Feel-Good Fluff or Insidiously Sexist Stuff? "Book Club"

Book Club (2019)
directed by Bill Holderman
starring Jane Fonda, Candice Bergen, Diane Keaton, Mary Steenburgen,
Andy Garcia, Don Johnson, Craig T. Nelson

Book Club is a movie that seems to be about the freedom, liberation, and wisdom of women of a certain age (over 60). With its casting of fabulous-looking senior actresses Jane Fonda (the most senior, at 80), along with blithe spirits Diane Keaton, Candice Bergen, and Mary Steenburgen, we have a powerhouse foursome of actresses who could pull off just about any script, never mind one bent on convincing audiences that age ain't nothin' but a number. These ladies look fit as a fiddle and ready for love (just ignore the fact that Candice seems stuffed to bursting in her stiff suits and that Diane Keaton's love of scarves in any weather belies either a pathological aversion to drafts or some serious wattle-neck).

Set in the sun-dappled upper-class enclave of Santa Monica, California, with a few side trips to upper-class enclave Scottsdale, Arizona (and the gorgeous vistas of Sedona), Book Club takes place in its own lovely and rarefied world of privilege, the plot floating along effortlessly on a tide of the wine the ladies continually guzzle down. During the opening credits, the film quickly short-hands the friendships and careers of these four friends, who are now incredibly successful (Fonda's character owns a major hotel); through the decades they have been gathering religiously for their book club meeting. The film would have us believe that their reading of the steamy S&M-light book series "Fifty Shades of Grey" unleashes some new level of sexual healing in their lives. This premise only serves as a shameless plug for the book series; thankfully, the script doesn't delve too deeply into the plot or characters of those books, but only uses them as a jumping off point. I think it would have been more effective to spoof the "Fifty Shades" and have the women read a series with an ersatz name that viewers would clearly be able to identify as a "Fifty Shades" clone. That would have been funnier and less bald-faced ad. And as it is, the book club meetings look like an excuse for the quartet to spout off about their lives and down copious amounts of wine.

For a 2018 film about successful women, Book Club still spouts some old-fashioned ideals about love and sex. These women are purportedly strong, accomplished, and self-directed, and yet the film seems to think they are nothing without a man. Yes, Sharon (Candice Bergen's character) is a respected federal court judge who has been abandoned by a weaselly husband for a much-younger woman. At 70, she is entitled to feel anger and bitterness; her initial stance eschewing romance seems perfectly reasonable. Deciding not to put oneself out there is a legitimate choice, but she is mocked and goaded by her friends into diving back into the dating pool.

Vivian (Fonda) is a love 'em and leave 'em hotel magnate who fears being emotionally manipulated or disappointed by love, a very real concern especially as an independent older woman with considerable financial assets. Yet, the real-talk speech she gives toward the end of the film about why she let a suitor go his way -- acknowledging the fact that older men can continue to woo and win younger women and often do -- is pooh-poohed in favor of having her risk all to chase True Love (never mind that her reunion with her ex consists of a rose garden fountain splash-off, a couple of drinks, and a nap).

Diane (Keaton, still rocking her signature Annie Hall menswear duds) is a well-off widow who ... I don't remember. She has two grown daughters (one of them Alicia Silverstone) who treat her like she's a doddering Alzheimer's patient in need of constant care, but she is devoted to her family and she worries that a new love will interfere with her responsibilities, overshadow memories of her dutiful husband, and upend her comfortable life.

And Carol (Steenburgen) is a thriving chef and restaurateur with a handsome husband with his own midlife crisis; her initial plan to fix things between them is to slip him a little Viagra mickey to spice up their sex life.

Book Club glosses over the real issues and impediments that dating over 60 may well present women today in favor of pat answers and ribald jokes. (Fonda's Netflix hit Grace and Frankie with longtime pal Lily Tomlin though also about rich white women, digs deeper, issues-wise.) Further, every suitor for these women is an AARP dreamboat, healthy, wealthy, and mostly younger. Sexy Don Johnson, 69 (and father of the Fifty Shades films' lead actress Dakota Johnson) shows up to romance Fonda years after their characters first tangoed; 62-year-old Andy Garcia plays an even-tempered pilot attracted to Keaton, a decade his senior; and a distinguished-looking Richard Dreyfuss (70) is a suitable match for Bergen (72). Even when one of Candice's dating-site suitors is the nerdy Wallace Shawn (whom Bergen memorably spurned in an episode of HBO's Sex & the City), he's still a successful doctor. And Steenburgen's spouse is hunky Craig T. Nelson, 74, who for a brief spell is more interested in riding his motorbike than her. Aside from the husband's temporary erectile dysfunction issues, and initial unwillingness to dance in public, these men appear problem and baggage-free.

Of the four actresses, it is Candice who bears the brunt of the film's most humiliating comic scenes: Taking her inert cat to the vet, the diagnosis about the state of her kitty is a withering barb(and gets one of the biggest laughs). Covered in a gloppy face mask, she is unexpectedly photographed by the dating website she finally signs up for; she gets pretzeled by punishing shapewear for all to see during a shopping trip; and she gets to look bedraggled (and a little desperate) in a sedan backseat when dating turns into mating.

This isn't to say that Book Club is without its charms or its laughs. Kudos to the scenery and cinematographer who captured it, the costume and makeup folks who made these ladies look like a million bucks. It is great to see this cast of accomplished older actresses stretch out in a major movie about romance, though I can't help but wonder what adding some diversity to the casting would have done (the addition of Fonda's Monster in Law co-star Wanda Sykes, the rebounding Leslie Uggams of Deadpool, or the regal Phylicia Rashad could have been really interesting). Because of its structure and premise, Book Club could be ripe for any number of prequels (the foursome in their younger years), sequels (another book, another set of "problems" for the ladies), and spinoffs (a completely different foursome reads the "Fifty Shades" books and embark on their own adventures).

And while the film is certainly intended as lighthearted comic fluff with the timeless message of "love conquers all," if you look too hard the message that sneaks through is that, whether women are 16 or 60, the fantasy ideal of finding a perfect love with a perfect man endures.

Remembering The Violence, Brilliance of "One False Move"

ONE FALSE MOVE (1992)
Starring Bill Paxton, Billy Bob Thornton, Michael Beach, Cynda Williams
Directed by Carl Franklin

My good friend Gil Robertson's African American Film Critics Association screened director Carl Franklin's One False Move in Los Angeles on April 29th, followed with a Q & A with the director. I wish I could have been there. I have a lot of affection for this film.

Way back in the early '90s, I was in NYC. I'd seen some advance reviews and ads for One False Move; I had never heard of director Carl Franklin, nor of Billy Bob Thornton, but I had seen some of Bill Paxton's work, and I was curious about a film that had a woman of color as one of the main characters in a Southern crime thriller. As it turned out, One False Move is a taut and complex film about a crew of murderous thieves on the run. At the same time, it's a clear-eyed look at how quaint and idyllic small-town life can seem deceptively simple, and a probing examination of human nature and how everyone has a fatal flaw. What makes the film so compelling is its characterizations and its beats, the way it starts out as a grim crime nail-biter, downshifts into clash-of-culture humor, and then transforms into a heartrending tragedy -- all without resorting to melodrama or pathos.

This is the first time I ever saw Thornton, who co-wrote the screenplay, in a major motion picture. The Arkansas native had already developed his Sling Blade character on the stage, but Sling Blade came to the screen in 1996. This was not the first time we see actor Michael Beach, who'd been in Lean on Me in 1989 and made his debut in End of the Line in 1987. But the character of Pluto, the cold blooded, intense and intellectual preppy killer, represented a new style of black villain. The film also provides a great character role for the late Bill Paxton as the hail-fellow-well-met small town lawman who is smarter than he looks. The acting he does in this role is truly accomplished.

In my estimation, One False Move is noteworthy in depicting black and white characters interacting in a natural way, where the drama does not stem entirely from racial tension. The action turns on the characters' personalities themselves and the friction between big city slickers and country folk. The conflict represented here is not white against black, but between the self-satisfied LA detectives who view the Star City, Arkansas, sheriff as a goofy, uninformed hick. But it is his thorough knowledge of the town's history as well as his own secret that leads to the apprehension of the criminals. Director Franklin -- who also helmed Devil in a Blue Dress -- is masterful at weaving together all the threads.


Synopsis (spoilers)

Trigger-happy thug Ray Malcolm (Thornton), his girlfriend Fantasia (Cynda Williams, Thornton's real-life wife at the time) and Ray's knife-wielding partner Pluto (Beach) decide to rip off drugs and cash from some L.A. drug dealers, then re-sell the drugs to one of Ray's contacts in Houston. The film starts as the three enter a home and the two men methodically menace then murder everyone in the house. Ray tells Fantasia to check the back rooms for stragglers, and when she finds a young boy hiding in a closet, she spares him by not telling the men. The matter-of-fact violence of this opening is so gruesome that it may be difficult for some viewers to get past.

But they should. Because as the flick unfolds we understand more about these three and how they interact: Ray's impulsive ignorance and abusive control over Fantasia, Pluto's ice-cold approach to their mission, Fantasia's downtrodden and confused demeanor. The trio leaves for Houston after trading in their stolen car, but the pressure escalates when Fantasia guns down a cop who stops them after being alerted by a nationwide APB on the murderous trio.

They decide that it would be best to split up, and Fantasia convinces Ray to let her go to their Star City hometown in Arkansas to hide out. He agrees, and the three decide to rendezvous in Star City later. Fantasia hops a bus, but unbeknownst to the men, she takes the money. Ray and Pluto go on to the dealer's house in Houston but encounter more problems and engage in another burst of violence. Discovering that Fantasia has taken off with their cash, the two hightail it to the wilds of Arkansas.

Star City is a midwesterner's dream: cornfields, cows, farmhouses, dusty roads, and tons of local country charm. The place is patrolled by a single lawman, Sheriff Dale "Hurricane" Dixon, whose high energy and blustery, good old boy persona cover a burning desire for more challenging police work. His country twang, pubescent enthusiasm, and nonstop chatter are a source of derisive amusement for the two slick Los Angeles-based detectives who arrive in town to track down the perpetrators of the cross-country murder spree. Seems Fantasia and Ray's connection to Star City led the police to check out the place, and Dale confirms that he knows Fantasia and her family. While Dale chomps at the bit to nab the criminals, the detectives laugh at him behind his back, and advise him to stand back and let them do the heavy lifting. "He's waiting on the bad guys like a kid waiting on Christmas," cracks Det. McFeely (Earl Billings) to his partner, Det. Cole (Jim Metzler). This scene at the local diner, where Dale accidentally overhears the City Slickers making fun of him, is still some of Paxton's best work.

Dale isn't going to let a little ridicule stand in the way of his chance to be part of a serious interstate crime investigation. He leads the detectives on a tour of the town, interrogates some locals (Dale's hilarious conversation with an elderly farmer about the whereabouts of his nephew Ray is worthy of the vaudeville circuit), and has Cole and McFeely home to supper with his cynical wife and young child. After Dale grills some steaks and grills the L.A. lawmen about work in the Big City he goes to fetch them more beer. His wife, mindful that her mate's lust for action could get him killed, asks the detectives to lower his expectations. "He don't know any better, he watches television," she tells them, adding pointedly, "I read non-fiction."

What Dale's wife and the L.A. detectives don't know is that Dale has more than just a passing acquaintance with Fantasia, who ran afoul of the law in the town while still a teen named Lila. Armed with intimate knowledge of her family and personality, Dale tracks her down before the detectives can get to her. During their reunion in an abandoned house, we understand the full impact of their past relationship, and how lingering guilt and remorse motivate Dale to protect her from both the long arm of the law and the vengeance of Ray and Pluto, who are due to arrive any moment.

Except Fantasia is beyond saving. It is Dale alone who faces the murderous pair in a gun battle when they arrive; Fantasia is killed in the crossfire. Wounded, Dale lies in the dirt as another local deputy arrives with Fantasia's young son. In the film's final frames, Dale speaks calmly to the boy, whom he finally accepts as his son.

Notes:

This is just the second big screen role for Cynda Williams, and her performance seems simple, but has layers of hurt, disappointment, lost innocence, identity confusion, and abuse victim. She is the most tragic figure in the film; in fact, One False Move could be said to contain elements of the Dizzy Dame or Cherchez La Femme plot, because Fantasia's decisions lead to doom: 1) she leaves a young witness to their murder spree alive, who ultimately identifies them; 2) she shoots a state trooper before Pluto and Ray can talk their way out of a vehicle stop, 3) she makes a beeline to her hometown and despite the danger of discovery, makes arrangements to see her son, 4) She absconds with the money, increasing the pressure for Ray and Pluto, 5) Her ties to Dale, a sheriff, lead to the trio's downfall, and 6) She distracts Dale at a pivotal moment in the final showdown, giving Ray a chance to shiv him. Fantasia is a lost innocent, a fallen woman, and she ends up paying the ultimate price.

The film is also notable for its unblinking view of violence, as shown in the first scene. The opening is a bit hard to take, and could sour viewers on the rest of the film.

Scarred for Life

So yeah, watching One False Move for the first time left me with a scar.

Before heading to the cinema in lower Manhattan, my companion and I downed more than a couple of adult beverages at a nearby restaurant. Naturally, I couldn't get through the flick without a visit the restroom. Every seat was filled in our row, so getting out was rough. I made it to the ladies' then ran back because I didn't want to miss any more of the film than I had to. The row behind ours was comparatively empty, so I decided it would be simpler to head down that aisle then climb over to my seat. In my buzzed state this seemed a perfectly reasonable course of action.

Except as I climbed over the seatback in the dim light, I placed my foot too far back on the upholstery and the seat flipped up. This caused my foot to plunge into the narrow space between the metal seatback and the seat itself, straight to the floor, scraping my ankle bone against the sharp edge of the seatback. It hurt like the blazes, but it was in the middle of the movie so I tried to keep quiet. Silently stinging, I watched the rest of the picture. I didn't even notice how serious the injury was until we'd said goodnight and I'd limped to the subway station, where a woman helpfully pointed to me and said, "Miss, you're bleeding pretty bad." My shoe was filled with blood and rust-red blotches streaked my pants leg. I pulled up the hem and saw that I had a long, jagged, bloody wound running down my ankle to the top of my foot. I went home, cleaned it, and slapped on some Band-Aids. I probably should have gotten stitches; it took decades for that scar to fade.

Thanks, One False Move. ***

All photos are screenshots.
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