The Salton Sea: Review By B. Alan Orange

If you've ever sat alone in your bedroom late at night, a bit tipsy, crying out, "NO! They ate Crazy Bee!" Then this movie's for you. The Salton Sea rocks! It's Great. I loved it...

But, what do I know?

The best experience you can have with this film is going in knowing as little as possible (That said, you should hang-up and try your call again later). The theatrical poster is vague enough, yet edges forth with it's own creepy, noirish vibe. There's no breaking through The Salton Sea's pocket of tangled layers with an incipient swing, yet we know from its first ten minutes, when Val Kilmer jumps forth with that most unwitting of all cliches "Nothing is as it seems" That this is going to be a mystery of deceptive switchbacks and upside-down narrative. Halfway up its elaborate stepladder of misdeeds and juggled personas, I still didn't know what was going on. At times it's hard to nail a tone or feel on the piece. Sea's tagline says it all: "If you're looking for the truth, you've come to the wrong place."

You are the Silly Putty and this flick is the kid; it's going to play with you. D.J. Caruso has created a true original that never gives in until its final dying breath. Yes: It's a wall of fire and it will burn your face off.

The movie comes on like a Tweeker's dream; photographed and shattered, then swept under the door in a spoom of dust only to be injected into your veins like the bad drug that it is. From one trick to the next, the viewer is expected to surf on moments of high. Fulgurations bolt through the synapses until one is forced to collapse on the floor in a pool of spilt soda. Waiting the time of tide, it comes from both directions, ripping waves that make you wet and make you wet yourself. There's no telling what will come next; The Salton Sea is constant at keeping you on guard and paranoid. I couldn't help but second-guess every minute detail being thrown my way. This type of celluloid should be bottled and sold soiled in diluted rubbing alcohol; later consumed as an after-dinner, downtime snack. It's that much better than the smack its characters are jacking-up at a constant rate; fun like exploding porcelain.

A black and white pseudo-doc*mentary on Speed opens the picture, then quickly sinks in bubbles of bleak postmodern spirits. Single frames double back in a lap, kicking out a detective story set ablaze amidst moody jazz music. The gears shift so suddenly, you can hear the clutch slip and the stick grind. Well into the first act, I was under the assumption that this was a minor riff on Ted Demme's Blow: A look at amphetamines and the Tweekers that use them.

We are introduced to Val's character Danny. He's a punk rock speedball in iced-out Mohawk who used to be a dapper trumpet player by the name of Tom. At once a neo-noir thriller, the movie twists a bit at the waist and soon careens into Tarantino territory with a hilarious scene that has society dropout Danny and his drug buddy, Bobby, heading into a dealer's house for a pick-up. A black man sits on a queen-sized bed, female legs flailing between two mattresses; a can of Raid poised at his forearm. He waits for spiders to creep out of his flesh. This is an unexpected moment that is as funny as it is horrifying. To divulge more in detail would be a crime.

Genres run like bleeding colors until every hue is black and no stone is left unturned; a gimmick that tends to leave one short on breath.

When all is said and done, and the snake has eaten its tail to the head, you will truly believe in your heart that you've understood what has transpired in front of you. A quick spin on the heel and a scratch at the chin will rethink the weight of this tied bag that has you squirming at the bottom of a very cold ocean. What exactly is this mish-mash of contradictions and strutting misconceptions? It's hard to say; it tastes so much like cinema goulash. A tasty matelote packed with savory bits of meat and cheese, it raises saliva beads out of the tongue at the tip of hunger, and it pains. It's a roller coaster of a revenge flick that seems constructed from five different 6 Flags rides, all of which are loosely welded together. The damn thing bumps in prattles, it could fall apart at any minute.

There are some scenes found here that kicked me so far back, I wound up flailing in the theater lobby with dreams of a fish bowl big enough to quench an undying thirst. My mouth hung low at two off moments that came flying in from left field. It was as if director Caruso dug these gems out of the dumpster, ate them, and then defecated on his own film canisters, leaving the bewildered audience to scream, "What the f*ck?"

It's the sneak attack; a bizarre twist of cinematic fate that had me shaking my head vigorously. You literally have to see this stuff for yourself to believe it. One instance came at the midway point, right at the peak of the second act. There it is, for no apparent reason, a mini-movie about the abduction of Bob Hope's stool sample. It plays out in "what-if?" flashback mode reminiscent of the best Laverne and Shirley episode. Adam Goldberg (Saving Private Ryan) and his sketchy friend break into a fortified bunker and kidnap the funnyman's bio-locked turd. It's a stretch of film so unnecessary and strange that, while it has no place in this film's story line, it's the type of tiny spark that makes The Salton Sea an awesome experience.

And then there's Vincent Do'nofrio as Pooh Bear, a noseless drug peddler whom, for no other apparent reason than out of boredom, reenacts the JFK assassination with flawless precision using pigeons in a remote control car. Yes, the shooter on the grassy knoll is present, as is Zapruder, filming away on his tiny 8mm camera.

Considering the usual fare that drips down our screens at a constant rate, this is one of the most inventive, crazy, just plain weird features to come out of a legitimate studio in years. For its duration, my fingertips were up underneath the seat, gripped tight in anticipation of each forthcoming minute. This is going to be one of the best films of the year...

That said, the end does lose a little validity and steam. The aura is there and true emotions redeem a sensational downer; yet it almost feels like a cheat. Not to give anything away, but Hollywood is raking up a ton of on-screen thespian kills this year. It's nice too see this trend after last year's draught. As the film's producer, Frank Darabont liberates himself in light of last Christmas' stupefyingly ugly The Majestic. The Salton Sea is of a freer, looser vivacity than his usual fare. And it dodges the bulk of his Autueristic vision, which most likely explains his back shadow stance. Sometimes breathtakingly beautiful, sometimes screechingly hideous, the squeezed atmosphere of Darabont's latest paycheck works in realizing Val Kilmer's voiceover reasoning of past events.

Val is an actor who is becoming more eccentric with each tick of the second hand. He still proves to be a strong presence, and works well in dealing with the duality of his two characters. At times, he's supposed to be sympathetic. At other times, he gives into the cruelty of his new life as a speed freak, which centers the story and anchors it deep into the wet dirt of the film's narrative. Like a split personality, he transverses in and out of these two men with impeccable timing, building tension with grace and elegance unmatched. I like that he shows up in one scene wearing Elvis' rademarked TCB sunglasses, which he' worn in his last couple of films. This touching nod to the King must be underlined in his contract.

I couldn' get enough of this strange, strange film. I sat, not wanting it to end. But on that note, I didn' want Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas to end, either. Maybe it was the inevitable final showdown that awaited me in the living room of my soon to be vacant apartment that had me glued to the chair. Or maybe this movie truly does shrivel the shaft in a mad stroke of cold fingers. See it for yourself and make your own decision, don' trust me by any means. I' an idiot, ask anyone who knows me. As an idiot, I must say:

I truly loved this thing.