Review of Hollywoodland (2006) by Markb. — 09 Nov 2006

There are very good reasons why Orson Welles made Jerry Thompson a shadowy, almost faceless figure in Citizen Kane. Thompson was the reporter who was researching the life and death of magnate Charles Foster Kane, and though well played by William Alland under the circumstances, was wisely relegated to being a visually peripheral figure as Welles rightly focused the movie on Kane and the people in his orbit.

Would that Hollywoodland's writer (Paul Bernbaum) and director (Allen Coulter) had watched and studied Citizen Kane just one more time! Their subject matter--the life and death of TV actor George Reeves and whether the latter really was a suicide or a murder--is fascinating, and so are many of its observations on show business and popular culture in the 1950s.

It's especially poignant to watch the reaction of American children who faithfully watched and worshipped Reeves as Superman when they learn that he died in such a shocking and ignominious manner; compare their response to that of today's infinitely more sophisticated and jaded kids (who, if they watched Reeves' famously cheesy TV series at all would laugh it off the same way we adults would smirk at any movie directed by Edward D.

Wood) and you really do have occasion to wonder whether or not technological leaps have hardened us as human beings. And even though struggling actor Reeves took the Superman role with great reluctance knowing that he'd almost surely be typecast, it's important to remember that 99% of all potential actors, then as now, don't get anywhere near even Reeves' measure of recognition and success and maybe to ask whether Reeves would've been infinitely happier and better off if he'd simply been more grateful for the success he had.

(The more recent example of Gilligan's Island comes to mind; cast members Russell Johnson, Dawn Wells and the late Bob Denver embraced and eventually profited from their identification with their roles while Tina Louise lived a life of frustration trying to live hers down.

) Ben Affleck, a fine actor whose own career has been marred by a few too many unfortunate choices and a couple of notorious tabloid romances that overshadowed his work, is nevertheless highly underrated, as repeat viewings of Changing Lanes and Chasing Amy will prove; his obvious identification with Reeve makes this a true career performance.

Diane Lane, as an aging Hollywood producer's trophy wife with whom Reeves has a rejuvenating affair with, is so astonishingly lovely that she could singlehandedly reverse Hollywood's shameful treatment of actresses who reach a certain age and start a "Don't Trust Anyone UNDER 30!" trend, and Bob Hoskins is effectively both hearty and menacing as her husband.

For these reasons all the Reeves stuff works, but unfortunately there just isn't enough of it; the majority of the movie is a framing device in which a sleazy Tinseltown detective (Adrien Brody, whose idea of characterization here is to smack his gum loudly, as though rudeness equals depth) learns all sorts of Life Lessons as he learns more and more about Reeves.

We in turn learn far too much about the gumshoe's family life, his affairs, his other clients, and so on, as three little words burrow further and further into our brain and find permanent residence there: WE.

DON'T. CARE. What a shame that one-third of this movie, one of the most cogent and intelligent Hollywood self-examinations in recent years thanks largely to Affleck's gritty, Oscar-worthy performance, is buried beneath the other two-thirds, which constitutes a glorified, ultraextended popcorn-and-bathroom break.