As I’ve said before, I like weird shit. I really do. Time Bandits and the rest of the Terry Gilliam ouevre keeps finding its way onto my list of favorite movies every time I rewatch them. I love me some quirk. Especially in my reading habits.
So the name Etgar Keret has consistantly popped up on my list of “I Should Get To That”. But I never do. Wristcutters is based on his collection called “Kneller’s Happy Campers”. And based on this movie, I will be picking up the book. Because I can imagine it’s a damn fine read.
But the movie. Oh, how many times have you gone to the theatre this year, and just sat there thinking, “Damn. Sooooo close.” It’s almost a great film. It has the potential to be one. It just doesn’t make it.
The premise is simple. Zia (Patrick Fugit) (yeah, get ready for a whole slew of what the fuck names) is a forlorn youth who commits suicide and ends up working for a pizza parlor in an afterlife where everything is broken down and desolate and nobody smiles. Seriously. During the entire film, nobody smiles. As they drive in broken down cars through a world that just needs Tina Turner and the American Gladiators and a couple of midgets on dirtbikes chasing after Mel Gibson in the background, nobody smiles. The movie is dull colored, and washed out, like a day when the sun is behind a cloud. There are no stars. And it’s commitment to the atmosphere that works. It’s just that it’s kind of miserable. But with a movie called Wristcutters, you aren’t exactly expecting Amy Adams to break into song and dance.
It’s got a stellar cast, including Will Arnett and Tom Waits, and it’s got a really nifty soundtrack that reminds me of Red Elvises (though it might be Gogol Bordello? Guess I got another add to my list!) Everyone rocks their part. The problem for me, is that it’s just too goddamn weird. It’s weird for the sake of having people say “ooh, isn’t that weird?”
It’s funny. It makes you laugh. Not belly laugh. But it’s got a couple of chuckles. It’s obviously not feel good, though at the very end, I did find myself smiling. But there are just moments, where you get the feeling they were trying way too hard to be different. You know, like that kid in school who used to wear suspenders and a pork pie hat over a band t-shirt. And then he’d sing really loud in the halls songs by obscure European bands? And who would often talk in funny accents so girls might like him, pretty please, pretty lady? This movie is Ducky.
Actually, the friend who writes Thrift Store Music was quirky in high school. He made a shirt entirely out of duct tape, which he wore. He used to wear skirts. Nobody beat him up or made fun of him. They just asked him why he wore such an ugly skirt. In fact, everyone loved him. Because even though he was different, that’s just who he was. He was a sweet, nice kid, who did crazy shit because it was fun for him.
And that’s this movie. It’s got a sweet vein running through it, and it’s committed to staying so faithful to it’s own eccentricity, no matter how awkward or unusual it can be. And despite all the random bizzarity showering down on a constant and inexplicable basis, it’s a love story at heart, and it never shies from that. It’s not a particularly great love story, but it what it is. If you were interested in seeing this film, if the posters or the concept got to you, then you should see it. I can’t promise you will love it, or even that you will like it. But you probably won’t hate it.
