Now that Steven Soderbergh's engrossing big-screen adaptation of the superb made-for-the-tube production, Traffik, has been logged in, it would be almost impossible not to compare the two. Traffic, the movie, is certainly some very good work by a true artist of the cinema. But to achieve the maximum appreciation of both, see Traffic before you see Traffik. With its mere 147-minute running time, as well as the often-unavoidable dilution of reality that can be the karma of films that feature big-name stars, the deck is somewhat stacked against the movie. It simply has to much to do, although it tries bravely. Traffik, at nearly five hours in length, has the time to construct an intimate, highly detailed world as coherent as a length of wire rope. Once you have been through the mini-series, the movie, despite the excellence of many of its elements, seems almost like a trailer at times.
In Traffik, we're talking heroin, not cocaine, and from the very ground up; opium poppies in full bud, swaying gently in the breeze, ripe for slitting, looking like powder-blue-gray visitors from another world. The innocuous resin oozes and, collected, makes its surprisingly simple transition into heroin. From there, the finished product makes its own journey into a world filled with indubitable people. Only three `names' populate the cast of Traffik. The always-excellent Bill Paterson is the British Minister Jack Lithgow, struggling with his conscience on the cusp of signing an aid deal with almost laughably corrupt Pakistani opposite numbers. (John Le Carre fans can see Paterson, and appreciate his range, as the obsequious Lauder Strickland in the BBC/PBS production of `Smiley's People'.) Julia Ormond, in one of her first roles, plays the Minister's spoiled, smacked-out daughter. Scottish character actress Lindsay Duncan, more well-known on the continent than here, embodies the wife of the busted drug importer (the Zeta-Jones role in the movie). She's a former Olympic Medalist in swimming who, with hubby on serious ice, finds her true calling. (In Traffik the husband is a smooth German construction contractor.) From then on we, certainly we in America, know no one, although many of Traffik's actors have significant careers in their own zones. This, and the terse direction give Traffik an almost documentary feel. The strange, slightly howling music track adds just the right amount of the sinister and we are locked in. (Director Alistair Reid also directed the charming adaptation of Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City, which ran as a serial for several years in the San Francisco Chronicle during the paper's Herb Caen era.)
Both Traffic, and Traffik, have very distinct beating hearts. On the big screen, it's Benicio Del Toro's Mexican cop, a man of definite parts, who has learned to walk the crumbling walls of a culture whose floor has collapsed into a corrupt and poverty-stricken basement. In Traffik, it's the beautifully-drawn relationship between the poppy farmer, Fazal (Jamal Shah), and the Pakistani heroin kingpin, Tariq Butt (Talat Hussain). Fazal, driven from his fields by the Pakistani Army's faux crackdown on drugs, hitches to Karachi in search of work. There, he eventually becomes ensnared by Butt, the Sauron of traffickers. The slightly adrogynous Talat Hussain, a major star in Pakistan, has an unusual and powerful speaking voice, like polished mahogany with a Brit accent. When he sneeringly refers to Fazal as `Farm Boy', it actually hurts. (He is also well-known in Pakistan for his recordings of the Quran in Urdu.) Hussain creates a villain of suave, almost hypnotic evil. It's a great and effortless performance, in the very front rank of all bad guys ever portrayed. Against it is Jamal Shah's noble, almost angelic man of the soil whose innocence allows him to draw too near to the harsh flame of Tariq Butt's power. The entire cast of Traffik is excellent but the powerful interaction between the two Pakistani characters has the effect of almost resetting the story each time they are on-screen. (Jamal Shah is also a noteworthy artist in his own right (painting, writing, music) and even has a website which, I trust, will be finished some day (jamalshah.com). I'll look forward to it.)
I could go on for pages, citing one great element after another of this excellent production. It's that good. But I have only 1000 words to use on this forum and, at the risk of sounding like the late, lamented Chris Farley (as in `Remember the scene where
'), I'll exit here at 799. The proof will be in the pudding. Have no doubts. Seeing Traffik is like taking a submarine voyage through one of the nastier thermoclines of human existence. Listen well to Minister Lithgow's speech near the end. It's more than just a screenplay. Drugs can be a problem but they are not really THE problem, are they?
