A Farce That's Not
It was probably inevitable that Tom Hanks would eventually be in a movie that even his prodigious talent would fail and be failed by. That it is a Coen Bros. picture that would do him this injustice is a sting few moviegoers may likely forget or forgive. But in The Ladykillers, Hanks gives probably the worst and most ill-conceived performance of his career.
A remake of the 1955 British classic of the same name, The Ladykillers concerns the efforts of a bunch of moronic criminals led by the white-suited, gentlemanly Professor G.H. Dorr (Hanks) to burrow a tunnel into the vault of a Mississippi riverboat and steal the payroll. Standing in the group's way is Marva Munson (Irma P. Hall), a God-fearing force of nature in whose house the gang has made its base of tunneling operations. This low-rent Ocean's Eleven (there's only five in the gang) is supposed to be a farce, but it fails on every level. And by the time this mess gets around to the lady killing phase of the picture, it has become a useless waste of talent and celluloid.
This is unfortunate because with the talent both in front of and behind the camera The Ladykillers should have been a slam-dunk. The fundamental problem is the script by directors Joel and Ethan Coen. Based on William Rose's original, the new tale follows the same basic outline, but updates it with such "hilarious" gags as a character who suffers from irritable bowel syndrome (which is not only accompanied by gassy sound effects, but also a plethora of statistics on the aptly abbreviated IBS), a pointless riff on the "N" word, and a dog who suffocates to death.
But the worst thing about the script aren't the scatological humor or unfunny characters, it's the fact that it isn't really about anything. There is no comic or dramatic tension here—there are few obstacles put in the way of the lame-brained protagonists either by the law, elements or the formidable Mrs. Munson—and that makes it difficult to emotionally invest in any of it. This is not to say that every comedy has to have a deep philosophical meaning, but there should at least be a punchline to the joke. The Coens forget to give us one.
To make matters worse, the acting is just god-awful. The actors involved in this train wreck have given much better performances and in much better movies. Marlon Wayans as the homeboy Gawain MacSam plays into the stereotype of the bling-bling gangsta type who can barely utter a coherent sentence. J.K. Simmons (TV's Law and Order) is Garth Pancake, the explosives expert with IBS. Tzi Ma, who was outstanding in The Quiet American, is the General, a martial arts expert whose primary role is to endlessly repeat a running gag with his cigarette. Ryan Hurst (Remember the Titans) is Lump—his name says it all.
But the worst performances and roles are reserved for the two leads Hanks and Hall. Hanks plays Dorr as if he were channeling Truman Capote and Joseph Cotten giving a fractured interpretation of Colonel Sanders. In a word, it's an acting travesty. Hall's performance is less an outright disaster but is so clichéd and stereotypical that it borders on the offensive. That it is rendered in such a manically dull way just blunts and negates it. We're sort of hoping that she gets bumped off just to end the agony of the entire enterprise.
The Ladykillers' only saving grace is the music. Supervised by T. Bone Burnett (O Brother, Where Art Thou?), the several gospel numbers and running incidental music are excellent and almost keep the movie going. A gospel performance that runs during the final credits is perhaps the Coens' attempt at a kind of apology.
Following the lackluster Intolerable Cruelty, hopefully the Coen Bros. will abandon further attempts at Hollywood conventionality and return to the wild and wholly absurdity that has been their trademark for the last 20 years.
A remake of the 1955 British classic of the same name, The Ladykillers concerns the efforts of a bunch of moronic criminals led by the white-suited, gentlemanly Professor G.H. Dorr (Hanks) to burrow a tunnel into the vault of a Mississippi riverboat and steal the payroll. Standing in the group's way is Marva Munson (Irma P. Hall), a God-fearing force of nature in whose house the gang has made its base of tunneling operations. This low-rent Ocean's Eleven (there's only five in the gang) is supposed to be a farce, but it fails on every level. And by the time this mess gets around to the lady killing phase of the picture, it has become a useless waste of talent and celluloid.
This is unfortunate because with the talent both in front of and behind the camera The Ladykillers should have been a slam-dunk. The fundamental problem is the script by directors Joel and Ethan Coen. Based on William Rose's original, the new tale follows the same basic outline, but updates it with such "hilarious" gags as a character who suffers from irritable bowel syndrome (which is not only accompanied by gassy sound effects, but also a plethora of statistics on the aptly abbreviated IBS), a pointless riff on the "N" word, and a dog who suffocates to death.
But the worst thing about the script aren't the scatological humor or unfunny characters, it's the fact that it isn't really about anything. There is no comic or dramatic tension here—there are few obstacles put in the way of the lame-brained protagonists either by the law, elements or the formidable Mrs. Munson—and that makes it difficult to emotionally invest in any of it. This is not to say that every comedy has to have a deep philosophical meaning, but there should at least be a punchline to the joke. The Coens forget to give us one.
To make matters worse, the acting is just god-awful. The actors involved in this train wreck have given much better performances and in much better movies. Marlon Wayans as the homeboy Gawain MacSam plays into the stereotype of the bling-bling gangsta type who can barely utter a coherent sentence. J.K. Simmons (TV's Law and Order) is Garth Pancake, the explosives expert with IBS. Tzi Ma, who was outstanding in The Quiet American, is the General, a martial arts expert whose primary role is to endlessly repeat a running gag with his cigarette. Ryan Hurst (Remember the Titans) is Lump—his name says it all.
But the worst performances and roles are reserved for the two leads Hanks and Hall. Hanks plays Dorr as if he were channeling Truman Capote and Joseph Cotten giving a fractured interpretation of Colonel Sanders. In a word, it's an acting travesty. Hall's performance is less an outright disaster but is so clichéd and stereotypical that it borders on the offensive. That it is rendered in such a manically dull way just blunts and negates it. We're sort of hoping that she gets bumped off just to end the agony of the entire enterprise.
The Ladykillers' only saving grace is the music. Supervised by T. Bone Burnett (O Brother, Where Art Thou?), the several gospel numbers and running incidental music are excellent and almost keep the movie going. A gospel performance that runs during the final credits is perhaps the Coens' attempt at a kind of apology.
Following the lackluster Intolerable Cruelty, hopefully the Coen Bros. will abandon further attempts at Hollywood conventionality and return to the wild and wholly absurdity that has been their trademark for the last 20 years.
