410 - Lakeview Terrace review

Neil LaBute’s “Lakeview Terrace” is an incendiary polemic about evil and racism packaged as a thriller. It generates tension not so much because of the unpleasant events that occur, but because they happen throughout a deeply thoughtful and intelligent story populated by layered, believable characters.

It stars Samuel L. Jackson as Abel Turner, a Los Angeles cop and single father living in an upscale neighborhood. Don’t believe the adverts that proclaim he’s a “good cop;” Abel is an evil man, a sadist who happens to be in a position of power that allows him to brutalize others. The performance, nuanced and vicious, is deserving of an Oscar nomination.

When recently married Chris (Patrick Wilson) and Lisa (Kerry Washington) move in next door, Abel snaps. Chris is white, Lisa is black. Abel is an unrepentant racist who is repulsed at the happy interracial couple, and is perhaps jealous as well. By the time the first night is over, Abel has initiated a campaign of harassment and intimidation that will end poorly for all concerned.

Chris is a reasonable man whose options are quickly whittled down for him. The film spares us one of those scenes where the victim hopelessly complains to the police about one of their own only to be ignored. Chris might be an upper-class yuppie, but he has seen enough Dateline specials to know that the law isn’t on his side.

I can’t recall a film where a white protagonist was the victim of a racist black antagonist. Chris himself seems unwilling to believe it, patiently rationalizing the attacks until Abel’s demeanor becomes ferociously candid. His marriage with Lisa becomes strained as the pressure builds, while Abel’s own brutality has repercussions that worsen an already bad scenario.

Abel is the sort of cop who justifies his abuses by claiming that he’s just getting the job done. He seemingly loves his children, but also uses them to vent his totalitarian impulses. His racism is unmistakable and deeply unsettling, his own ethnicity making the scenario infinitely more interesting. We’ve seen countless films that demonstrate racism from white men, but few from the other side. It forces us to consider that while all racists might not be evil, it’s easy to imagine that all evil people are racist. It’s an outlook conducive to the misanthropic and the cruel.

Chris is the sort who considers himself progressive and is proud of it, but has never had to consider that a tolerant worldview can mean little when you're confronted with those with contempt for it and the means to express it. Some critics have commented that Chris misses the opportunity to defuse the situation. I think they're wrong. Abel is a sadist, looking to deal with his demons by torturing others. He claims to be upset with some minor transgressions of Chris and Lisa’s, but that’s really inconsequential. An excuse to harass others is nice, but if Able wasn’t provided with one, he could do without.

“Lakeview Terrace” closes with a showdown typical of thrillers, with blows exchanged and guns drawn. But even as I knew the rules, I didn’t think of them, because the film had earned the conclusion with such a compelling narrative, pitch-perfect performances, and insight into the conflicts we’re forced to deal with when we share space with one another.

4.5 out of 5

409 - The House Bunny review

Note: I wrote this about a month ago but have been lazy about putting it up.

I remember when Playboy used to be for adults. It was forbidden fruit, the bawdy reward of the industrious kid willing to rifle through his father’s closet. But now virtually anyone of any age can easily identify Playboy symbols and figures, courtesy of marketing such as the dreadful reality series “The Girls Next Door” and now “The House Bunny,” a PG-13 romcom.

The film sports an ideal message for young girls: if you dress like a floozy and act exactly how the crowd wants you to, then you’ll be popular and have no problem picking up cute boys. Really, this lifestyle is all well and good for those who decide it’s for them, such as Shelly (Anna Faris), the titular Playmate, but it’s a shame to see it forced upon intelligent young women that might have a more interesting college experience ahead of them than getting topless at frat parties and nailing down a husband.

Shelly spreads her lifestyle to impressionable young minds when she becomes the house mother of a failing sorority. Recently booted from the Playboy mansion after turning 27 (“That’s like 59 in Playmate years,” she’s told), Shelly beelines for the comfort of another big house full of women, taking it upon herself to make sure none of them leave college without a double-digit number of sexual partners.

Indeed, the film seems to tout the notion that the most offensive thing to one’s good sensibilities is an 18-year-old virgin. What an offense to good taste, you might ask, if you’re a freshman fraternity pledge eager for his piece. How could a crew of actual adults make this film? Well, go to the IMDB and see who produced it for an answer.

In two subplots, Shelly chases after Tom Hanks’ son and does battle with the richer sorority across the street, made up of girls that resemble her more than the misfits at her own actually do. Not to worry, Shelly arranges an elaborate party that take a Playboy mansion sized budget to throw, but never mind the details. Whatever needs to happens happens, though I’m still not certain exactly why Bruce Willis’ daughter needed a back brace. Couldn’t Pa get her a better role than this one?

Anna Faris is a gifted actress, much better at playing funny than most of her contemporaries. Despite a trim figure, she doesn’t look anything like an actual Playmate, but I doubt one of the real ones would be capable of generating any intentional laughs. Faris begs for a superior showcase for her talent, but has yet to star in so much as a minor classic, and frequently headlines more of the insufferable fare. Maybe she’ll be awarded soon, but at 31, I’m getting sadly doubtful.

To the credit of reason, this film’s immaturity makes an unfortunate sense. Playboy used to be for adults, but now it really is for children. The women pictured inside look not like people, but cartoons, airbrushed and photoshopped out of the realm of the sensual and into the juvenile. I hope Hef is proud.


1.5 out of 5