An anticipated follow-up to one of the all-time classics
Creators are funny things: Give
them a vision, inspire them, and they can produce phenomenal works of
incredible insight and entertainment. But collaborative efforts are a different
thing altogether -- put two visionaries together, and you MIGHT get a classic
work out of them, but more often than not you get clashing egos that tear a
project apart. Get three artists in the top of their field involved and
those numbers go down exponentially.
Why do I tell you this? Because I want to convey to you the rarity
and outright insanity of the film, Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas. The film
is a collaborative effort between well-known auteur filmmaker Terry Gilliam,
the father of “Gonzo Journalism” Hunter S. Thompson, and the (at the time)
delightfully weird Johnny Depp. It was a triumph: A film so grotesque, and yet
so moving, that you couldn’t look away. With characters so dysfunctionally disgusting
and themes so outside the norm of mainstream film that it should have imploded
upon itself and remained forgotten in the annals of Hollywood history… But it’s
not; it is now a time-tested classic cinematic masterpiece that introduced a
whole new generation to the misadventures of Thompson’s alter egos, Raoul Duke
and Dr. Gonzo.
While Thompson took his own life to escape the authoritarian, dystopian
world wrought by Bush-era politics, Gillam and Depp went on. It’s arguable to
say that Gilliam hasn’t quite made a name for himself since, while people are beginning
to tire of Johnny Depp (much in thanks to a certain pirate movie franchise and
his stale collaborations with walking goth pastiche Tim Burton).
So, when Depp chose to star in and produce a “follow-up” film
based on Hunter S. Thompson’s novel, The Rum Diary, it could be said that the
excitement was high. Thompson, after all, was known for underground articles
and flourished journalism where he was a central character, not just reporting
the news but providing his views on it. And while The Rum Diary is on the
whole or at least semi-fictional, it is quite obviously inspired by Thompson
and his central character, Paul Kemp is another self-insertion into the world
of the novel (which is based on his own time in Puerto Rico).
But then, Terry Gilliam (who to my knowledge has never made a
sequel to any film) wasn’t directing, and Hunter S. Thompson took an early retirement
aboard the bullet express. And this is why the film simply cannot compare to
the “original.”
The plot, unthickened
The story is about as disjointed as the original film. Paul Kemp
is a journalist and failed novelist who takes a job in Puerto Rico with a paper
called the San Juan Star. Among his failures are his inability to speak Spanish
and his alcoholism, which is raging at the beginning of the film. As the story
goes on he meets the usual cadre of Thompson-esque freaks in the form of
drunks, users, and degenerates – in this case his co-workers. Along the way he
gets involved with a white-collar criminal named Hal Sanderson, who is seeking
to exploit the island, rob the people, and exploit its resources the first
chance he gets. Kemp seems to roll with Hal’s ambitions, both too meek to question
his motivations and too poor to refuse. Along the way Kemp and his friend,
photographer Bob Sala (a much more sanguine Dr. Gonzo stand-in), have a run-in
with the law, break confidentiality reports, and generally spend the movie in a
drunken stupor. Kemp falls in love with Sanderson’s girlfriend Chenault, as he misses
deadlines and watches the paper he works for eventually spiral and collapse.
There is plenty of cockfighting (literal in this sense) in-between.
That’s basically all that happens in the film, albeit for 120 minutes
and told with (slightly more) flourish.
So why doesn’t it work?
The movie should work: The characters are weird, the sets are
period-appropriate, the actors are fantastic, and the world they inhabit is both
shiny and chrome in that early 60s kind of way, but also becomes disgusting and
decrepit in the cesspool of the Puerto Rican slums.
No, there’s one simple failing the movie has, and that’s
direction. Don’t get me wrong, screenwriter Bruce Robinson tried his best, and
I’m sure he had a lot of input from depth, but while his direction is
competent, it’s not really good. I know that sounds harsh, and well… it sort of
is. This is his first directorial film since 1992’s Jennifer 8, and it shows.
He obviously has a love for Thompson’s work, but let’s face it: He’s not Terry
Gilliam.
It all boils down to energy, and it’s something that the film sorely
lacks as it wistfully plods from one set piece to the next, with Depp’s Kemp
more of an observer than a participant in most of the scenes. This was done
semi-intentionally, of course: It is supposed to be a younger and less “Gonzo”
Raoul Duke in his formative years, but regrettably with one exceptional scene near
the end (a visit to a voodoo witch doctor) there is none of the fast-paced
insanity of Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas. What we get instead is a lot of
medium frame static shots of people talking, and while the dialog is painstakingly
adapted from Thompson’s own words (and delivered in a weird, Wes Anderson sort
of play-acting), there’s just not enough happening artistically or thematically
to drive the story.
The bottom line
If you’re a fan of Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas, re-watch it.
There’s nothing really inspired or invested in this film to consider it worth viewing.
I applaud that Depp wanted to reprise the role, but this is not the same weirdo
that we fell in love with back in 1998.
The sad thing is, after the critical panning this film received, we
may never get any other adaptations of Thompson’s other works, but if they’d be
anything like The Rum Diary, we’re not missing much.
