Review of The Player (1992) by Brian H — 24 May 2010

Robert Altman could have served his revenge a bit colder than The Player but still it is an enjoyable film worth seeing. After achieving accolades with three great films in the Seventies (MASH, McCabe and Mrs Miller and Nashville), the Hollywood Machine shunned Altman and his brash, character-driven work. After a decade sitting on the sidelines, Altman burst through the silver screen once more with this acerbic view of the very Machine that had spurned him.

The story is of a callous studio exec (Tim Robbins as Griffin Mill) whose job it is to reject 99% of the scripts pitched to him, leaving in his wake scores of enemies debased by his cold-hearted dismissal. Mill is himself rumored to be on the studio's chopping block. When Mill starts receiving anonymous death threats from a rejected writer, he comes undone, seeking out the most likely culprit. The writer and exec argue and the conflict escalates, resulting in the writer being killed in an alley.

Of course, the writer was not the source of the threats but it doesn't matter. The plot is secondary to this exercise of the "naturalist" style. Mill is a product of the studio system; unfeeling, inhumane, focused only on the formula of commercial success. He does not control his fate, nor steer his actions. Rather he is impelled by the forces around him, devoid of free will and but one more victim of the Machine. Sure, he's a total ass but look around--everyone is. And those who try to maintain their humanity and social grace are tossed to the curb like so much trash.

Still, for all its intended rancor and satire, it is as much an homage as rebuke. A cut to a poster of Hitchcock at an opportune moment. Replications of iconic shots and fades. Too many cameos to count. All of it lends a a sardonic wit to the film that could be mistaken for worship. Subtlety? Nuance? Perhaps, but I think that a slight edge was missing and the result fell just short of the scathing critique that the pundits claim. What is probably true is that Hollywood is too remorseless and vengeful to truly lacerate except from the death bed.

Altman pulled his punches and lived to make another master work in Gosford Park. I don't blame him. I do hope, however, that he's keeping his powder dry for that last shot before the big sleep.