Scotland PA: Review By B. Alan Orange

TIPS ON MAXIMIZING YOUR KILL COUNT:

(Scotland, Pa's promotional packaging is trying to sell this film as a clever send-up spoof of recent Shakespearean up-dates ala Scary Movie and Not Another Teen Movie. Alas, that is not the case. It is smarter and clearly more academic than Get Over It and 10 Things I Hate About You, but it's at the core concept of the recent Othello rebuff "O" and about as distinguished as Ethan Hawke's Hamlet.)

After slobbing a bit of butter on my Drew Berrymuffin, I rectified the man-made finger hole at the base of Teddy Ruxpin's spine, causing his jaw too fall off. I now wear that plastic tongue around my neck like some odd badge of courage.

Huh, what? Review a movie? Sure; okay. Just know: I'm not about to retract anything I've stated in the past, or publish a reprieve. With that clarification out of the way, let me just say...

Christ and Jesus, I'd like to kill my roommate. Trust me, I'm not declaring that in an odd play on words or as a metaphorical means to communicate disgust. In the past, "killing" has been used as a slang term to justify anger. Even you, dear friend, have expressed at the expense of an enemy: "I'm going to kill him." Or even, "I'm going to kill you." Both are flippant remarks used to simulate displeasure; there's never any real meaning thrown behind these well-used euphemisms. Well, rest assured, that's not me at the moment. I'm all five words at the core of authenticity. I want to kill, stab, mutilate, sever, and see my roommate's head bobbing at the end of a serrated pole. (I've just supplied my motivation and reduced my alibi.)

You know that part in movies where the lead character is driving his car to some thumping, pictorialized down-beat? And in his mind, he's coming to the rational conclusion that he should murder some particularly annoying individual? This one person's demise will inevitably make his life that much better? That's me. I have to wonder who's watching me on the big screen. All the different ways of offing my roommate continually flow in multiple lapping waves, crashing against the shores of my tightening brain. He is truly an infected scab on the forehead; picked, and picked, and then flicked under the couch only to grow back black and hard. I'll be damned if he hasn't left a pink scar raging down my tender face tissue. I tried to be a friend. I gave of myself, and he pushed the limit. His behavior has grown irritating and ridiculous. He's abusive, mentally and physically. There's no talking to the man, because he's one of those cellular phone clock chips; he's never wrong. His girlfriend left him, why can't I? Because, I'm no good with confrontations. I always blow it at the most crucial moment. That's why I'm grateful for a movie like Scotland, Pa. It has set me up and shown me all the wrong ways to go about committing a crime. A testament to first time director/writer Billy Morisette; his is a well-crafted, well-executed movie.

The problem: I didn't enjoy it. It's rather tiresome, much like the lump sum of Shakespeare's core agendum. Looking at it in a different light, it's a pitch-perfect manual in how not to go about garroting a friend. I dig the execution; it's the exercise that has me sagging at the knees.

Scotland, Pa's most crucial lesson: If you're going to murder an associate, take a close look behind you and make sure the actions leading up to the deed aren't following in the footsteps of a Shakespearean play. Examine your surroundings carefully. If any notable links are falling into the Bard's celestial design, your own outcome is doomed. The trick is; pretty much everything ties in with William's key arrangement. If I were too choose a knife-stabbing method when eradicating that mealworm known as my roommate, he'd surely turn with a spit-lubed chin and proclaim, "Et Tu, Orange?"

The problem with Scotland, PA is that its characters never realize they are trapped in a Shakespearean cliche. The film takes place in the early Seventies; a time when America was more focused on William's theatrical works. Every screen moment in the life of the McBeths mirrors a key plot point from one of Shakespeare's most popular plays. Their last name says it all: MACBETH. Duh. They should have recognized this trap and seen that their plan was ill fated from the get-go. Me? Since seeing this film, I've successfully gone through each of Bill's tragic tomes so that when a familiar theme surfaces in execution of my execution, I know how to rearrange and rectify the means. The McBeths should have gone to a High School Library and checked out a copy of this drama in namesake. Or, at the very least, they should have realized their unfortunate destiny. I could see overlooking a few minor coincidences, but when each and every dramatic beat is hit squarely on the head, I'd have too take a step back and think a moment, "What can I do to change the inevitable outcome?"

Maura Tierney and James LeGros are the McBeths, a couple trapped in grease; grilling burgers and cleaning bathrooms at a backwoods In & Out for minimum wage. LeGros has some truly tremendous ideas that will, inevitably, revolutionize the Fast Food industry. There's the chicken bits with flavored dipping sauce, the drive-through window, and the Free Fry truck. When it comes time for big boss Duncan, a man more focused on creating the perfect donut, to hire a new manager, LeGros' aspirations are overlooked. Instead of choosing employee of the month McBeth to run the restaurant, he goes with his oldest son, Malcolm. Of course, Duncan Junior has no interest in the Burger Business and hates his upstart father.

Disappointed with Duncan's decision, the McBeths kill their boss and buy out the company. LeGros implements the use of his trademarked junk food inventions, turning the In & Out into a McDonald's hybrid. The rest of the story will be familiar to anyone forced past remedial reading. There's the guilt, the three witches (seen here as hippies), and McDuff, a police detective in town to investigate. Once all these things started falling into place, LeGros and Tierney should have reconsidered their actions. After seeing Scotland, Pa, I now know to do that.

The second important lesson taught through this film: Choice of Death. Never choose a method of demise that's easily traceable. The McBeths kill their boss in his place of business; very bad move. They dip the poor guy's head into bubbling French fry grease and leave him there (note: Even if they hadn't left him there, the fact that his face was peeled to the bone would lead detectives back to the crime scene). This seems rather cruel and unusual. If they were going to kill Duncan at work, they should have either made it look like A) an accident or B) a suicide. When you tie a guy's hands behind his back and drop him into burning tallow, investigators are going to suspect fowl play.

I know now that I'll probably be sent away for a very long time (or end up impaled on a pair of Antelope Antlers, just like McBeth and David from the Lost Boys) if I tie my roommate's hands behind his back and drown him in the toilet. There are a number of easier and more proficient ways to get rid of a nuisance. Of course, whichever method of madness you hand-pick, you're still going to need an alibi. Again, the McBeths have failed in securing yet another important item on their "Perfect Crime" check list. They are suppose to be at a bar party playing board games, yet everyone involved in Yahtzee recalls them leaving too early. And Malcolm, Duncan's heir and angry Metal Head son, witnesses them leaving the restaurant in question at high speeds. Of course the police are going to eventually figure out who did it.

This brings us to one thing the movie gets right in terms of self-fulfillment and accomplishing a faultless transgression. Like Malcolm, who loathes his father (a very popular Shakespearean cliche that holds the only true surface motivation, it's good to have a reason and a will without an alibi.) The trick is finding another with equal reasoning that is less known to the public. See, I know quite a few people who'd like to see my roommate dead. And if done right, I could prove them to be the offender. I mean, I've just made it known to anyone dumb enough to stumble upon this review column that, yes, I would, should, can and probably will kill my roommate...But come on, it's a joke. I'm not really going to do it. I'm just talking out of my ass and it's obviously a parody. Who's dumb enough to write about it and then do it? Huh? It's too easy to pin the crime on me now. Thus, proving I've committed the perfect crime. Since I'm the most likely suspect, no one's going to suspect me; natch.

After pulling off the "Perfect Crime", a guy sure is hungry. Scotland, Pa is not only a good guidance councilor in Murder 101; it works in stimulating the appetite like no other film before it. A majority of the action takes place in and around a fast food establishment. There is a heavy emphasis placed on its greasy spoon esthetic. Even though the actors are great, you won't come out of the theater thinking about them. Sure, LeGros and Tierney hit each note with glaring perfection. Of course, Christopher Walkin plays it smart by nailing another comedic role. And jeez, who thought Andy Dick could actually be funny? Forget about it. Once you step foot outside the theater, all that's going to be eating at your brain is the thought of Jack-In-The-Box and Fat Burger. I wasn't the only one; I single-handedly witnessed the phenomenon as I exited the screening room. Everyone followed suit by heading next door to McDonalds. The only buzz I overheard in a huddle was how they were all hungry for Chicken McNuggets and French Fries.

Like Donnie Darko, which premiered at last year's Sundance Festival alongside Scotland, Pa, this film uses its 70s style and wardrobe as a subtle mood enhancer. The working theme does not overshadow its cast to become a character in and of itself, which helps the film immensely. Stalking in bellbottoms will fetch you a D- at the most. The film knows this. It was photographed by Wally Pfister, DP of Memento. His work pushes up the production value and gives Scotland, Pa a pleasantly dark aura that eats at winning you over.

Here's why critics are worthless: Scotland, Pa is realized with expert craftsmanship. It looks good and sounds even better. I just didn't have any fun inside its collapsing walls. So, on a whole, I can't say I liked it or hated it. It did, however, lead me down the right path. I can kill my roommate guilt free and get away without repercussion. And damn, if I'm not hungry.

PS: Murder is not intentionally funny. Please do not try it at home.