Reviewed
by Lamar Kukuk
6/5/07
“God, grant me
serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things
I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a
time, enjoying one moment at a time, accepting hardship as a pathway to
peace. Taking, as Jesus did, this sinful world as it is, not as I
would have it. Trusting that you will make all things right if I
surrender to your will, that I may be reasonably happy in this life and
supremely happy with You in the next. Amen.”
-The Serenity Prayer
by Reinhold Niebuhr; the first and final lines of dialog from Mr. Brooks
You
know it'll bust your diet to have that second donut, but it would taste
so good... that you can't afford to lose money betting on that game,
but you can feel in your gut that it's a sure thing... that alcohol
is destroying your life, but you need just one drink to get through the
night... that killing is wrong, but there's something about that
couple you see in the street that just calls out to you to put bullets
in both their heads...
Did
I lose you with the last part of that progression? Hopefully so;
the fewer budding psychopaths visiting my site, the better. But it
also means you probably haven't seen Mr. Brooks, the sensational
new thriller that manages the trick of making a serial killer played by
All-American Kevin Costner a sympathetic metaphor for the addictions large
and small that tease and torment us. Working its' magic on all sorts
of different levels both thoughtful and escapist, Mr. Brooks is
a crackerjack thriller with a pair of amazing performances. And it's
the best movie I've seen so far this year.
Earl
Brooks (Costner) is a pillar of his community, a box manufacturer noted
for his philanthropy. As we meet him, he's ready to accept a Man
of the Year award, but can't silence a persistent voice in his head.
That voice belongs to Marshall (William Hurt), the twisted, sadistic part
of his brain which demands that he pursue a hobby which has delighted and
tormented him for years: murder. He's already selected and
stalked a couple, but Brooks has been “sober” for two years (he goes to
regular AA meetings, but introduces himself only as an “addict”).
Still, on this one night, he gives into the temptation, and the Thumbprint
Killer strikes again. That arouses the interest of Police Detective
Tracy Atwood (Demi Moore), an heiress worth millions who nonetheless feels
compelled to pursue the most dangerous criminals. She's tracked the
Thumbprint Killer murders for years, but this time there's a new trail
of evidence because Brooks has slipped up: his victims left their
windows open during the crime and he was photographed from across the street
by a man who calls himself Mr. Smith (Dane Cook). But Smith isn't
a good citizen: he's a sicko for whom the thrill of Peeping Tom photography
was nothing compared to witnessing a real murder in person. And so
he blackmails Brooks into “teaching” him about serial killing. But
that's not the only new complication in the Man of the Year's life.
His daughter Jane (Danielle Panabaker) has unexpectedly come home announcing
she's pregnant and has dropped out of college. And then the police
show up, investigating a murder at her school...
There's
a lot about Mr. Brooks that's very good, but let me start with the
thing about it that's truly transcendent: the lead character, or
should I say, characters. The fusion of Brooks and Marshall, and
their discussions and arguments in rooms where all anyone else can see
is a silent Brooks, is truly amazing. Hurt is one of our best actors
when his talent is properly channeled, and this is his best performance
in years. He and Costner make a remarkable team, allowing the former
Dances With Wolves to deliver some of his finest work ever. Watch
how he can start as the real, “normal” Brooks, segue into the “innocent”
half of an argument with Marshall, lose that argument and then emerge as
a fearsome killer all in the same scene. Given how True Blue he's
been in pretty much all of his most famous performances, Costner always
makes a great bad guy: if for no other reason, you should check out
3000 Miles to Graceland just to see how far out on a psycho ledge
he can climb.
But
Earl Brooks isn't just a showy madman, and that's what makes Mr. Brooks
special. He really is that Man of the Year just as much as he's the
Thumbprint Killer, and he truly loves his family. The way his daughter's
plight forces him to be a psycho killer precisely because he's a loving
father is especially intriguing. No such luck for Mr. Smith, who
sees only the cold side of Brooks, and it's fascinating to watch him play
his amateur “friend” when even he's not sure what the object of his game
is.
After
a couple early triumphs (Starman, Stand by Me), the writing
team of Bruce A. Evans and Reynold Gideon has been mostly silent for the
last 20 years, penning just three movies including Evans' only previous
directing outing, the heavily stylized 1992 police comedy Kuffs.
But they're back with a vengeance here, with Evans directing with a confidence
and style far beyond what his resume would suggest. Brooks is a monster:
he's inflicted more misery than even the movie can count, but yet he's
also an Everyman. After all, aren't we all trying to think our way
through lives constantly complicated by our own mistakes, struggling to
ignore our own whispering Marshalls to get to that place where we might
be “reasonably happy”? He wants to quit, he wants to be normal.
I knew he couldn't do either, but yet I so wanted him to get the chance
to keep trying, and that's the movie's insidious genius.
Brooks/Marshall,
both in performance and story, is an all-time great character, and so the
movie can be forgiven for being a little more conventional in other areas.
Detective Atwood is meant as an obsessive doppleganger for Brooks, and
the character is interesting enough to hold up her part of the running
time, but after her triumphant turn in last year's Bobby (and her
delightfully scene-chewing turn in Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle),
Moore's performance is a bit of a step backwards. Cook does a good
job channeling his comic jerk persona into the loathsome character of a
wannabe monster, and Panabaker hits the right notes of manipulative innocence
to make the young Ms. Brooks work. Marg Helgenberger mostly just
coasts as the obliviously loving Mrs. Brooks.
But
the aptly titled movie is really all about Mr. Brooks. Costner's
performance is so strong it's even able to yank the movie back on track
after a cheap filmmaking stunt (I'd say what kind but I don't want to ruin
anything; just wait for the moment when you think “Didn't directors
stop trying to get away with that 20 years ago?”) threatens to scuttle
the closing moments. I can't remember the last time I made the acquaintance
of such an intriguing new movie character, or one for whom such darkness
comes from a place so familiar. |
