psychopath

The biblical rain today suggests that summer is over, so my run through a handful or so of John Cusack films ends with it, on the film I’ve seen more than perhaps any other.

Watching Cusack in order suggests some connections I hadn’t gone looking for, mostly around moral compromise and concession. David Shayne in Bullets Over Broadway concedes his way down one compromise at a time, and pays for it. Buck Weaver in Eight Men Out concedes nothing and is ruined anyway. Runaway Jury‘s Nick Easter turns up with the con already written and walks out clean. Martin Blank does the worst thing any of them do, announces he’s stopping, and nobody argues (or even really appears to be listening).

Even the reunion corridor scene (fantastic choreography, btw!) doesn’t hold him to it. Debi refuses every justification he offers, he ends up admitting he got good at the job and then came to like it, and the admission expires the moment the scene does.

Nothing about what Martin does accumulates, or is left owing, which is presumably how I’ve managed however many viewings this is. The film has never once asked me to reach a verdict on a contract killer. I find that… restful, which I doubt reflects well on me.

This review may contain spoilers.

This sat on my watchlist for forever without me knowing anything about it: the plot, the cast, the genre. That served me well. The high concept is the good bit. The score is genuinely unnerving, and the course title cards (breadless bread plate; R.I.P. Jeremy) are funnier than most of the dialogue. Nicholas Hoult is very good as Tyler, whose foodie devotion curdles into something much worse.

But the guests are thin, one sin apiece, dealt with accordingly, and the film never bothers to explain why an entire kitchen would agree to do what it does for its chef’s grievance; “because people worship chefs” is weak. Jeremy is where I stopped extending credit. Margot’s way out—she’s a service worker, therefore exempt—is the same shortcut. Slowik’s complaint is that presentation has swallowed the food; the film proves him right more thoroughly than it means to.

Inspired by a Guardian ranked list, I’ve decided to spend the summer rewatching John Cusack films—I’m not sure why, but I’ve been rather obsessed with him for about 35 years—and where better to start than one of the most insane films of the 90s. It was intended as an action film, but it works far better in hindsight as a dark comedy: a postmodern blend of Top Gun, The Rock, Speed, and Face/Off, celebrating and unwittingly sending up those sorts of films by sheer excess.

An absurd premise, stacked cast, bonkers juxtapositions of scene, score and dialogue, an audience set up to cheer for a cannibalistic child killer’s escape to freedom… I ought to watch this more often. Cusack plays his honest, moralistic US Marshal straight as the madness unfolds around him.