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CHARLIE’S
ANGELS
6/10
USA
2000
dir
McG (i.e. Joseph McGinty Nichol)
scr Ryan Rowe, Ed Solomon, John August
cin Russell Carpenter
stars Cameron Diaz, Drew Barrymore, Lucy Liu, Bill Murray
98 minutes
Charlie’s
Angels is a fun picture, a laugh. Credibility and coherence
aren’t on the radar - the approach is much more Austin Powers than
Mission Impossible, which
is just as well, given that any kind of ‘straight’ update of the half-forgotten
original TV show would surely have been a recipe for disaster. There are
the occasional blips, but on the whole it’s remarkable how much McG gets
spot on, considering this is his first feature film – it’s a brash, bold,
very visual debut, and he never lets you forget who’s the star of the
show. So it isn’t a major problem that none of the three Angels are any
great shakes, especially since they share the screen with the the likes
of Murray, Tim Curry, Luke Wilson, Kelly Lynch and, best of all, Crispin
Glover. Even an LL Cool J cameo is carried off with unexpected panache.
All of these welcome faces could perhaps have been given more to do, but
hats off to McG for having the nous to cast them in the first place.
Double
hats off for picking Glover. It’s always a treat to see this unique talent
on the big screen, and it’s  even
more satisfying to see him working with a director who understands that
he’s not like any other actor – something Neil Labute failed to grasp
in Nurse Betty.
McG, on the other hand, makes better – wittier - use of Glover
than any director since David Lynch, casting him a wordless henchman referred
to only as ‘creepy thin man,’ and turning him into a kind of walking special
effect. He’s the star of the first big set piece fight scene, as the Angels
kick his ass in a Chinatown alley to the ironic, raucous accompaniment
of The Prodigy’s ‘Smack My Bitch Up.’ The ageless Glover’s angular face
and body whip and skim through the air, and although he’s manipulated
Matrix-style, he still delivers the year’s funniest, most precise
physical performance, rivalled only by Willem Dafoe’s jerky Max Schreck
in Shadow of the Vampire.
This
review’s emphasis on Glover may seem odd, given that he’s essentially
a minor – though massively enjoyable – element of a big, big movie. But
this is one of those review-proof big, big movies. It is what it is, it
does what it’s supposed to do, and does it so surprisingly well that any
criticism seems like carping for its own sake. OK, so there isn’t
much plot – it’s all about a nerdy computer billionaire (Sam Rockwell)
who turns out to be not such a nerd after all – and we could do
with less of the Angels’ lame boyfriends (Tom Green, Barrymore’s beau
in the movie and in real life, is fatally indulged), and there are
some bits that just don’t work (the Angels posing as Swiss serenaders;
Diaz doing an odd dance at a hip nightclub; Barrymore moonwalking) but
the pacing is so quick there’s no time to dwell on anything too negative.
There’s always something around the corner, some little directorial flourish,
some little bit of inspired business from Glover, that makes the whole
thing seem worthwhile.
by Neil
Young
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