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Desperately Seeking a Fantastic American Film

By Sarah Kerr
Posted Thursday, Dec. 28, 2000, at 2:30 PM ET

Who are these people?

Dear all,

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See, I guess I didn't quite explain myself yesterday. I meant to talk about how ambivalently, distantly, uninvolvingly--and maybe, in a new sense--formulaically gloomy so many of this year's movies were. Was it just manipulative Oscar bait, as David suggested? Maybe, but in that case why have we all been scratching our heads since May about what on Earth could get nominated? Why does every civilian moviegoer I talk to say it's been such a puzzling, disappointing year (and as Tony said, audiences deserve to be understood and talked to, not just judged)? Leaving aside the foreign goodies this year (and I agree with you, they were clearly among the highlights), did anyone else have an unmet hunger for a really fantastic American film?

In any case, David, I wasn't talking about Traffic's structural lapses. Those seemed to me by far the film's most interesting feature. I was talking about a distressing banality beneath all the beautiful camera work and perfect tone control and nimble cutting, a realization after a while that Soderbergh was really just going to teach you such irritating lessons as: be nice to your antsy and rich adolescent daughter, talk to her or she might feel angry and want to do drugs. (Do you think maybe the White House had a hand in Traffic's script, just as it worked this year with writers on the WB?) Soderbergh is clearly a stylistic genius; he's also, bizarrely and to me frustratingly, a preaching liberal wrapped up in the clinically detached, emptiness-loving, late '80s indie aesthetic that brought us Sex, Lies, and Videotape--a package that doesn't quite add up. Tony, I liked your question about the possibly collapsing distance between movies and TV. And I agree that You Can Count on Me felt like TV in its smallness of scale and simplicity of technique--only more wittily written and deeply observed. I loved You Can Count on Me (and, of course, Yi Yi, though I don't think it flies in the same orbit as Renoir). But I only admired Traffic, whose real spirit seemed to move in the opposite direction. It looked and felt like the work of a cool master and had as much to say as decent TV.

Gotta go, but I'll try to pick up Rosenbaum's book so I can pitch in on that front later.

Best,
Sarah