T-Boy-3

For a "documentary-style" drama, this one is awfully preachy, and for the most part, it preaches to the choir. Drugs are bad, the war on drugs is a losing one--these are not revolutionary concepts. Yet the film is directed without any sense of irony, and nothing new is brought to the table. Mr. and Mrs. Douglas overact like the Mr. and Mrs. Burton in their heyday, and Mr. Douglas's storyline--drug czar's daughter descends into drug hell--plays like an afterschool special circa 1982. Del Toro is fine and gets the best story, tho it all becomes a bit confusing. Overall, I just found this to be a pretty flat movie of the week.

The first half hour or so was pretty entertaining, even if most of it consisted of Edward Norton telling us what we were seeing (you know, God forbid we should use our abilities to surmise what's going on). And since I saw it on video, I could use slo-mo to catch Brad's "Where's Waldo" bits. As soon as Norton met Brad, it was all downhill. Even a really fine, insightful actor would have had a hard time making those pretentious lines sound significant, but Brad Pitt's spewing of them was like a nearsighted used car dealer reading cue cards. This movie was so obvious, so pretentious, and such a total con job, right up to the absurd plot twist three-quarters of the way through that completely invalidated everything that came before it. Also, for a movie that was so preachy about consumerism ("You are not your car, your khakis," all that hackneyed nonsense), did anyone else notice that all the tired young execs at Fight Club proper seemed to spend alot of time at the gym? Nary a pot belly to be found, save for poor Meat Loaf, who was somehow exempt from the "no shirt/no shoes" rule. Large-breasted Meat Loaf fighting shirtless--now that would have been shocking.

Everything this movie had to say has been said before, and better. And sometimes just as badly. (See "Zabriskie Point" for another example of an overblown, smug rumination on being yourself and getting back to basics vs. evil products like Wonder Bread.)

"Fight Club" was just a cynical exercise from a self-important director seeing how much he could get away with.