other than that the story would have no place to go without this development). Libbie has plenty of opportunities to keep things from going too far, but she doesn't act until it's too late. Some people have no concern for ethics or propriety.
While there's something admittedly compelling about the character of Mr. Jones, very little about the man makes any sense, and the argument that he has a mental disorder is not a valid excuse for this inconsistent characterization. He's Hollywood's cliche-riddled vision of the manic depressive, and he's stuck wandering around in a story that consistently veers towards the preposterous. The central element of the movie, the love story, is something that never should have happened. As a result, its presence creates a dissonance that permeates the film.
In far too many movies (such as PRETTY WOMAN and FINAL ANALYSIS), Richard Gere has marched through his roles zombie-like, with hardly a change in expression and little attempt at passion. In MR. JONES, he goes to the other extreme, overacting is a way that is actually enjoyable to watch. Sure, this isn't a great performance, but Gere is undeniably charming when he emotes this much.
Lena Olin, who was so playfully sensual in THE UNBEARABLE LIGHTNESS OF BEING, seems to have caught the stoic bug from Gere. Frankly, she's incredibly dull, and it becomes a chore trying to sympathize with her character. It's difficult to accept that even Mr. Jones' white-hot flame could melt through Libbie's icy exterior. Added to that is the doctor's Swedish accent which occasionally renders a line or two incomprehensible (including a crucial plea to Mr. Jones in the middle of a rain storm).
Anne Bancroft has little more screen time than Libbie's cat, and probably doesn't turn in as impressive a performance. What she's doing in this movie is something of a mystery. Also turning up are Bill Pullman and Sheryl Lee (the infamous Laura Palmer from TV's Twin Peaks), neither of whose names appear in the final credits. The only actor in this production who can legitimately be proud of his work is Delroy Lindo (as Jones' friend Howard), but he's not on screen nearly enough.
I often have problems with movies that go for the too-easy, fairy tale ending. MR. JONES has all the subtlety of a Greek tragedy, and the screenwriters should have treated the concluding scenes appropriately. What do we get, however? I won't explicitly reveal what happens, but suffice it to say that this is a Richard Gere executive-produced Hollywood concoction. That just about says all that needs to be said.
It has always seemed insensitive to use mental illness as a form of comic relief, and that's exactly what MR. JONES does on several occasions. To the film's credit, it tries to balance its presentation of the hospital's residents, but there's something that still smacks of exploitation. After all, when you get to the core of the matter, Mr. Jones' manic depressive problems are nothing more than a plot device to complicate the romance between the two main characters.
See MR. JONES at your own risk. Those who enjoy such excruciatingly manipulative experiences like Untamed Heart will probably come out of this movie spouting words of praise. Those who could do without that sort of melodrama would do better looking elsewhere. There's not much of substance in MR. JONES. Worse movies can be found in abundance, but this one's a little too empty for my taste.
- James Berardinelli (blake7@cc.bellcore.com)
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