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Before Night Falls (Julian Schnabel, 2000)

Usually, I give a film five stars when it contains no flaws at all, when it's so unerringly perfect that it's impossible not to like. This time, I give a film five stars (the twenty-third film ever to get five stars, for those who are counting) despite flaws. Before Night Falls is that good.

Before Night Falls is based on the memoir of the same name by Cuban author Reynaldo Arenas, who ran away from home as an adolescent to join the rebel armies moving against Batista in 1958. Shortly thereafter, Castro came into power, and as Arenas grew up and became a writer, he was soon made to realize that there was no place for him in the world he'd helped to set up.

Javier Bardem, who plays Arenas from the writer's early twenties until his death in 1990, is a revelation. Best Actor isn't good enough to recognize and celebrate Bardem's complex and wrenching performance. He and Schnabel have the same understanding of Arenas' story, and the same desire in presenting it. While Schnabel contrasts the sere beauty of the Cuban landscape (and the even more sere beauty Arenas tries to evoke from the ugliness of New York City later in life), Bardem constantly reminds us that Arenas' life wasn't only about being oppressed, but about the simple joys of quotidian life in Cuba. The contrasts inherent in the film make the inevitable twists of the knife just a bit harder to take each time, and the cumulative effect is devastating.

There are some difficulties with the film. Many of the accents fade in and out of recognizability, to the point where the average American viewer will probably not understand what's being said in a few places, especially early on in the film. The general bent of what's being said is never lost, however. The pacing is inconsistent, as well, and the film drags ever so slightly in a couple of places. Both of these problems are forgivable within the greater framework, as Schnabel, first-time scriptwriter Cunningham O'Keefe, and Bardem come together with a spectacular ensemble cast (highlighted by Johnny Depp, once again showing up for less than five minutes in a film, this time in a double role) to create not only the best film of the year by far, but a film that, if there is any justice in the world, is destined to be remembered as one of the finest pieces of cinematic work ever committed to film. Finds a place very high up on the 100 Best list-- perhaps at the top. *****

Desperate Measures (Barbet Schroeder, 1998)

I'm never sure whether I'm going to like a Barbet Schroeder flick when I sit down to watch it. Half the time he pulls off amazing feats of grace under pressure (Barfly, Reversal of Fortune), and the other half of the time he crafts enjoyable if mindless fluff that stands one viewing well, two viewings passably, and pales by the third (Single White Female, Kiss of Death). Five minutes into Desperate Measures, I was convinced it was the latter; a day after watching it, I'm still not convinced it's the former, but I'm farther along the road than I was at that point.

Peter McCabe (Michael Keaton) is a highly intelligent psychopath, a less likable Hannibal Lecter, whose bone marrow happens to be a match for the dying son of Frank Conner (Andy Garcia). All Conner has to do is convince McCabe to be a donor to save his son, and keep McCabe from escaping somewhere between going out of his cell and going back into his cell. Needless to say, that doesn't work, or it would be a very, very short film.

Much of the movie's appeal rests solely on the head of Andy Garcia, one of the best actors in Hollywood right now, and one of the most underrated as well. He's not as engaging here as he is in his best roles (Things to Do in Denver When You're Dead, Black Rain, Dead Again, etc.), but his acting ability is enough to make the film watchable. Keaton seems constricted by his role, but one gets the impression that has more to do with the director than the actor himself. A number of decent minor roles also show up in the film (Marcia Gay Harden is especially pleasing as the doctor slated to perform the operation, who gets caught up in the whole mess).

If plot's more important to you than acting, however, don't bother with this one. Each "twist" can be seen coming a mile off, and if the ending doesn't make you want to seek Schroeder out and smack him personally, I'll eat my review. Perhaps the most predictable thing I've seen in the past five years. Oh, well, you can't have everything. ** 1/2