|
Chicago International Film Festival
The Walker (Paul Schrader USA)
Woody Harrelson has certainly come along way since his days as bumbling bar-goer on Cheers. In Paul Schrader’s latest drama, Harrelson plays Carter Page III, a pristine-seeming Southern socialite known for his charming affectations and witty banter. Carter spends his time escorting the wives on Capitol Hill, playing canasta with the likes of Kristin Scott Thomas, Lauren Bacall and Lily Tomlin. Until he becomes implicated in a murder, that is. Carter is a black sheep with wealthy Southern roots and the film can’t go twenty minutes without someone reminding him of his father’s prominence and respectability. Whereas Carter the III is a tool for rich Senators’ wives, his father helped to indict Nixon! And his grandfather had ties to slavery, but that’s beside the point. Harrelson plays the self-loathing homo with startling resolve. Femmey but not flaming, refined but not snobbish, Harrelson even manages to make his lisp seem like a charming accoutrement in a world where “appearances are everything.” Carter finds out just how true this is when his fellow lady dignitary’s lover is found murdered. He calls the police to report the murder, protecting Lynn (Thomas) from both the affair and that whole pesky being indicted for homicide bit. Carter, however, doesn’t get off so easy.
As the plot dwindled on and conspiracies came to light (kind of), I found my attention wavering more towards how dapper Carter’s suits were than to figuring out what was going on. Lengthy political dramas as a whole are somewhat trying in our day of Pfizer-sponsored syndromes and attention-deficit disorders but The Walker’s plot seemed especially meandering and uninspired. The highlights really lean toward Carter’s interactions with his icily aloof companions who of course betray him in the most politely hostile ways possible. Stellar performances by Tomlin and Bacall, who are both Stepford Wives and Femme Fatales wrapped in beige pantsuits and sparkling conversational menace. Also involved in the story is Carter’s lover (Moritz Bleibtreu), a struggling photographer and amateur sleuth who wants Carter to use his influence to help him get a gallery show. They spend their nights in a seedy gay bar called the 18th Amendment (which I had to look up in Wikipedia (the Constitution is just so dry these days!) and refers to the amendment that banned alcohol. Funny yes? See what good learnin’ can do?). Despite the lover’s devotion, Carter can’t seem to bridge his own homophobia and commit to him. It’s hardly “American Way,” as one fat, balding bureaucrat tells him. Indeed, Carter does seem to get along better with his bitchy compatriots than he does with his lover, but who can blame him? (Note to Lauren Bacall - there’s a mah jjong board in my house with your name all over it!)
A telling scene of the hypocrisy that eddies around the Capitol is when Carter begins his elaborate undressing ritual, with the coup de gras being the removal of his head of blonde locks. With the wig gone, Carter becomes a vulnerable, small man swathed in plush luxuriance that amounts to nothing in the end. As Bacall puts it, “Let me give you a piece of Washington wisdom. Don’t stand between a friend and a firing squad.”
|
