Lantana: Review By B. Alan Orange

(Is it just me, or do the Joe Somebody billboards and posters make it look about as appealing as a white-labeled bottle of generic beer?)

It's Australian teatime at a table reserved for the boorish. Like a scholarly chap hooked on Dalwhinnie Scotch, Lantana will talk your ear off at any formal get-together. Those within sight distance appear to be having a fine time, yet you can't escape its shortened exhaustive breaths. When a decision has been made to ditch this desiccated lecture in huddle with the obligatory, "I"ve got to get another drink!" excuse, its tight hand reaches out and pulls you back in place. Tiny intense moments whip you awake only to succ*mb to extensive scenes of placated monotony. As interest disappears, other excuses come to mind, "I have to use the bathroom. My wife needs help with the bean dip." Once that bottom lip attempts to truncate a means of escape, those bony fingers are there, digging unkempt nails into your flesh. Lantana goes on like this for a good two hours, making for a rather uneven attempt at entertainment.

Be weary of anything headlined by Anthony LaPaglia. He has a knack for lingering about some truly awful crap. If you can stare at him in lead for more than 80 minutes, you're a better man (natch; person) than I. He's strong in a back-up cameo, but once those nostrils start to flare, I experience c*ckroaches crawling in and out of the cartilage of my spine. The second hand ticks at timing his Lantana performance; the man is perfect. Droplets of stomach acid get buggy every time he clocks in, his Leon Zat is the key character to which all actions are hinged.

Leon is an angry cop having a torrid affair. A majority of the film plays like Dirty Harry's off day; a behind the scenes doc*mentary-look at Callahan's home life. This fling effects not only his wife, but also Jane, the woman he's sleeping with, who's taking time off from her husband, who shares drinks with Zat, neither knowing either's ties to Jane. Zat's wife, and the rest of this tight circle, are seeing a Psychiatrist played by Barbara Hershey. Of course Hershey ends up dead, her corpse winding its way back to Zat. Then there are Jane's neighbors, who might have something to do with Hershey's attempt at reaching sky clouds and God. Exhausting, I know. It's amazing how, in a town widened by millions of city blocks, the same four closed-out couples can intersect and manipulate each other.

Lantana could be a follow-up to September's British comedy Born Romantic, which followed three couples through their intertwining journey of engagement. Now, fifteen years latter, we watch as these couples disintegrate. The film isn't about its crime drama trappings so much as it's about the dissolution of marriage. We're forced into the footsteps of these private lives, each one barely hanging on by a thread. Dodging back and forth between story lines like the best Seinfeld script, Lantana lags in painful lurches that are yawn inducing. To stay on top of things, you might want to bring a bucket of ice water and a midget (if you're willing to pay the midget to stay awake and splash you at the appropriate times, that is.)

Lantana has swept numerous award functions this year. It even palm-forced Moulin Rouge to give it the lead atop the Australian equivalent of our Academy Awards! That's too bad. At least Baz Luhrmann's musical oddity was fun. Lantana requires two Fed-7s dissolved into a bottle of Jolt-Max. Sh*t-f*cks who insist it must be good based on it's County Fair blue ribbons sound like, "Blah, blah, blah" into my cochlea with a stick-pin. You have to remember that back in 1989, Young Einstein did the same thing. Upon reaching the shores of America, Yahoo Serious' comedy classic (personally, I love the film) was relegated to the way-back screens of our (then) much smaller cineplexes.

Discarding any ounce of humor, this prestigious work turns up its nose and pushes to the front of the line. Sorry, I'm not in the mood for that kind of rudeness.

The press notes plead: Please don't reveal the ending of this movie when discussing it in your reviews. I have to scratch my head. What ending? Is it giving anything away to say the "mysterious" ending is really inconsequential to the dramatic construct of the film's through point? All we're given is another loose-end amongst numerous loose-ends, none in a hurry to tighten themselves up. The police investigation and murder are MacGuffins disguised as plot dressing. These actions are needed to pull certain aspects of the film together, but they have little to do with the underlining theme of separation and loss of emotion. It plays on the death of love in a relationship, but its symbolism is lost to flashlights and notepads. The solution of crime is dispensable. The resolution of marriage is not.

The movie has amassed an interesting cast in the face of its paltritude. Amidst its wings of talent, a call-sheet that reads like a Bizzaro World Ocean's 11 IMDB update, stand two unknown lockouts. Leah Purcell & Kerry Armstrong spur interest in the middle, somewhat shaking off the sawdust of Lantana's lumbering tenacity. Purcell, best known for her work on Australian Broadcasting, proves that the least suspect roles are always the most intriguing. She kicks through the purpose of Claudia, Leon Zat's partner, with a quiet earnestness that eats at the chest in bite-marks of blood. Claudia's single, yet the least lonely of the bunch. It's easy to go with her reasoning behind support of Zat; he seems to be her only friend. Purcell conveys this with one sad, simple look; her head covered with newspaper in the rain.

Armstrong's Sonja has just discovered that Claudia knows of Zat's ongoing affair with Jane: Soap Opera stuff elevated to a level of reality by these two fine actresses. Less impressive are heavy hitters Hershey and Geoffrey Rush. They throw through the emotions of a bickering couple as one might expect, never turning the material on its ear. Their parts, respectively, should have been turned over to less experienced Melbourne players in the raw. A minor-league play may have sparked the film's intensity meter. As such, Lantana never overcomes its stuffiness, embalmed in boredom and wearing the ugliest sweater vest I've ever seen.

Yes, the thrill is gone. Seek outside reservoirs for decomposition; just don't lie to your wife. Maybe if I were married, I'd be more understanding and complacent in the face of Lantana's greater-than-thou message. I'd still be bored. Yes, I would. Wouldn't you?