The Beach
© 2000 20th Century Fox
all rights reserved
photo: Peter Mountain
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Leonardo de Caprio's latest venture, "The Beach," might have easily been retitled
"Blue Lagoon 3". Richard (LdC), a young man undergoing yet another
rite-of-passage, takes the bull by the horns, throws on his backpack, leaves his
middle-class suburban background (we assume) behind him, and heads for
Thailand in search of freedom, individuality, and cockroach- ridden hotels. Once
there and installed in his humid (whew!) abode, he eyes up a sweet young thing
named Francoise (Virginie Ledoyen), who, unfortunately, already has a travelling
companion in the form of the equally French Etienne (Guillaume Canet).
Disappointed by this temporary barrier in sexual perspective, Richard's attention
is soon torn away (along with the room's dividing screen) by the drug induced
antics of Daffy, the boarder next door (Robert Carlyle), who is climbing the walls,
devouring the joints and longing for the paradise he's left behind. He even has a
map of it, which he's kind enough to leave behind for Richard once he
unexpectedly makes his departure by slashing his wrists and spray painting the
walls.
Now, Richard, with his semi-middle-class sound-of-a-different-drummer insights, eyes this as not only
potentially a treasure map, but a calling card to steal away the ooh-la-la girl of his dreams. He invites the
continental couple to come along on his newly planned escapade and they figure sure, why not, they're out to
enjoy themselves and they'll move wherever the wind blows. Soon enough that turns out to be above the
potentially shark-infested waters, which the threesome must swim across toward the island. Once on land, they
find themselves in flight, jumping from a 120-foot-high waterfall. Before they got this far or jumped in at the
deep end, however, Richard had been left to his own devices the evening before on the mainland while the
French made love. (What else would they be doing? By the by, despite being French, this couple also enjoys
smoking joints. Incroyable, eh?) Richard managed to get smashed during the night with two really cool
American dudes (spelled airheads) who apparently don't have a clue about anything they're doing (Cool,
man!). In the morning, for some completely incomprehensible reason, he decided to leave a copy of the map
behind for these two wankers. Even more incredible, he has the balls to tell us (on the voice-over narrative)
that he regrets having done it. Now we know trouble's in store.
The Beach
© 2000 20th Century Fox
all rights reserved
photo: Peter Mountain
|
Once on the island, the threesome discover fields of reefer on the
hidden Paradise Island of the type that even would have made Clinton
inhale. The island turns out not only to be populated by heavily armed
native farmers (guard that smoke), but also by a number of new-age
social split-aways who resemble a tribe of lost throwbacks from a
hippie commune that, nevertheless, apparently lacks all visible values
or direction. Pretty incredible, wouldn't you say? They say they're free
and they think they're radical, but underneath it all, they're really only a
bunch of party animals who want to live off the land while maintaining
their right to purchase all those wonderful western world products and
conveniences that help keep them "individual". Confused? No wonder.
Where they manage to cough up the cash for all these niceties is never
explained. Maybe somebody carved a pair of treasury plates out of a local coconut tree.
No matter how you look at it, this community remains unequivocally dependent on `dinero'
to periodically purchase the goodies
they need from the mainland.
Sexual intrigues and violent retribution then become the moving forces for the remainder of the film. Richard
even winds up running through the jungle in camouflage looking younger than Tom Berenger and thinner than
Marlon Brando, but lacking, no matter how hard he tries, a heart of darkness.
In short, this movie is sort of like looking for Shangri-La and winding up on a Lost Horizon.
Producer Andrew MacDonald, scriptwriter John Hodges, and director Danny Boyle, who were a strong
threesome on their first project "Shallow Grave" and became absolutely irresistible with their strikingly runaway
"Trainspotting," have come ashore with the flotsam this time around. Amazingly, Hodges, whose
"Trainspotting" had lots of edge, insight and insanity has written a
script this time around that loses all effect and
credibility as it develops. The plot suffers in starts and jumps. Although the hotel scene at the beginning and the
first crossing to the island manage to maintain tension, this is never sustained for longer than a few minutes. The
more natural flow of a story line, it would appear, hinders him from devising or developing an exciting or
electric visual experience whereas the broken and sporadic form of "Trainspotting" leant itself to spectacular
effects.
This is the first project for DiCaprio since "Titanic," letting us discover where he washed up. And what is Tilda
Swinton (in the role of Sal)" doing here? Surely, she must have had some inkling of what the end result would
be like. Exciting and talented in many ways, the woman who once refused Ophelia at the RSC comes off
sounding and looking like a cross between a Vanessa Redgrave imitation and someone who might have been
better off drowned in her own lagoon and adorned with flowers.
All I can say is, if the weather's good, you're probably better off staying on the beach rather than going to "The
Beach."
© 1994-2006 The Green Hartnett
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