JCVD: Review By B. Alan Orange

Way back in 1995, my writing partner at the time, Chris Reeves, and I set out to create a screenplay about a bunch of homeless kids that get kidnapped and redistributed to this weird burg in Southern Oregon, where they are reincorporated into the lives of childless couples as missing offspring. It was set to star Steven Wright as a dad that becomes attached to one such misplaced street youth, and tries to convince the small town that it’s his long missing son. There were some funny bits in it, for sure. And it was surreal as all Hell. But it would have eventually wound up in the three-for-free rental bin had it ever gone into production; a cult hit that maybe seventeen people would have seen in the theater. Sadly, the script was tossed in a drawer to never be seen again. It never got past the second draft stage for a simple reason that neither Chris nor I could ever come to an agreement on. We were told that one of our central characters had to be taken out of the script, and that sort of ruined it for us both. You see, we wanted to have Corey Feldman appear as himself. And that’s the way we were writing the story. He was one of the street youths that go missing. At the time, we were told that we couldn’t write a real, living actor into the plot. That we had to take him out, or rename him. For a while, we played with calling Corey by the name of Torey Meldman. But the creative spark was over, and the project died a quick death. If we couldn’t have Feldman playing himself, then sh*t on it. That was the central, driving cusp of the story.

Imagine my surprise. Now, more than ten years later, this strange conceit of one playing him(her)self on screen in a fictionalized story has almost become cliche. I think it was Spike Jonze’s Being John Malkovich that first ushered in this rush of self-referential comedy. Sure, other actors had played themselves on-screen before, but this was the first time an actor was singled out and brought into a completely fake scenario where the other characters surrounding him weren’t based on real people. And the celebrity was the main focus of the plot. It seems to me, this was the first real time where an actor was written into an imaginary storyline as a character in and of himself. That was in 1999. Now, nearly ten years later, all kinds of actors are getting in on this wave of weirdness. I’ll be the first to admit it, I think it’s a lot of fun. I might be biased, seeing as how I enjoyed the concept way back when I was told, “No! You can’t do that!” But I enjoy watching actors play muted versions of themselves for our amusement.

This year alone has seen Bruce Willis starring as himself in What Just Happened?, Bruce Campbell starring as Bruce Campbell in My Name is Bruce, and Jean-Claude Can Damme as JCVD in this film here. On the cusp of viewing each project, the thought of watching these always iconic, though sometimes berated, men send themselves up was a welcome choir. They have the sort of personalities that deserve a bit of motor-lipped rib poking. Campbell has culled his traits to create the anti-Bruce. And it’s hilarious. Willis takes a couple of cheap shots at his own stated persona, and we like him more for it. But it’s Jean-Claude that achieves the most sympathy from the audience. He is a quite proficient performer when forced to walk a mile in his own shoes. His straight faced punches play for real, and I got so caught up in the story of JCVD as it was unfolding, I had to convince myself that it wasn’t real. It just seems like this could have happened.

Some folks didn’t like the film. Maybe because they thought it was a high concept comedy. It isn’t. It’s a realistic take on what could happen if a star of Van Damme’s stature actually found himself involved in a bank robbery. That doesn’t mean it will play out they way you think it will in your head. At different intervals, you keep waiting for the action star to live up to his name. That he never quite does is an exceptional thumbtack into his own ideas of self worth. At times, Van Damme seems more disappointed in himself then those around him ever could be. Through a series of flashbacks, we learn that he is in the midst of a child custody battle. And that he is in a financial crisis. The post office heist (which is actually being robbed instead of a bank because its less obvious and they have money there) is first shown from the cop’s point of view. Is Van Damme the one hustling Brussels for unpaid court fees? Is he the one holding hostages? It’s an interesting set of rules that are implemented in the first half hour. But those rules are suddenly flip-flopped, and we actually get to see inside the vault. That’s where most of the fun happens.

There, we learn more about Van Damme’s custody battle, and have to wonder if it is real. Or if it is a bit of fueled fakery baked and sold courtesy of the screenplay. Van Damme’s daughter doesn’t want to go home with him. Why? Abuse? Neglect? No, the other kids at school make fun of her for having this faux 80s super hero for a father. It’s a tender bit of Mac and cheese that Jean-Claude is able to sell through hardened looks of disgust and pain. The guy could be a wash-worn Marky Marc, and the next logical step would see him playing Walberg’s brother in a thriller. If you ever had any doubts that the Muscles from Brussels could act, this film will sew up your waning optimism. When speaking in his foreign tongue, he is more astute and empathetically emotional than most of his American counter parts. The guy nails this performance home, and when he realizes he can’t do anything to help the hostages locked away with him, he is thrust into the rafters for one of the most honest monologues read all year. He actually opens up about his true life, and its riveting cinema. This teary eyed scene levitates Jean-Claude’s persona into the heavens and lets him painfully pontificate on his own extorted hubris.

The photography by Pierre-Yves Bastard (that’s his real name, look it up) is exquisite, and it works in giving the film a statelier, real life atmosphere. JCVD is filmed in these greasy green-grey tones that suck any youthful buoyancy out of its contextual structuring. It isn’t fantastical, or played down and dumb in the mud. The off-putting tones play to the realism of the piece, and it is masterfully wringed through this quadrant of mind space. You never get the sense that you are watching a piece of fiction, fried and served like some lost 80s action relic. It stands on unique ground. All of the blood has been drained out of Van Damme’s face, along with each snippet of celluloid that carries it like a truckload of manure.

Granted. The premise sounds goofy. Maybe you’ll set yourself up into thinking this is a light comedy after alll. But its not. It’s played for real, and gets its laughs from your initial reaction to Van Damme’s own predicament. And his cemented place in the hallowed halls of Hollywood. Some fun jabs are poked at John Woo, but I don’t want to ruin that joke. The actor is shockingly proficient at playing himself, and when he speaks in his home tongue of Brussels, he is an electrifying performer. Not this mumble mouthed king of flying sidekicks that we all know and loathe. If you didn’t feel sorry for him before seeing JCVD, you will after watching Mabrouk El Mechr’s truly great film. Its weighty stuff, and quite effecting. You should definitely seek this one out in the theater. It was originally supposed to be a comedy starring both Van Damme and Steven Seagal. Seagal still gets a couple of mentions (Van Damme loses a role due to Seagal’s willingness to cut off his ponytail, which is hilarious), but I think it would have worsened the film had he actually shown up to help spoil this botched bank robbery. I can’t wait to watch this as a double feature with {FIxVKAyBn5siBx||My Name Is Bruce}.

JCVD gets a very solid Whoop-Doo. Look for it to appear on the Whoop-Doo Best of 2008 list in some capacity. It is that good, and that original.

(All of B. Alan Orange’s reviews are based on the Boo! or Whoop-doo! evaluation system.)