KALIFORNIA (1993) *1/2 Plots have been historically demonstrated to be unnecessary, attractive characters sometimes obscure meaningful and hidden truths, and style is an element capable of accolade in its own absence. But when you have a script this abysmal and grotesque, characters this nauseating, and a style that appears to be grafted from the nearest Dear Abby column from the side of a cereal box, you better have a sweeping statement. Is there a sweeping statement, presumably on serial killers, so profound as to transcend the manifest weaknesses of the film? No, they barely manage to regurgitate the basics. Dominic Sena shoots portentous shots from behind things, but nothing ever comes out to deliver on their promise. That the acting is so good only adds insult to injury, only compounds the tragic waste of time and resources, itself the most distracting thing from the activities on-screen. The first character to be genuinely irritating is cheap art chick Michelle Forbes, you've met her a million times, she wallows in a four-inch deep trough of artistic theory and enterprise and cuts her hair inappropriately at anyone who won't join her. Thus the plot falls apart like a banana in a test tube full of nitric acid the minute she allows redneck dirt-rolling champion Brad Pitt into the same frame with her. Brad's portrayal isn't entirely unsympathetic, particularly in contrast to everyone around him (no brain hack writer loose spaghetti liberal David Duchovny rounds out the cast, along with Juliette Lewis, whom I'll get to in a minute). Told that he's stupid all his life, and believing it, abused, poor Brad just shoulders his way towards whatever he can git, figurin' the score's been against him so long that he's entitled. His accent and mannerisms are flawless, he successfully muffles his innate flamboyance, and there are more than a few moments that...would be terrifying if not for the film all around them. When he's being filmed in the Lincoln, that guy is Charles Manson. And a broken dog who's found a gutter to rule. That all being the case, his artistic critique of Forbes' photographs was nearly enough to vindicate some of its surroundings, what with things so obviously being a film headed the wrong direction anyway. It's the best, maybe the only decently written portion of the script, but it plays to its strengths-the tone is that of banal desperation (desperation on the part of the writers, and banality on the part of them and the character depicted). I've known more than a few dumb people, but never anyone quite as stupid as the yo-yo wielding Juliette Lewis. But they have to be out there somewhere, and since they do, isn't it likely, or at least possible, that they'd end up in situations like this, to the extent that situations like this are possible? Yeah, probably, but they'd drop the yo-yo somewhere along the way. On the other hand, it adds to the film, so I'm glad they kept it in. It's a script that misses out on everything that it hoped for-surely they didn't think they actually included any of that stuff-so if they can get a little mileage out of a yo-yo, I say go for it! Whoo-eeee!
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