Gus Van Sant’s best-known films (which are not the same as his best films) have historically involved a certain grappling with What Hollywood Does. Hollywood saves a poor-but-smart kid from his environment (and himself) with the help of a bearded, platitude-spouting Robin Williams. Hollywood saves a poor-but-smart kid from his environment (and himself) with the help of a bearded, laughable slang-spouting Sean Connery. Hollywood flatters its flavors of the month by shoe-horning them into paint-by-numbers remakes of aged cinematic game changers. Etc. Anyone cognizant of Van Sant’s turn-of-the-century Hollywood period shouldn’t be surprised by his willing ability to play it straight.
To say that Van Sant continues to “play it straight” with Milk isn’t meant as a pun regarding sexuality, exactly, but said pun wouldn’t be entirely off the mark. If his Hollywood trilogy was what Van Sant needed to get from his early meditations on the emotional lives of low-lifes to his much-vaunted Death Trilogy, then that most recent career phase may be what Van Sant needed to work through in order to merge the first two modes of his career. Milk takes the defining moments of a subculture once perceived by the mainstream as deviant, and runs it through the mill of What Hollywood Does, thereby sanitizing its hero for mainstream martyrhood. Van Sant’s laundering of an outsider hero through the very inside mechanism of the Hollywood biopic has been variously described as heroic and distasteful. As of press time, I think it’s somewhere in between.
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When you take into account Reverse Shot’s reputation for consistently bursting the bubble on over-hyped art house darlings (I became an Andrew Tracy fan after he called Pan’s Labyrinth “dreck” last year), for taking challenging and/or unfashionable positions on filmmakers and stars (see Justin Stewart’s analysis of Colin Farrell’s performance in Miami Vice here), and for just generally being contrarian, the most surprising thing about their latest issue is how closely many of the pieces hew to the critical party line. No one needs Reverse Shot to tell them that the Farrelly Brothers have “suck[ed] all of the soul and much of the meaning out of The Heartbreak Kid,” or that Across the Universe is a “disastrous…pawning [of] the Sixties as nostalgia to a younger generation,” while “I’m Not There is great art.”
But where the new releases section falters a bit, the issue’s main thrust, a symposium on Gus Van Sant, restores faith. Justin Stewart, in particular, saves the day, with two pieces on films sprung from the grey matter of Mr. Ben Affleck.
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