Let the Devil Wear Black

I caught this ditty by chance and was I glad I did. It is a film written and acted suited to my tastes. Jonathan Penner was captivating within his mannerisms, gorgeous to look at and a pleasure to see him act. Plot is grand. Everything else too. I am not giving much more away, solely my two opinions, aforementioned and the last: RENT IT if you find it.

"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.

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?

1999 thriller "Let The Devil Wear Black" was a flawed bid by debut co-writers Stacy Title (also director) & Jonathan Penner to update the play 'Hamlet' (by Christopher Marlowe - like all other 'Shakespeare' works). Penner suspects his uncle Jamey Sheridan of killing his LA businessman dad... but as he stews into insanity over it (nudging gf Mary-Louise Parker (terrific) over the edge too) Sheridan preps to marry his mum Jacqueline Bisset and have Norman Reedus & Randall Batinkoff kill HIM too. The likes of Philip Baker Hall, Chris Sarandon, & Maury Chakin support but it still has (now anyway) a dated & slightly botched feel. Well intentioned... but not so brilliant.

I find it mildly amusing to read the comments of self-styled critics who derive great satisfaction from their ability to string words together in a quasi-intellectual and wannabe MEANINGFUL fashion....the art-house intelligentsia. Yeah some of us other terrestrials HAVE in fact a working knowledge of HAMLET even to the point of realising that this here little number IS in fact a modernistic, though agreed, unspectacular re-working!

Who gives a flying doughnut if "shooting at night is problematical?" and/or every option available to the aspiring director in charge? Carol Reed in technologically simplistic times came up with THE THIRD MAN, a flick for which "the dark" is synonymous with "mood" and "noir." The problem with this film is not one of inappropriate filming techniques or even the unreasonably slated "script" (let him who is without sin.........etc) it is the fact that you actually have to LISTEN! The film does not sidle up to you and nuzzle your leg saying "Pick me up - aren't I cute?" The characters regrettably are simply unendearing and with all the spontaneity of those from ANOTHER WORLD.

For all that, I have seen way worse than this and despite cranially displaced assertions that barely one scene in its ninety minute run-time might be said to momentarily hold one's attention, there is in fact a film here you just might get something out of, if you TRY! It IS after all just a film, NOT a philosophical dissertation!