By Amy Nicholson
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Mark Holcombe
By Scott Foundas
By Nick Pinkerton
Uptown Theatre, starts Friday
U Film Society, Bell Auditorium,
nightly at 7:15 p.m.; starts Friday
If Martin Scorsese, John Cassavetes, and Abel Ferrara took turns directing scenes of a film written by and starring Jerry Lewis, it might resemble actor-director Vincent Gallo's wonderfully perverse, hugely entertaining Buffalo '66. Essentially the story of a beautiful loser who behaves like a jerk until, suddenly, he finds salvation, Buffalo '66 mixes familiar tics of the above auteurs into one uniquely pathological whole: Call it A Bad, Nutty, Raging Bull Under the Influence. Like Scorsese and Ferrara, Gallo is interested in masochism leading to redemption. Like Cassavetes, his aesthetic M.O. involves pushing realism to artificial extremes, using actors who play characters who act like performers. And, like Lewis, Gallo is his own favorite star, shoving his comically arrogant persona in your face until you either cry uncle or call him a genius. Make no mistake: Gallo may be something of a pastiche artist but he's no copycat, and his film is no Boogie Nights-style hip-hugger. Rather, Buffalo '66 seems a daring experiment in a number of ways, not least in testing the viewer's tolerance for humor as horror and vice versa.
Gallo's directorial debut reads as his overdetermined attempt to win the audience's love--but he has a funny way of going about it. Introduced as a greasy, tight-clothed, and seriously high-strung cross between a junkie and a pimp, Gallo's Billy Brown takes all of two minutes' screen time to bend over and expose his butt crack--an early clue that this will be a film about naked self-expression. Just sprung from a five-year stint in jail for a crime he didn't commit, Billy soon yearns to go back in--he's gotta take a wicked piss. But no dice. Reduced to hopping around the streets of downtown Buffalo in search of a toilet, hunched over in pain and clutching his dick, the poor man finally finds a public restroom. But when some guy at the next urinal leans over and exclaims, "It's just so big!" (even other creeps adore him), he becomes so pissed that he forgets all about peeing. Instead, he impulsively kidnaps a bleach-blond waif (Christina Ricci) in a baby-blue nightgown, forcing her to pose as his wife for the benefit of his cruelly maladjusted parents (Ben Gazzara, Anjelica Huston)--who, over a bloodcurdling meal of chocolate donuts and tripe, reveal themselves as the obvious cause of their son's...er, special personality.
But enough about the plot. With his silly red boots and piercing blue eyes, his nasal voice pinched into a snarl and his gaunt frame coiled tight like a cat ready to pounce, Gallo is a truly bestial screen presence and a marvel to behold. And given how heavily Gallo the director stacks the deck against his ability as an actor to worm his way into our favor, that animalistic allure is essential to the whole project. Coaching Ricci's wide-eyed Layla on how to act in front of his parents, Billy purrs his direction: "You adore me, you love me, you cherish me--Jesus Christ, you can't live without me." It's practically a kind of hypnosis. And although the ex-con eventually pledges to assassinate the Buffalo Bills placekicker-turned-strip-club-owner whose missed field-goal indirectly caused his jail term (thus completing the film's comic riff on Taxi Driver), Gallo gives Billy the body language of someone who's also extremely vulnerable--whether curled atop a cold bench in the fetal position or lying perfectly stiff on a hotel bed like an interred mummy.
Appropriate to this nearly bipolar character, Buffalo '66 brims with alternately drab and oversaturated colors, its gorgeously kitschy faux-'70s bric-a-brac rendered in the grainiest possible film stock. The director's unheard-of decision to shoot on reversal film (which had to be specially cut by Kodak into thousand-foot rolls and then processed using a machine that was invented precisely for the task) is an innovation matched only by his creative solution to the problem of how to represent gun violence in a unique way (no small feat). Striving always for the kooky camera angle, Gallo thinks nothing of positioning his character's head in the lower left corner of the frame so as to make Billy seem even more incidental to his parents' world. Mock home-movie snippets and other painful flashbacks are presented as mini-frames within the frame, reflecting an even more elaborate hall of mirrors in the film proper. To wit: Christina Ricci plays Layla playing Billy's fictional wife Wendy, taking direction from Gallo, Billy, and her own muse. And as the beauty who comes to love the beast, Ricci/Layla/Wendy also represents the audience Gallo is hoping for.
Yet another layer of allusions has suggested Gallo's film as autobiographical--or maybe it's just a case of aptly perverted PR. An excruciating conversation between Gallo and Ricci recently printed in the Village Voice basically recapitulates the Billy/Layla dynamic, with Gallo whining ad infinitum about how the young actress doesn't love him, until finally she capitulates: "Oh, Vincent--so many people love you... we always loved you." Near the movie's climax, Layla puts it this way: "You're the sweetest guy in the world--and the most handsome." And the audience? Only time will tell. As this unparalleled narcissist compels only the most extreme reactions, I'd say Buffalo '66 is some kind of sick masterpiece and Vincent Gallo, well, he's a fucking genius.
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