MarquisDD
Joined Nov 1999
Welcome to the new profile
We're still working on updating some profile features. To see the badges, ratings breakdowns, and polls for this profile, please go to the previous version.
Reviews7
MarquisDD's rating
By all rites, this movie should have been crap. Low budget, questionable production values, B-Movie trailers on the video tape, etc.
A well developed script delivered by superb actors bootstrapped this movie out of its own mediocrity into something truly substantial. So nice to see a film about manic depression that doesn't sensationalise the disease, shy away from its realities, its highs and lows, and doesn't throw itself a pity party.
And then of course there's Janeane Garofalo as lead and film producer who, I imagine, could *sneeze* brilliantly if she wanted to.
A well developed script delivered by superb actors bootstrapped this movie out of its own mediocrity into something truly substantial. So nice to see a film about manic depression that doesn't sensationalise the disease, shy away from its realities, its highs and lows, and doesn't throw itself a pity party.
And then of course there's Janeane Garofalo as lead and film producer who, I imagine, could *sneeze* brilliantly if she wanted to.
All films should begin with an opening monologue by Sandra Bernhard. It's so hard to fail after the inimitable Sandra sets the mood. Parody such as Plump Fiction can either soar or fail miserably. I was pleasantly surprised to see PF in the former category. A clever script, an excellent cast, and a ubiquitous tongue in cheek kept this little underground gem glittering. Particularly memorable components were: well, the inclusion of Julie Brown, which is always a good thing; a brilliant and unexpected cameo by Jodie Foster's "Nell"; and the show-stealer was a brilliant send-up of Juliette Lewis's white trash Natural Born Killers heroine.
And then there's Sandra, of course.
And then there's Sandra, of course.
So rarely do we find such a dark and acidic commentary filmed in such an exquisitely light fashion. "American Beauty" is an example of success in this genre, but the relatively obscure "Smile" reigns supreme.
It lays bare all the emptiness and hypocrisy of suburban America relentlessly and without mercy, and yet somehow manages to keep itself funny and bright and rarely deals with its subject matter with an overt contempt or scorn.
"Agent 99" Barbara Feldon is superb as the veneer ice-queen teen beauty pageant coordinator -- all diplomacy and smiles glossing over a charred and empty soul. (She greets the dog with smiles and kisses then ignores the husband.) Likewise, Bruce Dern portrays his vapid community leader role with perfect candor, and it becomes delicious to see him question what he perceived as the status quo.
A truly classic and trail-blazing film, well directed and edited and brilliantly written and acted. Such a shame it remains so obscure and unknown. This is one of my top five favourite films and becomes richer and more intricate with each viewing.
And I will never hear Nat King Cole sing the title song again and not picture the strained and pained perma-grins as the opening shot pans across the hopeful beauty contestants.
It lays bare all the emptiness and hypocrisy of suburban America relentlessly and without mercy, and yet somehow manages to keep itself funny and bright and rarely deals with its subject matter with an overt contempt or scorn.
"Agent 99" Barbara Feldon is superb as the veneer ice-queen teen beauty pageant coordinator -- all diplomacy and smiles glossing over a charred and empty soul. (She greets the dog with smiles and kisses then ignores the husband.) Likewise, Bruce Dern portrays his vapid community leader role with perfect candor, and it becomes delicious to see him question what he perceived as the status quo.
A truly classic and trail-blazing film, well directed and edited and brilliantly written and acted. Such a shame it remains so obscure and unknown. This is one of my top five favourite films and becomes richer and more intricate with each viewing.
And I will never hear Nat King Cole sing the title song again and not picture the strained and pained perma-grins as the opening shot pans across the hopeful beauty contestants.