By Chuck Wilson
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Amy Nicholson
By Carolina Del Busto
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Michael Atkinson
By Calum Marsh
There hasn't been so bloodthirsty a service comedy since The Dirty Dozen, although Three Kings's supercharged, bongo-driven cynicism mixes absurd slapstick with intermittent nods to the helpless huddled Third World masses. Russell not only visualizes bombed Iraqi children and bullet-traumatized internal organs but has the guts to point out that the war was fought for oil and that the U.S. had armed Saddam against Iran. Then the movie (which is cluttered with too many dumb peckerwoods and inexpressive performers) starts searching for its own heart. The action stops short so Clooney can explain what's happening: "Bush told the people to rise up against Saddam. They thought they'd have our support. They don't. Now they're getting slaughtered."
Increasingly muddled, cumulatively monotonous, would-be heartwarming, Three Kingsbecomes its own entertainment allegory searching, Hollywood style, for the point at which blatant self-interest can turn humanitarian, while still remaining profitable. The movie has a unique trajectory. It keeps trying to go conventional and ultimately does.
A handheld and grainy exercise in cine-stupefaction, Harmony Korine's julien donkey-boywas shot on digital video according to the strictly "naturalistic," well-hyped precepts of the Danish Dogma group. It also shares Dogma's unwritten but trademark fondness for cretinous overacting. The movie opens with its eponymous protagonist (Ewen Bremner) punching out the camera, dripping snot and drooling through his metal teeth.
Written and directed by David O. Russell
A Warner Bros. release
Written and directed by Harmony Korine
An Independent Pictures/Fine Line release
Opens October 8
Opening fluid-fest aside, fans of Korine's genuinely disgusting Gummo (hyped by Janet Maslin as the worst movie of 1997) may be disappointed. julien donkey-boy is more feeble and less unpleasant than Korine's debut the big shocks in this cattle-tranquilizer are a masturbating nun, an armless drummer, a cigarette-swallowing geek, a potty-mouthed kid with payess, and the miscarriage suffered by Julien's sister (poor Chlöe Sevigny) after her ludicrously telegraphed tumble on a skating rink. The oh-wow look sugarcoats the inane action. The movie's only really tasteless scene uses a black Baptist church service as a backdrop for Julien's antics.
Korine has suggested that his lowlife, Queens-set family drama is in some sense autobiographical. Be that as it may, filmmaker Werner Herzog plays Julien's punitive father, lugubriously lecturing a second son (Korine look-alike Evan Neumann) to be a "man" and a "winner." After a while, Herzog seems to be commenting on the movie itself: "If I were so stupid I would slap my own face." Well put but, even at that, julien donkey-boy is too spastic to connect the movie just flails the air.
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