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| A typical moment of fashion porn in Crazy Rich Asians |
Jon M. Chu's Crazy Rich Asians is a pleasant enough romantic comedy. However, what is on the surface a progressive milestone, due to its all Asian cast, is actually a retrograde wallow in materialistic fantasies. The plot would have been moldy in the Victorian era. It could have been made in the 30s with Margaret Sullivan and Henry Fonda. Constance Wu and Henry Golding are New York yuppies whose romantic relationship is reaching the serious stage. He suggests a trip to Singapore to meet his family. Once there, of course, things do not go as well as expected for the duo. The chief obstacle seems to be an unyielding mother, played with stern implacability by Michelle Yeoh. Per formula, true love wins in the end.
Chu moves things along, but the film lacks a firm directorial imprint. There is mild satire of affluent Asians, but this film is too unrelentingly nice to dig deeper. Thus, we join the characters in savoring Singapore's sensual pleasures. Much of the film is a swim in these pleasures: we get food porn, fashion porn, jewelry porn, shopping porn and Singapore skyline porn. I am not using the word porn pejoratively. I am happy to mindlessly wallow in a visual simulacrum of pleasure as anybody. However, when a director celebrates the wonders of the Singapore skyline, the epitome of capitalism on steroids, it is obvious that he is avoiding ironic distance or a critical eye like the plague.
It may seem that I am criticizing a souffle for not being a steak, but I found Crazy Rich Asians to be old hat. A good example is the function of the gay characters, well played by Nico Santos and Awkwafina. They are on hand to provide emotional support for the heroine, offer bitchy comments on their social milieu and provide checks for the production's Woke boxes. Neither has a romantic interest. They might as well be Patsy Kelly and Franklin Pangborn. Still, they are the least bland characters on screen and I suppose that is their function. Crazy Rich Asians serves its function, but has little else to offer.
In contrast, Paul Solet's Bullet Head is an unpleasant stew of violence, crime and animal cruelty, yet it has more of a moral commitment to its themes than Crazy Rich Asians does. Adrien Brody, John Malkovich and Rory Culkin are crooks who hide in an abandoned warehouse after a botched robbery. Soon they discover the warehouse is a site for dog fights, masterminded by Antonio Banderas, and they must contend with one very angry canine.
Solet chooses to flesh out his film with flashbacks from the dog's point of view. This gamble, which flirts with ridiculousness, works because Solet uses this device to chronicle cruelty and not to wallow in its effect. Most of the violence is implied. He gives each character a memorable soliloquy and flashback and grounds their memories in their current plight. All of the actors shine and Brody gives his best performance since The Pianist.
Bullet Head's moral is similar to that of "Androcles and the Lion". A karmic payback brings a sliver of light to these proceedings. Bullet Head is too dark for most people, but I admire its gravity.
Chu moves things along, but the film lacks a firm directorial imprint. There is mild satire of affluent Asians, but this film is too unrelentingly nice to dig deeper. Thus, we join the characters in savoring Singapore's sensual pleasures. Much of the film is a swim in these pleasures: we get food porn, fashion porn, jewelry porn, shopping porn and Singapore skyline porn. I am not using the word porn pejoratively. I am happy to mindlessly wallow in a visual simulacrum of pleasure as anybody. However, when a director celebrates the wonders of the Singapore skyline, the epitome of capitalism on steroids, it is obvious that he is avoiding ironic distance or a critical eye like the plague.
It may seem that I am criticizing a souffle for not being a steak, but I found Crazy Rich Asians to be old hat. A good example is the function of the gay characters, well played by Nico Santos and Awkwafina. They are on hand to provide emotional support for the heroine, offer bitchy comments on their social milieu and provide checks for the production's Woke boxes. Neither has a romantic interest. They might as well be Patsy Kelly and Franklin Pangborn. Still, they are the least bland characters on screen and I suppose that is their function. Crazy Rich Asians serves its function, but has little else to offer.
In contrast, Paul Solet's Bullet Head is an unpleasant stew of violence, crime and animal cruelty, yet it has more of a moral commitment to its themes than Crazy Rich Asians does. Adrien Brody, John Malkovich and Rory Culkin are crooks who hide in an abandoned warehouse after a botched robbery. Soon they discover the warehouse is a site for dog fights, masterminded by Antonio Banderas, and they must contend with one very angry canine.
Solet chooses to flesh out his film with flashbacks from the dog's point of view. This gamble, which flirts with ridiculousness, works because Solet uses this device to chronicle cruelty and not to wallow in its effect. Most of the violence is implied. He gives each character a memorable soliloquy and flashback and grounds their memories in their current plight. All of the actors shine and Brody gives his best performance since The Pianist.
Bullet Head's moral is similar to that of "Androcles and the Lion". A karmic payback brings a sliver of light to these proceedings. Bullet Head is too dark for most people, but I admire its gravity.
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| Brody and Malkovich provide gravitas in Bullet Head |
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