Identity crisis
The joy of Being John Malkovich
by Peter Keough
BEING JOHN MALKOVICH. Directed by Spike Jonze. Written by Charlie Kaufman. With John Cusack,
Cameron Diaz, Catherine Keener, Orson Bean, Mary Kay Place, John Malkovich, and
Charlie Sheen. A USA Films release. At the Avon.
Would anyone shell out $200 to spend 10 minutes in John Malkovich's
head? That's one of the shakier premises in Spike Jonze's effervescent and
profound feature debut, Being John Malkovich, and to judge from the
actor's recent track record on the screen it would seem unlikely. But
Being is less about celebrity -- one of its ironies is that nobody in
the movie really knows or cares who John Malkovich is -- than it is about
escape. To spend 10 minutes inside somebody else's head is the allure of all
art, the chance to break out of the solitary confinement of the self.
Jonze, though best known for his whiz-bang, surreal music videos and TV
commercials, has a feel for the mind-forged manacles that keep the self
imprisoned. Following the brilliantly byzantine screenplay by newcomer Charlie
Kaufman, he gleefully unlocks the interconnected cells constructed by
fantasies, jobs, ambitions, relationships, and the allure of the media,
compassionately exposing those poor souls trapped inside and isolated from
their own experience.
Like puppeteer Craig Schwartz (John Cusack, nearly hidden, like much of the
rest of the cast, beneath a hideous haircut), who's first seen as his own
puppet. What appears to be a lifesize Craig marionette leaps on his master's
strings in a piece called "Dance of Disillusionment and Despair" involving
music from Béla Bartók and a smashed mirror. Wild applause
follows, but it's all in Craig's head -- he's onanistically playing with dolls
in his basement.
Meanwhile, upstairs, his wife, Lotte (Cameron Diaz, her grin and giggle nearly
buried under a mousy mop), is not faring much better. Instead of puppets, she
has pets -- the ailing iguanas and apes she brings home from the pet store
where she works. At least she's bringing in an income, and her quiet suggestion
that Craig get a job is met with vain pronouncements about art. After being
beaten up by a father outraged by the sight of Abélard and
Héloïse puppets dry-humping their cell walls in one of his sidewalk
performances, Craig accedes to Lotte's request and answers an ad in the paper
for an "experienced file clerk of short stature."
The 7-1/2th floor of the Mertin-Flemmer building in Manhattan where Craig
starts his new job is a cramped David Lynch-like wonderland. There he meets
haughty co-worker Maxine (Catherine Keener, at last playing a bitch who is
sympathetic), with whom he falls hopelessly in love. By chance he also
discovers a portal to John Malkovich's mind behind a file cabinet (a tiny door
leads to a passage resembling a womb or an escape tunnel from Stalag 17 that
sucks one into the experience of John Malkovich eating toast or ordering from a
catalogue followed by expulsion onto the New Jersey Turnpike). In a desperate
attempt to win over Maxine, Craig agrees to join her in a covert scheme to sell
tickets to John Malkovich's mind.
That's just the beginning, of course, and things get sexually and
metaphysically messy when Lotte enters the portal (she returns thinking she is
a man trapped in a woman's body when she was in fact briefly a woman trapped in
a man's body) and falls in love with Maxine, who falls in love with her (but
"only as Malkovich"), inciting the jealous and ineffectual Craig to drastic
measures in one of the most mind-boggling love quadrangles in the history of
movies. And when Malkovich enters his own portal, things get really
nightmarish, giving the idea of being one's own best audience an especially
nasty twist.
Being's insight is that all escapes are deeper traps, and that dreams
of escaping one's self-imprisonment lead to ever more diabolical confrontations
with it. So why is this such a fun movie? Perhaps it's Jonze's genuine delight
in the media excesses, celebrity absurdities, and pseudo-artistic pretensions
he parodies, or the humane genius of, for example, casting Orson Bean as an
enigmatic centenarian whose dread of the ultimate confinement of death leads to
all the other confinements.
Jonze is a blithe puppeteer himself, and his canny self-referentiality is
nonetheless ingenuous, though at times he gets a little too cute and frivolous
for his own good -- is it necessary to include a flashback to a chimp's
repressed memory? -- and the film in the later going labors somewhat with
contrivance. Regardless, it's one of the most philosophically provocative
screwball comedies ever made. As abstruse and bewildering as Being gets
-- the questions start with what happens to the piece of wood Craig leaves
behind in his first trip through the portal, and they don't end when it appears
that Malkovich contains multitudes -- it can't be beat for escapist
entertainment.
Mind games