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Under the surface By Johnny Ray Huston I OUTRIGHT HATED Gregg Araki's early films, those spectacles of phony rebellion populated by poseurs about one-tenth as clever as they thought they were – with the lame lines to prove it. It wouldn't be an overstatement to say I practically wished death on the whiny HIV-positive renegades of The Living End, simply for being so entitled, victim-y, and annoying. But once an I.Q. point-deprived (or maybe just post-G.B. Jones) Bruce LaBruce took Araki's shallow sloganeer mantle, the progenitor of now-MIA New Queer Cinema became slightly more watchable. The trendies in movies such as Nowhere and Splendor weren't any less cliché, and the acting rarely got better than a Shannen Doherty walk-on – or a terrific, unrecognizable Christina Applegate bit part – but Araki's skill and pleasure at objectifying fresh faces offered a certain surface delight. Still, I never expected Araki to create an excellent film. Which makes Mysterious Skin, easily one of this year's best, a genuine surprise. The endless snarkfests characteristic of typical past Araki screenplays have been replaced by sincerity, sweetness, and most important, actual material. The film's source, Scott Heim's 1995 novel of the same name, allows the director to drape his trademark glossy sheen over a story of substance, and Araki's visual sense – always his strongpoint – proves ideal for adaptation-style embellishment. Better still, Mysterious Skin's sexual politics, particularly during this conservative era, are so dedicated to logic and truth that they're quietly radical. Considering Araki's never been soft-spoken, and his recent bi phase brought crossover-minded cop-outs regarding on-screen male-on-male sex, this is wholly unexpected. Mysterious Skin begins with a ravishing effect similar to that seen in the opening credits sequence of Douglas Sirk's Imitation of Life. As Slowdive's "Catch the Breeze" sends shimmery yet pastoral gusts across the soundtrack, tiny colorful objects – Froot Loops instead of Sirk's jewels – float downward. The sugary cereal is falling on eight-year-old Neil McCormick (Chase Ellison) as his Little League coach (Playgirl-ready Bill Sage) reaches the grand finale of a seduction begun with horror films, Asteroid, Polaroids, and peach Nehi. That this moment is presented as an epiphany rather than cringed from in disgust – à la Mystic River – is a viewer's first clue that Araki's take on the subject matter is complicated. Pedophilia has become almost a rote indie touchstone of late, as films such as L.I.E. and The Woodsman and directors such as Todd Solondz examine it, sometimes for mere edginess's sake. Araki goes deeper, perhaps because his interest isn't in the perpetrator so much as his victims, who are "damaged goods" in widely varying ways that expose the pathetic stereotype played by Tim Robbins in Mystic River as the predictable product of power-fixated hetero male nightmares. For Brian Lackey (played by George Webster as a child and Brady Corbet as a teen), trauma has melted into a mix of memory loss and belief in UFO abductions; skittish and prone to nosebleeds, Brian looks for answers from a kooky fellow alien abductee (an excellent Mary Lynn Rajskub, the best addition yet to Araki's gallery of girl nerds). For teenage hustler Neil (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), the same event seems like just another part of a man-crazy childhood; he was objectifying his mother's "dumb as a rock" boyfriends before his coach even touched him. That doesn't mean, however, that an eight-year-old Neil was ready to act on his desires, or even understood how to – nor does it mean they haven't left a damaging imprint on his psyche. As Mysterious Skin criss-crosses between the two boys' post-traumatic stories, it juggles fey and crude comedic touches, and the well-executed voice-overs that dominate early on give way to an episodic structure that alternately hits and misses. Araki's got a great flair for heightening period details – young George's gold wire glasses cover more than half of his face, and his summer-of-'81 fantasies are straight out of E.T. At times the director's pop symbolism (cribbed from Heim) can be as clunky as a glass of milk – signifying wholesome innocence, in case you were wondering – crashing to the floor. But it can also be as off-kilter and potent as a bottle of baby shampoo turned into a weapon, or a Halloween fireworks display that shows the true, cruel face of all-American bullying. He's helped immeasurably by Gordon-Levitt, who should be remembered come award season (though he probably won't be, because of the nature of the role) for a portrayal that takes him as far from Third Rock from the Sun as he could go while still remaining on the same planet. The kind of daddy-ogling pretty boy altogether absent from generic gay movies, Neil knows he's attractive enough to casually leave his problems in plain view, allowing others to discover them and obsessively wonder (or worry) about him. When he leaves his own private Kansas to find his way in New York, Mysterious Skin metamorphoses into a darker magnificence. A scene in which one of his tricks (a superb Billy Drago) asks Neil to simply touch his Karposi's Sarcoma-riddled skin has a time-stopping solemnity completely uncharacteristic of Araki. If it were Neil's most trying moment, the film would still be powerful, but Araki's adaptation has an even more disturbing encounter in store – a horror-like experience presented without that genre's artifice – before moving toward a beauty of an ending that brings comfort to both Neil and Brian without allowing either of them an easy answer or resolution. 'Mysterious Skin' opens Fri/27, Lumiere Theatre, 1572 California, S.F. (415) 267-4893; and California Theatre, 2113 Kittredge, Berk. See Rep Clock for show times. |
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