"Denzel all but engulfs the screen with his extra-wide appetite for goofiness. He is clearly a product of the street. A beer chugging inside job just waiting to use the "dismemberment in the line of duty" clause against his partner. He's a bit of a show pony in need of directorial restraint. "
(Note: There was debate about releasing this movie due to Denzel's negative portrayal of an LA Police Officer, especially at a time when our Law Enforcement members are being cheered for their upstanding deeds in light of the atrocities that have consumed our country. The date has only been pushed back a week from it's original intended release. I asked Officer Williams of the Long Beach Police Department his opinions on the matter, "I've heard of the movie, but we've been a little too busy to worry about itI probably won't see the movie." I went on to ask if he's ever had a run in with Long Beach's own Snoop Dog, "No comment.")
I haven't been getting much sleep lately. One chilled Quilmes and I'm into the dark with soul-lifting dreams of ghosts and security guards. I should have known something was up when that ominous Movieweb representative offered me two six-packs and a bottle opener. I awoke from a drug-induced slumber handcuffed to United International Flight 4399 overlooking the Italian coastline. Damn them all too Hell! I was approached last week with a Venice vacation proposition. MW wanted me to redeye-it roundtrip for the new Denzel Washington movie Training Day. Never one to pass on a free ride, I would have agreed in apt-cooperation had they been willing to spring for a plush luxury suite with the free mini-bar. But, no: It's two cans of olives and a refrigerator box. I boldly stated, "Fu*k that." With saliva dripping off my chin.
Ol' Fuggy Doraguzzi, struggling to suppress his acute schizophrenia, had a scheduled bout with a table umbrella at the V-Room, and I wasn't going to miss it. Not for Denzel. Sure, the women love him, but what has he done for me lately? Glory came out in what? 1986? Virtuosity sucked. Devil in a Blue Dress was kind of cool, but it failed in comparison to the book. Everything else has been for those lovely ladies enamored with the way Washington licks his lips. Ever see Ol' Fug lose a fight with an inanimate pole? No? Well, I assure you it beats sifting through the dregs of Denzel's inner-actor any day. MW knew my entertainment persuasion instincts. That's why they drugged me and cuffed me to that 16-hour economy seat. Ever since their other reporter disappeared while on his way to see Planet of the Apes, Movieweb has abused me in ways you can't possibly imagine. Forcing me to attend the Venice Film Festival is only icing on the cake.
I was allowed two companions on my journey: One pillow I've transfixed with the personality of a wicked stepmother named Teresa, and a couch cushion I've been seeing on the side. We fell into our theater with lights fading only to find that creepy greenness which often accompanies gritty crime dramas of this nature. It's a vomitous hue that drips down in a crusty-eyed elevation of reality. Great: An art picture.
Ethan Hawke shucks out of bed looking like Troy Dyer three days after end credits rolled on Reality Bites. His name here hits a similar note in Jake Hoyt; this could have easily been the sequel which saw his coffee house slacker easing into the role of newly married rookie cop. Hollywood doesn't have the guts to stray far from form in one of its lofty follow-ups. Nonetheless, that's how I was interpreting this Antoine Fuqua masterwork.
This is the first time I've liked Ethan Hawke since Mystery Date. There's something about his beatnik Soho attitude that usually makes me want to knock my knuckles against the back of his cheek. Luckily, he finds a note of intimacy in Training Day, gaining the ability to hold our hand while setting up tension for himself. Hoyt isn't really a character; he's a surrogate stand-in for the audience, taking us through one routine day in the life of praetorian cop Alonzo Harris. Imagine being pulled in a shopping cart behind people more interesting than you and you'll have an idea what I'm talking about.
Hawke needs to be subtle, in that Denzel all but engulfs the screen with his extra-wide appetite for goofiness. We first meet Harris in a diner, where we're quick to suspect this isn't a redundant Denzel performance. The man digs his feet into villain territory, aping the conformity of his police uniform. He is clearly a product of the street. A beer chugging inside job just waiting to use the "dismemberment in the line of duty" clause against his partner. It's refreshing to see Denzel reach underneath the tongue for something new, but his aura seems to be in on the joke. There is a constant twinkling wink in his eye. He wants to go over the top, nodding to us the whole way. We are not watching Alonzo Harris; we're watching Denzel slam pieces of Harris into the hoop, turning with a raised eyebrow, "You like that? Well, Here comes some more." He's a bit of a show pony in need of directorial restraint. I enjoyed it. The problem: It's a smirk-inducing move that edges the script's authenticity level out of the ballpark.
A slight misstep, the movie still manages as an effective crime drama. It's full of unnerving trepidation, building this tention-filled day to a drawing close. Its first act is built of tiny nuances that play like reasonable atmosphere. Pay attention, each episode is a link in an elaborate plan concocted by Harris. The movie is smart in its execution. Things are apparently sliding from the center of the record, though we're never sure at which angle. We see a moment of routine police action, and assume it's a throwaway attempt at character structure, almost forgotten by the end of the film. Aspects of those actions come in quiet handy when you're left hanging upside down by three Mexican gang members about to see your brains into the bathtub. Some of this material plays like convenience of keystrokes, but a majority of the film is plausible.
I'd bank money on the corruption of police officers in this fine city. Are they as ruthless as Alonzo Harris? I doubt it. Harris' work ethic is debatable on a number of levels. He rips off drug dealers, grinds out a dose of peer pressure in making his neophyte partner smoke horse weed and Angel Dust, drinks forties in an attempt to fortify DUI long-term status, debunks the generosity of fellow police officers, sets up his friends, kills them. He has ties with the mob, has managed to screw an Italian gangster in the pooch-shoot, has conceived an illegitimate child with a Latino woman, shoots at the innocent, chokes Snoop Dog. The laundry list goes on, putting him in direct competition with Karl Kniemoler for most undesirable co-worker of the month. He excels at infecting those around him with bad behavior; not exactly a shinning light in our police community. Ethan struggles, as we do, to find a right and wrong in Harris' reprehensible actions. Though, it's funny how they don't seem so bad when Denzel's doing them. The man is having too much fun. It's that working class conflict we all deal with on a daily basis; only here it eeks out at life and death.
The ending doesn't revert from its inevitable sucker punch. Training Day's conclusion comes in brutal. A season of shortchanged sessions at the box office, this sucker actually arrives at a righteous, if not valid conclusion. I applaud Fuqua in his refrain from holding back. Violence ends violence like a worm, it continues to grow and live at both ends. The men and women of our Law Enforcement team might disagree and dispute a lot of TD's vocabulary. Washington's level of intensity is so on the fence, his performance is hard to take seriously. I doubt there will be street pickets, I also doubt they'll support the film in any way. Cops across the nation should take comfort in Jake Hoyt's resurrection and conformation as an upstanding member of the community.
The soundtrack is built out of a hip-hop trunk in street justice. Chart-jumping artists prominent in the genre have laid tracks in support of the film's leitmotif. A couple of these Rap perfectionists, including Snoop Dog and Dr. Dre, along with R&B staple Macy Gray, appear in minor cameos; an attempt to add credibility to TD's back alley aggressions. I've missed Snoop Dog's direct-to-video work and was less than impressed with his stoned sway in Half-Baked. With Bones high on my must-see list (No, really), I was interested in seeing him handle screen dialogue. He plays a wheelchair-pushing dope dealer that chokes on his own saliva-soaked stash. I was impressed; he's skilled in being believable upon delivery. I was unimpressed, however, in that He's still playing Snoop Dog. He will always be Snoop Dog. There are no other characters living inside his hemp-sewn husk. It's supportive of the script in question, and should be a hoot in Bones. I just don't think he'll be able to broaden into some of the roles Ice Cube has staked his claim in. Can you imagine Snoop wavering in a skunk-cloud calm on the back of a train with Big Daddy Mars screeching in his face, "Yo, Dog. You better izzo before I shizzo my dizzo in your fizzo. Foshizzy." Shrug of shoulder, a smoldering look. Guy doesn't even need a gun. He's bad, bad, bad, but he'll always come across as Snoop.
I might have held aspirations for the Snoop/Dre Car Wash remake, but watching Dre try to act is a chore. Maybe he's gathering his chops; One time's got no case. He desperately needs to take some acting lessons. The man meanders in the background as if testing a friend's new hobby. The look on his face indicates, to me, he's not enjoying it much. I had to consciously disregard his presence to keep an interest in what was going on in the foreground. Emote? Not much, dog. Now, Macy Gray? Unrecognizable and completely in control of her $h*t, she takes five minutes and stretches it into a career waiting to happen. Her appearance, though short, is enough to turn this film from a "see it if your bored" time killer to the "must see" drama of the fall.
A "must see?" Yes. This is your best bet for the next few weeks. I can't state clearly enough, though: This is not escapist entertainment. Don't go thinking it will uplift your spirits. It's a downer and may leave you feeling more depressed than when you walked in. If that's what you're aiming for, it's a guaranteed good (I use that term loosely) time. I asked my companions what they thought; they just stared in dumbstruck disbelief.
I was hoping to check out some of the sights in Italy, but a tight Movieweb schedule had me back in the states to see Glitter. I did manage to sneak in a suitcase full of cantaloupe flavored Italian Moonshine. I plan on sharing it with Ol' Fug and any of you negative $h*t-F*cks out there who hate The Orange. We'll be at the V-Room in Long Beach next Monday, if you'd like to join us. Until then, enjoy life.
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