Hey folks, Harry here.... This seems an odd way to finish off a festival that was pretty damn strong, but then different tastes were in charge of the programming... Here's Capone to let ya know how the Chicago Film Fest wound up...
Hey, Harry. Capone in Chicago here, batting clean up on the Chicago Film Festival. The two Closing Night films of the festival were both world premieres. Neither one was particularly worthy of the Closing Night slot (for example, the far superior SHADOW OF THE VAMPIRE closed out last year’s festival), but both had Chicago connections, and one of them was actually pretty good.
BLEACHER BUMS
The Showtime cable channel was one of the sponsors of this year’s Chicago Int’l Film Festival, so it’s not surprising that they were able to showcase a couple of their upcoming original films here. One, RUBY’S BUCKET OF BLOOD with Angela Bassett, I reviewed in Part 2 of my festival wrap-up. I wasn’t impressed. BLEACHER BUMS, however, achieves better results. Based on the hugely successful Chicago-based production that began in the late 1970s (with Dennis Franz and Stuart Gordon among the original cast), BLEACHER BUMS is the story of a group of regular Wrigley Field bleacher seat fans of the Chicago Cubs. Unfortunately because of the enormous amount of gambling that goes on in the film, the filmmakers were unable to get permission from Major League Baseball to use the names Cubs or Wrigley. Oh well. It really doesn’t matter. BLEACHER BUMS could be about any team in any town. Although, as a sometime bleacher bum myself at Wrigley Field, I can attest to the unique nature of the fanaticism of Cubs fans. These men and women (both in the movie and in real life) treat the game as a religion and have turned heckling opposing players into an art form. The dialogue is rapid fire and covers all the things you’d expect: baseball, betting, women, and life. This isn’t a sappy look at America’s favorite pastime; some of these fans are the epitome of bitterness. But the film is funny, insightful, and well acted by an ensemble that includes Peter Riegert, Wayne Knight, Brad Garrett, Hal Sparks, and Matt Craven. If you’re familiar with the play, the two scoreboard gurus are played by Charles Durning and Maury Chaykin. Watch it next April on Showtime.
SPEAKING OF SEX
I love John McNaughton. Since HENRY: PORTRAIT OF A SERIAL KILLER and THE BORROWER, I’ve loved John McNaughton. I even liked MAD DOG AND GLORY. He’s from Chicago and in a few cases the only theatrical release his films get are in Chicago (NORMAL LIFE and CONDO PAINTING). I thought for sure that WILD THINGS was going to propel him into a place where he’d have a bit more freedom and acceptance by everybody. But SPEAKING OF SEX won’t help his case. Quite frankly, it sucks donkey. If this movie is ever released (and that is questionable, since it has no distributor as yet), some may call it a screwball comedy a la Frank Capra or Preston Sturges. And the people who say such things may be called “Liars!” by me. This film is a mess from top to bottom, start to finish. James Spader is a therapist that can barely put two words together, let alone counsel patients. A young married woman (Melora Walters) is referred to him by a colleague (Lara Flynn Boyle) who is counselling the woman and her husband (Jay Mohr) in couples therapy. Spader and Walters sleep together before he even accepts her case, and this triggers a series of events that leads to a lawsuit by the couple against the therapist. Then we find out Spader and Boyle had a relationship, blah, blah, blah. Plot twists are tossed in at the convenience of the filmmakers and not because they make any sense of relevance. Since the movie actually begins with the ending, we kind of know how things are going to turn up, so that drama is out the window. The ONLY redeeming thing about SPEAKING OF SEX is the appearance of Bill Murray and Catherine O’Hara as the lawyers for Spader and the young couple, respectively. It was actually something akin to cold water on my face when Murray came on screen. He’s so funny, but his brilliance will be completely lost in the context of this shit film. I predict a cable premiere for this film at best. If you are in need of a Murray fix, tape the movie and fast-forward about 40 minutes into the film. You’ll be in heaven, albeit briefly. And yes, you guessed it: a movie called SPEAKING OF SEX has zero nudity in it. But by the end of this film, that’s the least of your disappointments.
Capone (Click Here To Send Your Praise Of My Glory And Bribes For My Butt-Numb-A-Thon Ticket!)
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