Muristek
The director’s razor-sharp Hollywood satire offered up a horribly prescient look at an industry turning away from creativity and toward commercialism
Watching Robert Altman’s The Player nearly 30 years after its release is like buying a ticket for a time-traveling Hollywood tour bus. There’s Jack Lemmon playing piano at a party and Martin Mull eating lunch on an outdoor patio. Look, John Cusack and Anjelica Huston are sitting together at that restaurant, and isn’t that Cher entering a charity event in a stunning red dress? These actors, and many more, play themselves in The Player, and most have just one line of dialogue. Some have none. Brief as their appearances may be, they play a vital role, situating the incisive and absurdist showbiz story in the real world. Or at least in the real Hollywood. How did Altman get them to work for nothing in such minuscule roles? He only told them, “I’m making a film about a studio executive who murders a screenwriter and gets away with it.” According to Altman, each response was identical. They laughed and asked when they should show up.
Much like Sunset Boulevard, the best film ever made about Hollywood, The Player initially presents itself as film noir. Its protagonist, Griffin Mill (Tim Robbins), is a classic antihero, a studio executive who kills a man he believes has been sending him death threats, only to discover it was the wrong guy, and his harasser is still out there. The police are closing in on him, but just when you have a handle on the film’s tone, Altman swerves. Next, it’s an insider’s look at office politics in Hollywood, then an absurdist comedy, a sleek thriller and eventually a postmodern fairytale with the most twisted happy ending you’re ever likely to see. One of the great achievements of The Player is how steady it stays on its feet as it navigates these tonal twists and turns.
Continue reading...