Thinking
about this movie, I came to a disturbing realization. The realization
is that if it was 4:00 a.m. in the morning, and I was sleeping and the
phone rang and I answered it and it was Jean Reno, and he said "Jeff, I'm
sorry to bother you, but I'm moving out of my apartment right now and I
was hoping that you could come over and help move my books and bookshelves
because my back is acting up," I wouldn't even say, "What--what time is
it?" I'd say, "I'll be right over." If I was on my way to work
and it was late and Jean Reno came up to me and said, "Forgive me, but
I need you to use as a human shield in these complex hostage negotiations
going on at this bank here," I wouldn't even say, "aren't there any inhuman
shields around anymore? Why human shields? It's not like we're
made out of titanium or anything." I'd say, "Oh, okay, and feel free
to use my large forehead to bounce glare into assailants' eyes if necessary."
If I was on fire and running around screaming and Jean Reno came up and
said, "Would it be possible for you to crouch for a little bit while you're
still on fire, I need to reheat this burrito I found in my fridge, even
though I don't know how old it is, and chances are good I may just decide
to throw it out if it smells like maybe the sour cream has gone bad," I
wouldn't even say, "how can you tell if sour cream has gone bad just by
smelling it? It's sour cream," or even, "Ahhh! I'm on fire,
I'm on fire! Put me out! Put me out!" Well, actually, I probably
would, because, come on, it's sour cream, but I wouldn't mention
wanting to be put out. Why? Because Jean Reno is one of the
coollest motherfuckers on the planet, that's why. And here's how
I know: despite the hours of unending, grinding boredom that I experienced
while watching Sony America's Godzilla, I still kind of have halfway fond
memories of it, mainly (arguably, only) because Jean Reno appears in the
movie more and more toward the end, making it easier and easier for me
to forget how I suffered.
Despite my abiding but slightly fickle love for Toho Studio's rubbery beast of the apocalypse (I get a little bored watching the movies if there's not enough of the scaly fire-breathing guy), I went to Sony America's Godzilla with little trepidation and little anticipation. Godzilla, like Batman, is pretty archetypal, and so a lot of the interest for me is seeing how he would change. I am no rubber-suited purist. I was cautious, however, since my Devlin/Emmerich scorecard is something like; Missed ID4, liked Universal Soldier, and am still trying to figure out how I could like the first twenty minutes of Stargate so much and just hate, hate, hate the rest of that dreadfully boring, lame and awful movie. In fact, since Stargate became a box office success, I decided to skip ID4 because I figured Devlin and Emmerich would pick up bad habits from it. They've picked up a lot of weird habits, I'll give them that, like superstitious gamblers on winning streaks who insist on rubbing the dice on foreheads and big bosoms and anything else they think will help the streak continue. For example, without seeing ID4, allow me to present the Devlin/Emmerich collection of film ticks.
So
to get back to my opening, Jean Reno is a god. I know this because
I realized that I enjoyed every scene that he was in, and not particularly
because they were any better than any other scene in the movie. Jean
Reno is the dead-eyed, angular epitome of supercool. One of the tragedies
about Godzilla and all Emmerich and Devlin movies is that they could be
very quirky and original if they wanted. The second time we see Reno
in the film, he's wearing sunglasses and a suit and presenting himself
as an insurance agent inspecting the damage that Godzilla's caused.
As any Pynchonhead knows, this is an idea that TRP himself played with
briefly in Vineland. Since I find it pretty damn hard to believe
that either D or E has read Vineland (unless there's a script adaptation
of it floating around somewhere), I assume they just stumbled onto this
while thinking of Reno's various covers (we first see him as a supposed
doctor). Nonetheless, the titter--the happy titter-- that went up
from the crowd at the idea of Godzilla facing the world's coollest insurance
adjuster made me realize what Devlin and Emmerich should have realized.
Audiences may go to big summer movies for the bombast, but they actually
like some cleverness in there, too. Cleverness is a hard thing to produce
on an assembly line (and particularly the very rushed assembly line that
Hollywood is these days), but it goes a long, long way.
All material on these pages is © 1998 by Jeff Lester. With the exception of non-profit distribution, all other rights are reserved.