DIRECTOR
Ted Demme
SCREENWRITERS
Robert Ramsey
Matthew Stone
PRODUCERS
Brian Grazer
Eddie Murphy
CINEMATOGRAPHER
Geoffrey Simpson
MUSIC
Wyclef Jean
EDITOR
Jeffrey Wolf
CAST
Eddie Murphy (Rayford Gibson)
Martin Lawrence (Claude Banks)
Obba Babatundé (Willie Long)
Nick Cassavetes (Sergeant Dillard)
Anthony Anderson (Cookie)
Bernie Mac (Jangle Leg)
Bokeem Woodbine (Can't Get Right)
Ned Beatty (Dexter Wilkins)
Rick James (Spanky Johnson)
Clarence Williams III (Winston Hancock)
R. Lee Ermey (Older Sheriff Pike)
MPAA rating: R
Running
time: 108m
U.S. release: April 16, 1999
Video availability: VHS - DVD
Official
website
Other Ted
Demme films
reviewed on this site:
- Blow
- Monument
Ave
|
Ah,
the mass audience does love its comforting prison stories. The
guards may be tough, the conditions may be harsh, but you get
to put roots down in one spot for an extended period, and you
make some great friends. Even such an accomplished prison film
as The Shawshank Redemption fell for this sentimental
view of life behind bars (I much prefer the balls-to-the-walls
spit and snarl of HBO's Oz), and now there is Life,
which tries to turn the subject into a comedy vehicle for Eddie
Murphy and Martin Lawrence. It's basically Shawshank meets
Stir Crazy, and it's pretty much of a crock -- unfunny
when it's meant to be funny, unmoving when it's at its most synthetically
poignant.
Murphy and Lawrence are two mismatched, inexperienced bootleggers
-- Murphy a con man, Lawrence a prim and proper bank teller --
who are framed for murder and sentenced to life in a loosely
structured Mississippi work prison. There are no fences; instead,
the cons are told that if they cross a certain line, they will
simply be shot. With one maudlin exception, no one is shot in
this way, and nobody really undergoes any suffering that we can
see; it's more like a juvenile-delinquent boot camp than like
a real prison. The rigors of hard labor certainly don't seem
to touch Eddie or Martin. Their characters never change; at most,
they become a little more frustrated and irritable.
There are about 50 interesting subtexts in Life that the
director, Ted Demme, and screenwriters, Robert Ramsey and Matthew
Stone (they also wrote Destiny Turns on the Radio), never
move themselves to explore or acknowledge. In this prison, for
instance, the racism seems a lot less vicious than it is on the
outside; there is a nasty white guard, but he has an even nastier
black right-hand man, who has violent contempt for the black
convicts. I would've liked to know why, and I would've liked
to discover why the white guard seems to soften towards Eddie
and Martin over the years (the film spans about 60). Most of
the convicts -- a hulking bruiser, a delicate gay con, a mischievous-looking
nerd in specs who never gets to do anything -- are similarly
underwritten, but then so are the leads.
Murphy and Lawrence never quite move beyond shtick in this movie;
even when tragedy strikes, all they can do is put on their serious
faces. The progressive old-age make-up -- by Rick Baker, who
did much better (and deservedly Oscar-winning) work with Murphy
in The Nutty Professor -- underscores the artificiality
of the performances. Weighed down with pounds of fake-looking
wrinkly latex, Murphy and Lawrence do simplistic codger voices,
but they don't move like actual septuagenarians -- particularly
when Lawrence sprints across a yard like a man in his twenties.
Their performances have no wildness, no invention; it's their
usual routines spread out across 60 years, or 104 minutes that
feel like 60 years.
Life was directed by Ted Demme, the nephew of Jonathan
(The
Silence of the Lambs) and a fine filmmaker in his own
right -- he made The Ref, Beautiful Girls, and
last year's overlooked gem Monument
Ave, which had the anger and despair that Life
could have used as a springboard for some truly daring humor.
Demme is just going through the motions here; his main theme,
it's clear by now, is guys sitting around bitching about life,
but Life has too much bitching and not enough life. I
certainly wouldn't hold up Stir Crazy as a comedy masterpiece,
but there are scenes in it I remember after 18 years -- Richard
Pryor and Gene Wilder's famous "We bad" entrance; Wilder
spending a stretch in the hole, then being disappointed upon
getting let out ("I was just beginning to find myself");
a bald, fearsome, gargantuan convict starting to sing in a soft,
high, lovely voice. Three scenes aren't much, but that's more
than I'll remember from Life 18 days from now, let alone
18 years. |