Gene Page
All in the family: (from left) Sheri Moon Zombie, Sid Haig, and Bill Moseley.
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The Devil's Rejects
Opens Fri., July 22, at Varsity and others
Director Rob Zombie's sequel to 2003's twisted House of 1,000 Corpses comes from the most perverse, darkly infested recesses of his highly creative mind, and aims to provoke a retching reflex in all but the most extreme horror fans. The Devil's Rejects finds the Firefly family mired once again in a laughable carnival of clichés and copious amounts of ludicrous violence. Each degenerate family member lusts to kill—after mentally, physically, and sexually agonizing their victims. Meanwhile, they express a high level of loyalty and affection for one another and their alternate lifestyle as serial killers, strangely endearing themselves to the viewer.
This blood-spurting Western commences at the Firefly's 1970s desert Texas home with a machine gun shoot-out led by the revengeful town sheriff, played by William Forsythe. Narrowly escaping, Baby (Sheri Moon Zombie) and Otis (Bill Moseley) flee across the dust bowl to a remote motel, where they make a lasting impression upon some guests and a very unfortunate maid. After they're reunited with their father, Capt. Spalding (Sid Haig), the body count continues to rise, and they seek refuge at an adult entertainment park. In the end, the family meets its demise in a Bonnie and Clyde–style ambush along the highway. The slow-motion death scene is an excellent example of Zombie's effective use of the soundtrack to create an atmosphere of frivolity. Isn't death and dismemberment fun? (R) DARBY REED
5 x 2
Runs Fri., July 22–Thurs., July 28, at Varsity
Not so grim as Irréversible, not so funny as the famous Seinfeld "Indian wedding" episode, this coldly meticulous new French film from François Ozon proceeds backward from a couple's unhappy split to a romantic meeting on the beach several years earlier. There are five chapters, relating how the two of them, Marion (Valeria Bruni-Tedeschi) and Gilles (Stéphane Freiss), met, married, and had a child, none of which is that hard to follow. So why the reverse chronology? In the first episode, the couple's divorce proceedings are dismal, and their farewell-sex rendezvous at a hotel room is downright ugly. You want to hate Gilles and side with Marion for dumping him. Then, as Ozon intends, things get more complicated as we sift, like archaeologists, through the strata of their messy past.
Next (earlier), at a dinner party, Gilles' gay brother warns, "It's better not to share everything" in a relationship when it comes to extracurricular activities. Marion speaks of the importance of "trust," which Gilles—in a rather cruel, shocking story he tells—seems to discount altogether. Chapter three (childbirth) seems to support her, while chapter four (the wedding) upsets things entirely. Finally, chapter five explains how they met at an Italian beach resort, where "trust" is hardly a part of anyone's vocabulary.
In contrast to the similar relationship crucible Saraband (see below), 5 x 2 certainly contains the truth of how lovers (and ex-lovers) behave in the modern world—with jealousy, lies, and evasions, plus cell phones to facilitate the untruths. Marion and Gilles are recognizably human, if not particularly admirable in their conduct. The acting is solid, too, but not in the service of any profound insight. Gilles, the "asshole" (as his wife calls him), isn't all bad, and Marion isn't all good. Ozon (Swimming Pool) films each episode with slight cinematic variations, but to no great effect. His central twosome are both flawed and conventional, scandalous and boring. The only thing his film teaches us is that if you ever take a new lover on a Club Med vacation and don't trust him or her out of your sight, don't be surprised about what you see afterward. (R) BRIAN MILLER
Hustle & Flow
Opens Wed., July 20, at Meridian and others
Producer Stephanie Allain had a run of good luck with her protégés John Singleton and Robert Rodriguez, so she thought her new find, writer-director Craig Brewer, should be a slam dunk. Brewer's script about a scrappy Memphis pimp who cherishes a Mickey Rooney–ish dream to find a barn, put on a show with his pals and hos, and make it as a rap star was very Rocky. In the wake of 8 Mile, and with her track record, how could it not sell?
They spent two years finding out, as everyone in Hollywood spurned Hustle & Flow. Brewer was forced to continue to rely on his stripper wife for fiscal as well as moral support. Finally, Singleton stepped up with his own money, and the finished flick sold for a record sum at Sundance. So Rocky supplies not only the formula but the marketing myth that could make Hustle's cash flow.
The thing that makes the picture score is also what initially repelled the studios: Instead of using an established rap star, the hero is played by Terrence Howard, a respected nobody who recently cracked prestige second-banana status in Ray and Crash. Howard is simply the acting find of the year. His sad, melty eyes make him the most sympathetic pimp ever, even before he launches into philosophically lecturing his ho about what separates men from dogs. The film's preposterous premise didn't call for a rap star; it needed an anodyne antidote to rap's vicious misogyny, know-nothing ethic, and pornlike repetitiveness of theme. Howard's sleepy star quality is just what pimpdom's public image needs.
