While supporting his
girlfriend/ hooker, Frankie (Eva Mendes, also Cage’s co-star for Ghost Rider), Terry indulges in coked–up
zany mania (and such craziness is the key appeal of Cage’s favoured screen
persona, of course), runs up big debts to ‘understanding’ bookie Ned (Brad
Dourif, remarkably, so restrained, he seems like someone else), flubs a homicide case by threatening the granny
of a witness, and then he loses said witness in a Biloxi casino. Mainstream
crime drama is cunningly dovetailed with episodic surrealism enhanced by the
haunting score.
With alligator road-kill, weird iguanas, break-dancing souls, Terry’s
work and home life unravels gradually, due to unspecified psych disorder, and
it’s all greatly amusing as unhinged diversion into unfamiliar territory rather
than story interruptions for theatrical hallucinations. Sometimes it’s funny to
a blisteringly mischievous degree, especially when Cage is quite un-hesitantly
wringing a dozen shades of lunacy from his quirky or mildly ‘pretentious’, and
even unadventurously procedural, dialogue. (“I’ll kill all of you. To the break
of dawn... To the break of dawn, baby.”) Meanwhile, at other times, the film’s cloggy
aural swamp feels like some already too creepy semi-Cajun soundtrack that’s
been slyly remixed by David Lynch.
It’s worth mentioning Val
Kilmer (nowadays seemingly intent on carving a niche as a proper character
actor, if only to escape from motley mediocre supporting roles), and grossly
underappreciated Fairuza Balk (Humboldt
County, American Perfekt, The Craft), both of whom turn in solid
but un-showy performances here that contrast with and inevitably elevate Cage’s
unstable drifting away from routinely horrid reality. For the ending, there are
more ironic twists and darker tragedies (albeit tinged with hope) than
expected, making for a sublime pay-off. This is very highly recommended, whether
you’re a fan of Ferrara ’s
classic sleaze–fest original, or not.
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