GRAND CANYON (1991) *** It's about a perfect title, for a film about L.A. So much happens, so much tragedy, bittersweet triumphs that are more like moments. Presented as poignant tragedy rather than soap opera, it wouldn't be credible in other any setting in human space and time. I guess it pushes it a little as it is, but the desperate stuff is counterbalanced with no small amount of citrus league all-star naval gazing. Steve Martin, Mary McDonnell, and Kevin Kline are educated professionals in touch with their feelings and possessing pretty much the full array of psychological tools on offer. They are desperate in that quiet Waldon way, forever focusing on the few things that they can neither control nor comprehend. Jeremy Sisto and Sarah Trigger are young lovers, at least he headed down the garden path (in a Led Zeppelin t-shirt) of self-analysis (but now curbed by the instant self-comprehension, however illusory, of the young) blazed by his parents. Gary Glover is a tow-truck driver, but I identify most with him, in no small part because he has a big yellow Camaro and wears a Mets cap. What happened? Has it got me, too? It's about materialism and conquest and bowing before kismet and never letting go of the stray moment that seized you. I don't know how it played in Paris , but it's compelling evidence that someone out in Hollywood is forming a philosophy league, too. Nearly infinitely better than Lawrence Kasdan's more acclaimed The Big Chill.
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