Hey folks, Harry here... Last Thursday night at the EXORCIST Premiere party at some scary as hell trendhole called EuroChow, I met Paramount Studio Head... Sherry Lansing... Now I was curious as to which films on her slate she felt were most promising, and this was the first title. I was a bit surprised as... I suppose coming off of BATTLEFIELD EARTH, there's just a part of me that sits about in utter disbelief that Travolta can waltz right back out and knock one out of the park. But Sherry didn't look like she was in 'con' mode... like she was selling me something... It was a genuine off the top of her head title... there were others... but other than THE GIFT, this is the one that generates the most intrigue.... I love Nora Ephron movies... with the notable exception of MICHAEL and HANGING UP. And I'm a well noted sap of a high degree... so I was quite surprised with the swingest feline theif of them all embraced this flick... But don't believe me, believe Robie.... John Robie, he's the casual sex king of the hill....
So I’m not supposed to like Lucky Numbers. I’m really not supposed to like it. “Oh Robie,” Moriarty said, “I don’t know anyone who would want to go with you.” Thanks bastard. I called some more friends, and none of them wanted to go either. Lucky Numbers, after all, is directed by Nora Ephron. She made movies like Hanging Up and You’ve Got Mail and Sleepless in Seattle and When Harry Met Sally….the poor woman’s got something of a used-to-be-great-sliding-to-worse-and-then-just-shit streak going on. I like When Harry Met Sally quite a bit, Sleepless in Seattle is like a girl I’ll kiss when I’m drunk, You’ve Got Mail doesn’t hit me near has hard as it hits Harry and I just hung up on Hanging Up. Ha! See? I can be a hack critic just like the rest of ‘em! I think I just qualified myself for a position as a movie reviewer at a small mid-western paper.
So going into Lucky Numbers I—oh hell, I haven’t even mentioned who stars in the movie. Mr. Battlefield Earth himself. So I’m really not supposed to like Lucky Numbers. Travolta, pah, he made that mess of a movie and, pah, according to some people I know his career is over.
Well lemme tell you all something. I’ll give anything a chance. Anything.
And I’m pretty goddamn happy that I gave Lucky Numbers a chance, because it’s a pretty good little movie. It’s dark with a bit of sweetness, it’s often funnier than hell, the cast is terrific and it feels nothing like Ephron’s earlier films.
And one more thing: Travolta is excellent. I’ll leave my address at the end of the piece. That way you can send me the tomatoes. I’ll throw them at myself for you.
It’s 1988, and Russ Richardson (Travolta) is the biggest celebrity in the not quite too big city of Hastings, Pennsylvania. He’s the local TV station’s weatherman, and he’s got his own parking spot AND his own table at the local Denny’s. He’s also having sex with Crystal (Lisa Kudrow), the TV station’s lottery girl. He’s also in debt big time. No one is buying snow mobiles from his new snow mobile dealership because, hell, it’s sunny and hot this winter, and to add insult to injury the agent who was going to rep Russ and make him a game show host has up and died. Russ is running out of money, Russ is going to be stuck in Hastings forever, Russ doesn’t want to be stuck in Hastings and what can he do? Well, local strip club owner/chili cook Gig (Tim fucking Roth, man) gots an idea; rig the lottery. Crystal and Russ do just that…and then things get real complicated.
BE GONE DEMON!!! THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU!!!! Ahh…Jesus, sorry…for that last paragraph there I was possessed by a fucking lower level studio executive. I could go back and change the paragraph and make it cooler but that’d take time, and I don’t wanna be cutting into my heavy masturbation period. Runs from 1 to 4 every night.
AHHH…that wasn’t me, that was still the studio exec again. Okay, I’m back. I probably should get rid of what he just typed about masturbating and all, but that’d take time and cut into my heav…oh forget it.
Ephron’s got a surprisingly sure hand with this one. Surprising because, really, how many cuddly cute romances have we seen? Show ‘em in love, show the gazes of longing, they kiss, bam, print it and it’s a hit. Handling dark comedy, material that’s supposed to shock and then create laughs and then shock again, is trickier. This is a dark comedy but not too dark, one that playfully jumps around and wallows in its own ridiculousness, and Ephron translates the nasty child feel well.
What’s better than the directing—and what’s truly surprising here—is how damn good Travolta is. It’s one of his finest performances, and I know the kook whistles are going off for me saying that. What he does is pretty special. You’re almost always going to get something fun out of putting a guy in a situation that totally spins out of his control. When your actor goes and pulls off a performance like Travolta’s, though, things really get interesting. Yeah yeah, the cliché detector goes nuts when you say he’s the loveable schmuck, but the character is a lot more than that. What makes him more than that—and what elevates the comedy here—is that the guy feels truly human, and he feels truly human because Travolta just gets into the guy’s skin like you wouldn’t believe. You’re never supposed to really like him yet you do. If you can make an audience go against their better judgement and want to see the guy who should lose win, you’ve succeeded. In Lucky Numbers, you want Travolta to win.
A big part of wanting him to win is because the character is drawn so well, and the character is drawn so well in large part due to screenwriter Adam Resnick. Now listen, I happen to like Resnick’s last film. That film happens to be Cabin Boy and good Christ, I can see all of you rolling your eyes. I like Cabin Boy, I know it’s not for everyone, but love it or hate it you’ve got to admit that Resnick’s whole take was somewhat different than your typical Hollywood fare. Lucky Numbers—and man, that’s a pretty lame title…--isn’t quite as strange as Cabin Boy, but it’s still retains a little of that film’s weirdness. It’s a different kinda universe than we’re used to seeing, especially from Nora Ephron.
It’s far from a perfect film, but it is an exceedingly important one because it’s got a sex scene with Lisa Kudrow. No, but seriously….okay, seriously, it’s got a sex scene with Lisa Kudrow, and she so immaculately personifies the 80’s trashy, bitchy vixen that I found myself reliving my pre-teen years as little Robie sitting in front of the television and lusting after the Sears’ models on WGN in Chicago. Which is worlds different than twentysomething Robie lusting after porn stars on Colin’s Sleazy Friends on LA public access. Sigh…and he thinks himself a writer….
Kudrow is excellent, again proving that she’s the one from that fucking show—stress fucking show—that knows what she’s doing when it comes to film. Roth is just as good, though his character just kinda disappears in the last fifteen minutes of the movie. The whole supporting cast, actually, is dead on, especially Ed O’Neill as Travolta and Kudrow’s station manager and Michael Rapaport as a thug. Actually he’s “Dale the Thug.” That’s his nickname. Very funny in the context of the movie. Michael Moore shows up for a little while as Kudrow’s cousin, and there are a few jokes at his expense because he masturbates a lot—like masturbation jokes are funny, please…—and Bill Pullman shows up as a lazy cop. Moore and Pullman only feel half used, especially Moore, but Kudrow, Travolta and Roth’s performances more than make up the slack.
Really, guys, all you’ve got to give me are a good story, good characters and some laughs. If the characters happen to be deeper than a one-line description, I’m even happier. If the laughs are more than “oh, it’s good because it’s filthy” I’m even happier. If you get a little dark, the smile gets bigger. If Lisa Kudrow is in a sex scene, well, rosier cheeks man. Lucky Numbers loses a little steam about mid-way through—right when things go from straight funny to dark funny—but it doesn’t take long for the thing to find its legs again. It’s not a big movie, it’s not a major movie, hell, it probably didn’t even warrant this lumbering, verbose piece. But it was a movie that surprised me, and surprise isn’t exactly a word I’d equate with most of the garbage I’ve seen this year. It’s worth checking out.
…and the only reason I didn’t mention Nora Ephron’s film Michael when talking about Nora Ephron’s filmography is because all prints of Michael should burn in hellfire for eternity. Thank you and goodnight.
John Robie out.
