“Do you know what Hell is? A world without narcotics.”
The H-Bomb: There was a time when I considered David Cronenberg to be one of my top three favorite filmmakers. Much like my other favorite director named David, he makes dark, challenging films that are provocative, disturbing, and at times just downright disgusting. Ten years ago, I would have sworn that Cronenberg could do no wrong, no way, no how.
His last two movies, however, have caused me to question my faith in him. With A Dangerous Method, he took what should have been a fascinating subject and rendered it dull. I don’t know how one could make a film about Sigmund fucking Freud dull, but Cronenberg found a way. Then he made Cosmopolis, and… instead of suffering the mental anguish of recalling that pretentious sack of shit, I’ll just direct you to my old review of it, which perfectly articulates my feelings towards it.
Suffice it to say, I became very disillusioned with Mr. Cronenberg after witnessing that masturbatory train wreck. He had fallen off my cool list, and he had fallen hard. So hard, in fact, that I even called for his retirement. Of course, that call went ignored, as Cronenberg is now back with his latest, Maps to the Stars. Was I right to suggest that he retire? Or did he somehow manage to pleasantly surprise me? Read on…
Adapted by Bruce Wagner from his novel, Maps to the Stars takes a cynical, satirical look at a variety of slimy, amoral cretins who live, work, and play in the magical land that is Hollywood. Among them, we have Agatha (Mia Wasikowska), a scarred young woman newly arrived in town; Benjie (Evan Bird), a child actor with substance abuse issues and an overbearing mother (Olivia Williams); Dr. Stafford Weiss (John Cusack), a self-help guru and Benji’s father; Havana (Julianne Moore), an aging actress clamoring for the lead role in a remake of a film her late mother starred in; and lastly, Jerome (Robert Pattinson), a limo driver looking to break into the business.
Inevitably, the paths of these lovely individuals will cross and collide as careers are ruined, skulls are cracked, and at least one person gets burned. All this raises the question, does Hollywood turn people into morally vacuous, glory craving savages, or does it merely attract people who are that way already?
Novelist/screenwriter Wagner drew on his own experiences as a limo driver while penning this acid-laced indictment of Tinseltown, and from my own limited experience of being around schmoozing, ass-kissing Hollywood types, I would say he hits the nail square on the head. Cronenberg, a Canadian auteur specializing in body horror and surrealism, may not have seemed like an obvious choice to helm Maps to the Stars, but with his dry, darkly warped sensibilities, he proves to be a perfect match for the material.
As stated earlier, I thought Cronenberg was fucking finished after the atrocious Cosmopolis. I figured he had lost his shit for good. I have never been so happy to be so wrong. This scathing parody of Hollywood’s underbelly is easily Cronenberg’s best film since A History of Violence. With its wickedly mean and downright bitter view of life in the entertainment industry, this is the film that The Canyons wanted desperately to be. Whereas the characters in The Canyons were vain, vile, and fatally dull, the denizens who populate Cronenberg’s Hollywood are vain, vile, and utterly fascinating.
It helps that, unlike that Paul Schrader/Brett Easton Ellis disasterpiece, Maps to the Stars allows itself a sense humor. An utterly pitch black sense of humor, sure, but a sense of humor, nonetheless. Be it a painfully awkward Make-a-Wish visit to a terminally ill kid, or an actress gleefully celebrating her landing a part because a competing actress’s son died, this thing is hilarious in a way that is deeply fucking wrong, and for that, I love it. Cronenberg isn’t typically known for having any kind of comedic sense, but the one he displays here is so wonderfully twisted, I wish he would embrace it more often.
Julianne Moore just scored her first Oscar win for Still Alice, and while I haven’t seen that picture yet, I can confidently say that her work here is every bit as award worthy. Looking like a washed up, fifty-year-old Lindsay Lohan, Moore throws herself full bore into the role of the over-the-hill Havana, delivering a performance that is alternately funny, frightening, and sad. Haunted by the ghost of her dead mother (Sarah Gadon), Havana walks around with a nervous edge to her, barely holding it together, constantly on the verge of losing her shit completely. She’s a modern day Norma Desmond, a has-been desperate to stay relevant, and Moore conveys her intense insecurity flawlessly.
Maps to the Stars is very much structured as an ensemble, but Moore’s performance is the one that will linger in the minds of all who see it. That’s to take absolutely nothing away from the other members of the cast, all of whom are fantastic, and individually get their moments to shine. Wasikowska adds the enigmatic Agatha to her ever growing list of quirky, damaged weird chicks. It’s a role she can nail in her sleep, and does. Cusack also scores as a slimy, new age therapist more interested in promoting his own image than he is in actually helping anyone. Even Mr. Sparkles himself, Pattinson, as the ambitious but dim limo driver, puts in a solid showing.
Perhaps the greatest revelation in the cast is young Evan Bird, as the insufferable child star, Benjie. A selfish, detestable brat, this little punk is the sort to get jealous of his eight-year-old co-star and treat everyone around him like crap. Bird brilliantly plays him with an air of entitled arrogance that will make even the most passive amongst us want to sock him in the face. As Benjie’s enabling mother, Williams does fine, though we never really get inside her head the way we do with the other characters. Maybe that’s the point, that she’s the kind of mother who lives vicariously through her child, and therefore has no true identity of her own. As a character, she only seems partially developed.
While the slightly uncooked character of Benji’s mother can be pinned on the writing, one major fault I found with Cronenberg’s direction is the pacing. His films have never moved at a breakneck speed, and Maps to the Stars does suffer from a rather slow pace. The movie is never boring at any point, though it does drag at times, and certainly could have used some tightening. That, and a groaningly pretentious ending, are what keep Maps to the Stars from being the truly great film it promises to be.
Still, while it may not be great, it is pretty damn good, and it’s one hell of a comeback vehicle for Cronenberg. He certainly stumbled with his last couple of pictures, but Maps to the Stars serves as undeniable proof that when it comes to all things twisted, depraved, and thoroughly fucked up, Mr. Cronenberg is still on his game.
