Review: The Canyons
Paul Schrader is one of my favorite filmmakers. He almost always has something to say and more often than not, he says it in a very interesting, emotionally layered way.
So, when I see something as profoundly worthless as The Canyons, I don’t have the urge to get into a glib contest with other critics. The simplest way I can explain it is… if you ran into this movie on cable, without the names Schrader or Lohan or Easton Ellis connected, you would never get past 10 minutes. Not sexy. Not profound. Not profane. Not well-written (not that the writing has a chance with this amateur show acting). And about as uninteresting as any movie with no familiar actors or behind-the-camera talent you might find on the off-brand channels at 3am, filling the quiet hours. (I am circumspect about that description, lest you run into a great little indie with no one you know involved some late night. Give it 10 minutes.)
The film opens with a series of horribly beautiful images of deserted movie theaters… which really has nothing to do with the film… more so because the images are meaningful. But it would seem to suggest that the filmmakers knew what this film is not and sought a rationalization… an angle that might make it seem to be about something. Or maybe it was in the script from day one and the thematic delusion was with them from the start. Six one way, half worthless the other.
Watching Lindsay Lohan in this is painful. She looks terrible… not, as the film would suggest, a prize amongst hotties, but rather the girl who stayed in Hollywood too long, still trying to use the tricks that worked when she was 22. The make-up is near-Kabuki. But mostly, it’s the dead eyes. It’s not a great performance of irony because the script is not about what she has done to herself, specifically or from a distance. It’s reminiscent of Madonna, hired for acting jobs to act variations of her persona, but unwilling, when push came to shove, to allow the camera to catch any of her truth. Lohan has become an empty vessel.
The sad comparison that sticks with me is Ann-Margret doing Carnal Knowledge at 30, looking all the bombshell that she ever was, only grown up. What drew the Nicholson character in that film is still apparent. But so is a human being underneath, struggling to be more than an object at 30 (which back then was more like late 30s is today). With Lohan, you get big boobs and nothing remotely sexy or interesting about how she uses them. She is neither an object breaking free or one who cannot escape her self-satisfied life. She is, sadly, just an object (in this case, of wannabe box office).
James Deen is the Gretchen Mol’s breasts of The Canyons… which is to say, it’s the thing that people comment on when a great filmmaker has made a film with nothing really worth complimenting. The difference is that Ms. Mol’s busom, particularly in Forever Mine, was indeed special and memorably so (even for women, a number of whom brought it up after seeing the film at Telluride long before I ever saw the film). Deen may be the best actor in porn. But… well… that says it all, doesn’t it. That and the name, an off-brand actor coasting on the almost-name of a serious actor.
I don’t really understand what drew the very bright minds at Lincoln Center Film Society (and Variety’s Scott Foundas, was, I believe, still amongst them when the conversation about this film began) to believe that there was anything to this film and to front its release. That is, aside from deservedly-admired, ofter extremely skilled artists being in the driver’s seat… as they drove this car into the wall. I just don’t get that. But this too shall pass… too much the source of mockery for something so empty, but still quite unworthy of praise.
I look forward to the next work of Mr Schrader and Mr. Ellis, together or apart. There is talent there. Important talent. But there is none of it on display in this particular movie.
Wow.
I think we saw two different movies, Dave.
The “Canyons” I saw was both wildly provocative and almost unbearably moving at times.
Lohan was heartbreakingly brilliant (her final scene is killer), and Deen impressed like a cross between James Franco and Joseph Gordon Levitt.
I thought he was exceptionally strong. (And nope, I’ve never seen any of his pornos.) The roughness of some of the supporting performances only enhances the level of naturalism.
The leit motif of shuttered movie theaters merely contributes an add’l layer of poignance.
“Haunting” is the adjective that best describes “The Canyons” for me.
It’s definitely one of the strongest films I’ve seen all year.
I think you saw Lee Daniels’ The Canyons, movieman
I liked it a bit more than you, David, and a lot less than you, Movieman. But I do think Lohan is good in it and that the loss-of-Hollywood theme is fairly consistent (there’s that scene, for instance, where Lohan talks about how no one sees movies in theaters anymore — which is presumably why all those theaters are shuttered.)
(Oh, and I’d say Deen is more like a combination of Keanu Reeves and Doc Johnson.)
So Scott Foundas is not to be trusted, eh?
I trust Foundas. I’ve only heard interesting good things about the film. All the things DP mentions as flaws other say are what makes it unique.
I often think when you say “review-ish,” it’s a review. But this one you call a review, and it’s more review-ish than anything.
Beyond the fact that you think it sucks, I learn nothing about it.
Maybe it does suck. But maybe you could also tell me the plot, what you think it was trying to do, and why it failed?
James Deen is the Gretchen Mol’s breasts of The Canyons… which is to say, it’s the thing that people comment on when a great filmmaker has made a film with nothing really worth complimenting.
I hope you’re not including The Notorious Bettie Page among the Mol movies that rely entirely on titillation to be memorable.
I’ve yet to see THE CANYONS but the topic of making something out of nothing is recently very intriguing to me in terms of critics. It often feels like critics feel the need to place the *IMPORTANT* label on trifles in order to try and legitimize a guilty pleasure (for lack of a better word). See also: “vulgar autuerism.”
It has been kind of touching to see the Film Society honchos rally around Schrader, who is after all one of their own. Haven’t seen the movie yet, hoping it’s good, but not really expecting much.
“Vulgar auteurism” is Armond White blowing a wad over Neveldine and Taylor and Michael Bay.
Schrader is old school auteur.
I thought Ebert’s young liege Ignatiy Vishnevetsky and the up and coming kid-crit Neil Labuza were behind it. Although it sounds very Armond.