For the last fifty-odd years, the only thing movie reviewers have argued about more than Rock Hudson's homsexuality is the actual purpose of a movie reviewer.
Some, like Roger Ebert (I think), believe that the idea behind the job is to objectively define what the movie tried to achieve, and then weigh how well the film actually accomplished that.
Others, like me, tend to give readers 500 words of pure, biased opinion. Hence my negative comments about "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil."
"Midnight," the latest film from actor-cum-director Clint Eastwood (based on John Berendt's astronomically popular book), is extremely well made, and probably achieved all of its goals. All of them, that is, except for entertaining me.
This movie tells the story of a murder mystery amidst the wacky southern culture of Savannah, Georgia, where homosexuality is for the knowledge of the privileged few, and people walk invisible dogs. There are undoubtedly thousands of intriguing slices of life all over this picture, yet none of them are fully explored. The camera simply notices them, and moves on.
A film like this requires all-around exquisite acting. Which, unfortunately, it did not receive. Kevin Spacey stars as Jim Williams, a nouveau riche art collector who is accused of murder when he (according to him) shoots his (male) lover in self-defense.
Spacey is possibly the best actor working today, but isn't given enough latitude to carry the film. This duty is left to John "I wish I could think of more than three facial expressions to use in my next film" Cusack.
Much like hundreds of bad actors who aren't as cute as he is, Cusack tries to play himself in every role (see "Grosse Pointe Blank" and "Con-Air"), and doesn't make an exception for "Midnight."
The supporting parts are played well - Allison Eastwood (yes, they're related) bedazzles as Cusack's love interest, Jack Thompson excells as Spacey's lawyer, and Lady Chablis stuns as herself, a half-out-of- the-closet drag queen.
"Midnight" is too long. The first forty-five minutes are packed with more slice-of-life than a Mark Twain novel, but when the film devolves into a courtroom drama, all of the interesting characters are forgotten, and the movie becomes a poorly written John Grisham adaptation.
I trust that John Berendt deserved better. His novel, I hear, is packed with all of those interesting characters, and probably is better written than a John Grisham book (apologies to Mr. Grisham). While I may never read it, I recommend the novel over the film.
Grade: C-