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Passion Play (Mitch Glazer, 2010)
Passion
Play, the debut feature from screenwriter Mitch Glazer, has been described
by its makers as a fable. More appropriately, I’d say, it is a self-indulgent
sexual fantasy run amok. Starring Mickey Rourke as a jazz musician who runs
afoul of a gangster (by sleeping with his wife, naturally), the film offers
superficial romantic noodling that kicks off when he comes across a girl in a
carnival who sports real wings (Megan Fox). Perhaps it’s needless to say, but
Rourke and Fox are a thoroughly mismatched screen couple, who exude zero screen
chemistry with one another. Rourke possesses a down and out shaggy dog appeal
only works in a very limited, realistic range of films. Fox is a sex kitten with
little depth. This is probably her greatest acting challenge to date, and she
fails miserably. When the film asks the two to play off one another, the results
are disastrous. When sparks fail to ignite between the two in a story that
entirely depends upon us getting caught up in their future together, the whole
enterprise collapses.
Bill Murray, playing Happy, the previously mentioned gangster, is the clearest
asset here, doing what he can by adding his signature comic timing to what is
pretty sorry material. Glazer has no obvious skill behind the camera. His
imagery recycles noir stereotypes to little effect, and the overall mood here
recalls the L.A.-centric work of Alan Rudolph, with next to none of the quirky
charm. Based on the way that Glazer trots about his real-life spouse Kelly Lynch
in Passion Play (she rarely wears more than underwear, and sometimes
wears less), one could uncharitably read the movie as an autobiographical story
about trophy wives. That’s disturbing, but par for the course, given the rest of
Passion Play’s vapid, sexist content. A last ditch effort to add a
spiritual dimension to the preceding wankery falls as flat as the rest of the
film. Awful.
12
Jeremy Heilman
07.14.11
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