Let the Devil Wear Black

Did you ever see a movie where everything added up to nothing? Well that is how I felt after watching "Let the Devil Wear Black". A whole bunch of unlikable characters with little or no development, try killing each other. Jonathan Penner is good as the son seeking revenge on his uncle for murdering his father. The problem is, the film comes across as an almost incoherent series of events. There is lots of small talk, totally unrelated to the story, that constantly bogs things down. Unlike the plot description of violent killings, shocking suicides and a thrilling plot that will shake you to the core, I wound up merely shaking my head. - MERK

One of the few movies completed by female writer-director Stacy Title before her untimely death, this would-be film-noir crime drama has a rather extraordinary cast, including Philip Baker Hall, Jaqueline Bissett, Norman Reedus, Jonathan Penner (Title's husband), Maury Chaykin, Chris Sarandon and Mary-Louise Parker, plus other scene-stealers.

It would be hard to go entirely wrong with such an ensemble, and they bring the better moments to an overly mannered, filmed-in-deep shadow transplant of the bare-bones plot of Hamlet - yes, that Hamlet - now set in the modern Los Angeles underworld. You may want to watch out of idle curiosity; I did.

Jack Lyne (Penner) is the troubled son of the owner of the Pleasure Dome, an upscale (well, slightly) strip-club. His father abruptly dropped dead of a very suspicious cardiac arrest. Jack is dismayed now that his uncle (Hall) announces intention to marry Jack's lovely widowed mom (Bissett). Moreover, it is declared the land on which the club operates, also in the family, is priceless urban real estate, eyed greedily by developers. Could someone have given Jack's father a drug that stopped his heart?

There is Jack's unstable girlfriend (Parker, in the sorta-Ophelia role), longtime pals who are turned into spies and potential killers (the Rosencrantz/Guildenstern equivalents), mystery thugs who show up at strange moments and seem to be Jack's guardians (like... okay, maybe the whole Shakespeare analogy goes off the rails ultimately), out-of-body experiences and a very Bard-like bloodbath in the end. Plus luscious naked strippers. I don't support there was ever a script draft in which Jack's clan just owned, say, a nice Italian restaurant? Or a White Castle?

I also do wish Ms. Title had filmed the whole thing in black-and-white, like a 1950s double-bill/drive-in programmer; then the hardboiled meta-genre vibe might have lifted it above being a basic exercise in mood, artful line deliveries and a tribute to the casting director. I thought that somewhere back in the film-noir heyday somebody, maybe in the UK, did a mob version of Othello (more recently, it appears, Indian filmmakers did), but can find no evidence. Am I misremembering Patrick McGoohan's American '70s hippie modernization Catch My Soul or glimpsing a parallel film universe somewhere?

Jonathan Penner returns from the insane asylum to discover his father is dead, and his mother, Jacqueline Bisset is remarried to his uncle, Jamey Sheridan, who's running the properties Penner and mother own. He becomes convinced his father was murdered and that he is receiving signs from him, messages scrawled in chapstick on the mirrors in the strip club.

In short, it's Hamlet updated. It's got quite a cast with Norman Reedus, Brooke Taylor, Mary-Louise Parker, Chris Sarandon, Philip Baker Hall, and Maury Chaykin. And yet I was struck as this wended its way through the plot how uninteresting these people were. With Shakespeare's language, what have you got except a squabble over money and sex between people who are not too bright, and who express complex ideas in simple language not because that works, but because the writers can't manage anything more involved. Is a high body count enough?

"Let the Devil..." is an orgy of sex, murder, deceit, and treachery which wastes a solid cast and excellent production talent on a weak story which is little more than wickedness heaped upon wickedness ad nauseum. The film fails as a psychodrama, action flick, and/or whodunnit and flounders toward it anticlimactic ending when it should be wrenching the gut or breaking the heart. Less evil and more good would have been better for there's no value in yin without yang.

"Let the Devil Wear Black" is dark, sexy and smart modern interpretation of "Hamlet". Distinctively noirish, this clever film maintains a fast and steady pace that explores the deep rooted psyches of the main characters. Although the film surely would be characterized as a thriller, the writing and directing are strong enough to justify "Devil" as a character piece as well. Stacy Title's wry sense of humor is apparent from beginning to end. Furthermore, Ms. Title's shooting style, complemented by Jim Whittaker's cinematography, is more imaginative and animated as compared to her previous film "The Last Supper". This film is funny, tragic and engaging. It is truly a gem and not to be missed.