The Crying Game - Mike!

The Crying Game

Written by Neil Jordan

And here we are. Our very first winner. The Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences’ choice for the Best Original Screenplay of 1992. And what a doozy it is.

Something I know you and I had in common was that the only thing we knew about this movie going into it was the now-famous “twist” that made it one of the most talked about movies of the early 90s. I didn’t know what it was about. I didn’t know anything about the other characters. All I knew was that, to quote Mayor Quimby, “the chick from The Crying Game is actually a man! I mean, man! What a good movie!” So, naturally, I was so pumped to see if a movie would hold up at all if, going into it for the first time, I already knew it’s biggest secret.

There’s a lot to unravel here, really. There’s a lot going on in The Crying Game. It’s about a lot of things… loyalty, obsession, identity and, as the movie is always quick to point out, human nature. That’s one of my biggest gripes. The script kept beating me over the head with the “it’s my nature, it’s your nature” thing. I got it as soon as baby Forrest Whitaker told the Scorpion/Toad story in the beginning. It informs the rest of the movie, but I’m not stupid. Jody’s telling at the beginning, and Fergus’ telling at the very end would have been nice bookends if it didn’t come up so much.

Before I get too much into that, though, I gotta talk about that twist. Because of course. It’s like the entire point of the movie!... except that it kind of isn’t. So Jody appeals to Fergus’ good nature and convinces him to let him go. He dies anyway, in the movie’s demonstration of “the illusion of choice,” so Fergus keeps his promise to check in on Jody’s girl. He becomes completely obsessed with her, protects her from a violent suitor, walks her home, buys her drinks, etc. What’s fascinating about that big reveal is what it reveals about Fergus. Immediately, we know everything Jody deduced about him is correct. He’s loyal and sincere. He keeps his promise to Jody, and is able to admit to himself that he’s come to care for Dil anyway… maybe he just doesn’t know in what capacity.

Also, it’s a testament to script and Jaye Davidson’s performance that, even knowing the twist and actively noticing the clues that point to it, I was still able to get lost in the story and sometimes forget a twist was even coming, that Dil wasn’t anything other than what she presented herself as. I also loved the scene at the construction site, after Fergus makes his discovery, where Dil gently mocks him for not figuring it out sooner. “Really, the signs were all there, darling.” She’s giving us a hard time, too. Even in the bar, everything becomes obvious in hindsight when it becomes clear that ALL the women in that bar are trans. It’s a trans bar. You don’t notice earlier because the only other people there we’re told to focus on are Fergus, Dil’s asshole kind of boyfriend Dave, and Wonderful Bartender Jim Broadbent.

Let me get back to my point about the twist not being what The Crying Game is really about, at least plotwise, because it turns out it’s actually about a couple of militants from the IRA, who try to pull Fergus back into his old way of life. Which, man. This is a movie that uses the three-act structure to its fullest extent because it kind of feels like three different movies! It’s a hostage movie, then it’s a romance, then it’s ticking time bomb thriller. I never felt like the movie was disjointed though, as it all comes together kind of beautifully in that climax. As Dil becomes more unhinged as her identity begins to slip away from her, almost killing Fergus, killing the FUCK out of Miranda Richardson, then almost killing herself… I don’t know. I was genuinely on the edge of my seat. “I’m afraid you forgot to knock, darling,” might be one of my favorite pre-gunshot quotes now.

Loved the little epilogue, too. I almost wanted to call it a cop-out, but I realized it really tied the whole thing together. Fergus wanted to escape his past, and Dil just wanted to be accepted for who she was, and that’s why they needed each other. It doesn’t matter if they become actual lovers, or just stay as close friends, because, I guess, that’s what The Crying Game is actually about.

And that closes out 1992. I didn’t do ongoing rankings like you, but I’ll do one to wrap it up.

1)      The Crying Game

2)      Unforgiven

3)      Husbands and Wives

4)      Lorenzo’s Oil

5)      Passion Fish

There we have it.

Danny's on Dick Watch

            Okay, there’s no avoiding this, The Crying Game has a twist. And it’s been parodied and referenced so often, it’s nearly impossible to go into this movie pure.  Had no idea what the movie was about, but damn it, I knew there was a dick in it. Initially, I’ll admit, I was on “dick watch”. Just looking for that dick. I was looking for bulges everywhere. Each pair of jeans, a potential hiding place. Thankfully, the movie’s considerably better than it’s purported twist and the consequent dick.

           

            With that out of the way, The Crying Game is an odd little film. Maybe that’s why its twist became shorthand to describe it.  But I’d argue the biggest twist at play here is the constant genre shuffling – from a wartime buddy movie, to romantic drama and, finally, into a political thriller. It’s a testament to writer and director Neil Jordan’s considerable talent that he was able to make these disparate elements come together. And what’s most interesting is that they aren’t blended, like, say, a Tarantino movie. There are hard lines here. Once it’s a thriller, the romance is gone. And in come the thrills. It’s an impressive feat, and one pretty rarely attempted.

            So, let’s look at it in chunks. The Wartime Buddy Comedy. This movie doesn't have the greatest opening. Maybe it was the dick watch. Maybe it was Whitaker’s weirdly voiced over performance. But it wasn’t clicking at all. Of course, none of those are the scripts fault. And once the movie settles into the rhythms of their conversations, the writing's able to shine without any formal distractions. I started to like these guys. I started to enjoy hanging out with them. And then Whitaker is crushed to death by a car.

           

            Romantic drama. This one’s a bit more problematic for me. Because I’m not entirely sure why Fergus is so drawn to Dil. I’m guessing we’re supposed to buy into the idea that it’s just…love. They’re made for each other. And, listen, I like Dil. She’s got a flirty forwardness that’s fun to watch and her interactions with Carl the bartender are a movie highlight for me. A little off topic, but I need Carl to be my bartender. And if this movie turned into Fergus’s fierce desire to be Carl’s regular, to be able to order “the usual, Carl”, I’d be way more on board. But as it stands, I just don’t feel Fergus and Dil. And it’s not an acting issue, or a filmmaking thing. Top notch, across the board. It’s inherent in the material. Boldly romantic and brazenly sexual.  And in movie-land, those can often function as substitutes for a realistic relationship. But here, while I enjoy the performances, the romance just doesn’t work for me.

           

            So, I guess now’s the time to chat about the twist. Since I don’t really buy into the romance, it’s difficult to buy into the idea that Fergus would continue the relationship. But the story says he does, so he does. Beyond that, here’s what I love about this mid-movie turn – it effectively recontextualizes everything before it. I re-played the first half of the movie in my head through so much of the second half, that I probably need to watch the whole thing again. Suddenly, all of that time spent hanging out with Whitaker wasn’t just an unlikely friendship. It was a romance. When Whitaker calls Fergus “handsome”, it wasn’t some mocking term. He meant it. The pissing scene goes from funny to flirty. In my notes, I wrote that the scene where Fergus walks Whitaker to his death had a sort of “childhood innocence” to it. The way Whitaker kept talking about cricket. Kept teasing Fergus. Only, it wasn’t childhood innocence. That was first date jitters. In a way, the turn helps sell the central romance because maybe Fergus never truly loved Dil. It was always Whitaker. At least that would explain the wonderful Forest Whitaker Ghost Cricket scenes.

            Finally, we’ve got our Political Thriller. Really appreciated this turn, as it dug the movie out of its romantic phase and turned it into a taut thriller. Probably the least interesting section, but certainly the most fun. Don’t have much to say here. They kill a judge or something. Some pretty brutal violence. This section also solidifies the theme of fluid identity, with everyone slipping in and out of roles. But, like the Frog and Scorpion (people know there are other fables, right?) tells us, you can’t deny your true nature. So this brazen, bold movie ends in a bloody shootout, with the ever-kind Fergus taking the fall for his lover. Then they play “Stand by Your Man”. And it’s on the nose, but, come on, you have to play that song, right? I mean, you don’t make a slippery movie about gender politics and not play that song! Speaking of, does this movie hate women? It’s hard to tell. The only woman we’re shown is pretty cruel. And, accordingly, everyone hates her. It might be an unfair read though, because that’s simply not what the movie’s about. And characters can be cruel, man or woman, without commenting on an entire gender.

            The Crying Game goes on to win Best Screenplay of 1992. I think it’s the right choice. I don’t love this movie. It’s not even my favorite of the year. But, man, it’s a killer script. And so, so smart. A script about shifting identity that constantly shifts it’s own? Fucking cool. A script that causes you to rethink the entire thing halfway through? Fucking cool. And, man, that twist.

I know, I know. I keep harping. But there’s one more thing I wanna talk about. It’s 2015. I find it extremely hard to believe I wouldn’t have known Dil was a man, even if I didn’t know it already. She’s a pretty man, sure, but maybe the eyes of 2015 are simply more sensitive. Maybe they’re just more trained. Maybe Ru Paul’s Drag Race is just too popular. So let’s say it’s 1992. And it really catches you off guard. You were attracted to Dil. Totally pulled in by the romance. Then, dick. That must have really been something. It could cause you to reevaluate everything you know about your gender identity. As it turns out, you could be attracted to a man. You could even fall in love. That must have been a powerful moment for a lot of people. And it’s sitting right there in the middle of this script.

The award went to a truly unique, strange movie in 1992. And it became a huge hit, which may be the strangest part of all. For me, there’s a tonal disconnect on this one. The grand gestures, the big moments, they don’t really play, which keeps the movie at a distance for me. I couldn’t get close to this one. But it’s impressive. And I’ve got tremendous respect for it, even if I don’t love it.

So! My final list for 1992!

1.     Unforgiven.

2.     Husbands and Wives

3.     The Crying Game

4.     Lorenzo’s Oil

5.     Passion Fish

Danny is Unforgiven

           With Unforgiven we’re dealing with our eventual best picture winner. And of all the movies we’ve taken a look at so far, this one feels “movie-est”. It feels the least like a great screenplay screaming out from a good movie. Which isn’t to say the other movies were lesser, just that this one needs that big screen, that big sound. When people think of movies, they don’t think of chatty relationship comedies or character studies, they think of Clint Eastwood. And, damn, does Unforgiven have some Clint Eastwood.

            Of course, we’re taking a look at screenplays here. And there’s an element to this project that feels a little disingenuous since we’re not actually reading the screenplays. With this approach, it’s nearly impossible not to take the whole movie into consideration. But, scripts are meant to be movies, right? So what better way to evaluate them? I guess? Self-justification complete.

            With that in mind, I think David Webb Peoples delivers something special here. I’d seen this move before, and only remembered two things: Gene Hackman is a monster and Clint Eastwood. But I’d forgotten how the movie takes time to really develop this small town. In my memory, this is a movie about Eastwood on the prowl. But it’s really not. I mean, it’s about that, sure. But it’s also about this town and the people in it. And the screenplay splits its time accordingly.

Like Passion Fish, you get the feeling that each of these characters leads full, rich lives. And if you ask, I’m sure English Bob or Little Bill would be more than happy to elaborate. Only the backstories aren’t limited to the gunslingers, Strawberry Alice possesses an inner-strength that clearly has history. Ned Logan married a native, and based on the look she gives Eastwood, I’d watch a comedy where Ned invites Eastwood to Christmas dinner. Even the cowboy who cuts up the girl has friends who care about him. And while what he did was horrific, the movie goes on to justify it – reputation is everything in this world.

            And for proof, here’s how we’re introduced to Eastwood: “You don’t look like no rootin’ tootin’ son of a bitch cold blooded assassin.” Okay, so, he’s awesome, right? Not awesome enough, because that quote is followed by a list of all the bad ass shit Eastwood’s done. And it’s a long list. English Bob hires a biographer to secure his legacy. And Little Bill’s reputation is so fearsome he can govern an entire town based on it. Scofield kid has no past, so he just makes one up. And, holy shit, does every character like to talk about the past. They absolutely revel in it. Stories of a bygone error, tall tales and on and on…

            Initially, this bothered me. There’s just so much talking. It’s all these old guys telling stories that sound so much more interesting than the movie we’re actually watching. And Eastwood’s character can be an absolute drag. I tried to count the number of times he uttered a variation on “I’m a changed man”, but my pen ran out of ink. And my hand got tired. And somewhere, a man died. We get it, Clint, you’ve changed. Yes, Little Bill, you’re a tough son of a bitch.

            But about two-thirds in, I realized what was going on. These men weren’t telling the audience anything we didn’t already know. This wasn’t exposition being poured on. They were talking to themselves.  Eastwood needed to believe he’d changed, so he just kept saying it, hoping it’d be true. Little Bill needed to know he was the meanest there ever was, so he just says it. In that context, I think the characters really reveal themselves. They’re just men living on words now. Their days of action are behind them.

            Until they aren’t, of course. Which brings us to the absolutely masterful final scene. We’ve built these two men, Eastwood and Little Bill into legends. We’ve seen what Bill can do. We’ve heard of Eastwood’s deeds. Now, he’s hitting the bottle again, reverting to some dark past. Bill’s putting together a posse. We’re in for a showdown. Figure we settle in for chase. A gunfight. Some posturing. Nope. Cause Eastwood just fucking shows up! And KILLS EVERYONE. And it’s so great. It’s the perfect payoff for all the stories, all the chattering about the past. Eastwood was never gonna call Bill out. Have a gunfight at noon. Be on the run from some dumb posse. He was going to ride into town and fucking blow everyone away. And when he does, it’s the best. And it’s so, so earned.

            Which brings us to the movie’s central question – did Eastwood ever change? While I find those title cards that bookend the movie an odd touch, they provide a glimpse into the answer. He loved his wife. That’s clear. And it seems no one understands why she loved him. But in Eastwood’s relationship with Ned and the brief conversation with the cut up prostitute, we’re given a few pieces to the puzzle that is Eastwood (listen, I know the character has a name, but, it’s Clint Eastwood). He’s unbelievably loyal. Probably to a fault. He’s tuned into emotions and feels deeply. He just lives in harsh times. Times when loyalty to the wrong men lead to evil, and feeling deeply can get you killed. I think his wife saw he was a fundamentally good person, and was able to channel his innate qualities into very different type of man. One she could love. But those same qualities can shoot up an entire saloon. Or sell dry goods in San Francisco, apparently.  Hey, he’s a complicated man. He’s Clint Eastwood.

           SIDE NOTE: I loved the brief English Bob interlude. He was such a fun character. With a nice build up. I understand, for this movie’s purposes, why Little Bill had to crush him so quickly, but I wanted more Bob. I wanted to see him do cool shit. And I can’t help but feel Sam Raimi felt the same way. He must have thought, “What if there was a whole fucking town of English Bob’s”? Then he made The Quick and the Dead. And he figured no one could be Gene Hackman better than Gene Hackman, so fuck it, and cast him. I guess what I’m saying is, The Quick and the Dead is sweet.

Finally, my list!

1. Unforgiven
2. Husbands and Wives
3. Lorenzo's Oil
4. Passion Fish

           

           

Unforgiven (Mike's Take!)

Unforgiven

Written by David Webb Peoples

1992’s Best Picture winner is in the running and, while not the only good movie we’ve seen, it’s certainly the one that’s endured the most of this batch. People love Unforgiven. It’s in the National Film Registry. The American Film Institute named it one of the best Western films ever made. So this movie has some accolade baggage going into it. Somehow I missed this movie for years, which is weird since I like Clint Eastwood, cowboy movies, and Clint Eastwood cowboy movies. So does it live up to all that hype?

There are two answers: as a movie, absolutely. Atmospheric, grimy in the best way, some of the best acting of Clint’s career (helped in no small part by ringers like Morgan Freeman and a possibly never better Gene Hackman), this movie has it all. As a script, though, it’s “only” mostly successful. I will explain, of course, but let me sing my praises first.

Four movies in a row, and my time is still not being wasted at all. I love this category! The assault on the poor girl Delilah that leaves her scarred is the very first thing that happens. Then we immediately see what a hold Little Bill has on this town, and how disproportionate his punishments are. The girls are pissed off immediately and call for desperate action: putting a hit on the two men who cut up their friend. Then Bill Munny and the Schofield Kid are brought in to answer that call.

I don’t typically think of many Westerns as being “well-written.” They’re almost all economical by design, relying more on atmosphere than elegant prose, but there’s also a craft to bluntness as this movie illustrates perfectly. Munny is a man of few words, as Clint’s characters usually are, but those words carry heft. “I don’t kill anyone without my partner.” No explanation needed, because he’s not a man who trades in them. The only one in his crew who talks a lot is the Kid, and we find out soon enough that it’s all posturing.

The rest of the ensemble talks a lot, and I think it’s for the same purpose. English Bob talks himself up all over the place, only to prove that he’s no match for Little Bill Daggett. Daggett also talks constantly, as if reminding everyone that he’s the guy in charge.

Speaking of, I love that scene of the other guys in the Sherriff’s Department talking about Daggett, about how “he ain’t no carpenter,” right before he kicks the crap out of English Bob.

While I’m on English Bob, it’s interesting (and at least a teensy bit frustrating) that he has such a fun intro, and is quickly built up as this ultimate assassin who’s so cool he has his own biographer following him around, and he’s dispatched of so quickly. It would seem that the whole point of Bob was to build up what a hardass Daggett is. Like to show us, for the first time, that this is the guy Munny and the gang are up against? Oh no! And I get that, and it does make Daggett out to be this insurmountable obstacle, but Bob was so delightful I still wanted him to do more.

The script also beats me over the head with “I ain’t like that no more.” I get it, Munny hasn’t killed in years, he hasn’t had a drink in years, he’s a respectable man now. He says it like a million times, and he’s only taking this job because he needs the money (hey, like his name!). It all comes together, in two ways. First, I was never not amused when he struggled to get up on his horse. I laughed every time. Second, is what I call the “you done fucked up” moment, and it’s always an effective moment even if you can see it coming from a mile away.

Munny and the Kid have killed the second man. They want their reward money and they want to go home. The Kid has even had an epiphany and will never kill again. Then Munny gets the news. Little Bill Daggett killed Ned. Munny squints his eyes, takes his first drink in years, sends the Kid home, and you just know that Daggett is about to get shot all kinds of dead. You can see it coming, but it’s oh so satisfying. Really, Daggett seals his fate in the movie’s first moments, by refusing to serve justice when it doesn’t suit his interests, but the whole movie builds him up as someone you want to see D-E-D dead, and there’s something to be said for a movie that gives you exactly what you want.

The killer with a heart of gold is a trope as old as Westerns themselves, but movies don’t need to constantly reinvent the wheel. Unforgiven is a great example of putting old clichés to good use. I was genuinely touched by Munny’s scene with Delilah, the assaulted girl. It was quiet and sweet and said a lot about both characters, and the situation they find themselves in. That really sums up the best parts about this movie for me.

And I’ll finish up this one by pointing out that “Strawberry Alice” is the best possible old-timey hooker name. If David Webb Peoples has one true triumph to take away from Unforgiven, it’s that.