Movie Review: Savages
In my estimation, Oliver Stone has not made an exceptional film in fifteen years; 1997’s U-Turn was the last worthy one in a celebrated run of controversial classics that helped define 1990’s American cinema. Beginning with The Doors (1991) and culminating in a nasty neo-noir (U-Turn [1997]), the director’s forceful combination of large themes and dynamic cinematic playfulness engendered as much anger or annoyance as reverential roundtable discussions. Like it or not, Stone was a man-of-the-moment, like Tarantino, with a firm finger on the pulse. After tackling Dallas 1963, America’s in-born gene of violence, and Nixon’s epic fall, Stone lost steam and puttered out the empty Any Given Sunday(1999), the bombastically kitschy Alexander (2004), and an overly-genteel takedown of the G.W. Bush administration (W. [2008]). In the 1990s, Stone’s hyper-real, visually lush filmic visions helped shape my growing taste for the artistic medium, then he became a bit of a parody; 2012 finds Oliver Stone re-invigorated in his assured cult classic Savages.
Basically a commercial for the primo-quality weed a refined gentleman like recent High Times cover subject Mr. Stone proudly smokes, Savages is also a dense, grisly, yet meltingly beautiful picture about the ugly violence which has been escalating amongst Mexican drug cartels and is now threatening to seep into the United States as it is also an endearing bromance about two lifelong buds sitting atop the California marijuana trade. Zen Buddhist beach bum Ben (Aaron Johnson) and tough, Iraq-haunted Chon (Taylor Kitsch) live in sensual splendor with their very cool shared girlfriend Ophelia (Blake Lively) in a modern hilltop Shangri-La embellished by Stone’s lingering, lustful enjoyment of all the fun immorality his color-drenched frames can capture. We get the boy’s back story about finding their way into the trade with superior botany and business skills, locking down suppliers in Afghanistan and making their fortune selling across American state lines (all while making huge philanthropic contributions in impoverished lands). They avoid violence at (almost) all costs and are content to stay that way.
The Mexican drug baroness Elena (Salma Hayek) intends to take a piece of the boys’ pie and almost always relies on brutal violence to get her way. Her grotesque henchman Lado (Benicio Del Toro) is sent to make sure Ben and Chon are compliant and from there Savages explodes into a disco-noir of brilliant set-pieces and meaty characters drawn from Don Winslow’s novel that all flash by in an instant at the beginning of the picture to clue us in on the kind of intense and alluring kaleidoscopic filmmaking we are going to enjoy.
With a corrupt DEA man (John Tavolta, better than he’s been in over a decade) in the pocket, Ben and Chon use their wits and guile to play against the cartel until Ophelia is abducted and they have to find a way out of an impossible situation. “O” narrates the opening of the film as homage to Sunset Blvd. (1950) suggesting, as William Holden’s deceased narrator does, that she may not make it out alive. With no choice but to fight, Ben and Chon enlist some of Chon’s Iraq vets to do wet work if need be and, as action movies go, Savages knows when to time its cathartic explosions of violence perfectly. This is a film that will get you to root for the affable good guys and be genuinely frightened of what the villains will do next. Del Toro doling out mayhem from behind a horrific skeleton facemask will prove to be an indelible, creepy cinematic image even while he is mumbling out hilarious one-liners.
Salma Hayek in “Savages.” © 2012 – Universal Pictures.
Aside from the incongruence of a knockout like Hayek presiding over barbaric acts from her guarded palace, Elena proves to be a soulful counterpoint to the actual disgraceful news coming from Mexico (this may be Stone/Winslow attempting to tell this headline-ripped story with dramatic flair while also softening the blow against Latin Americans). In an almost too absurd twist, Elena’s pain over her prodigal daughter gives way to a foster mother’s interest in Ophelia which gives the actresses a couple of nice dialogue scenes while the guys are blowing stuff up.
Savages ought to be migraine-inducing like many of Stone’s misfires, but it is such a perfect piece of pulp that the director can never go too big (except in letting awful lines like “I have orgasms, he has wargasms” into the final cut). It would not do to spoil much more of the plot, but suffice to say that the most major complaint may come from leaving the convoluted original ending to the book intact). I enjoyed Savages on all of its flawed levels and found it a relief to see such an adult R-rated epic (be forewarned we are back in the clutches of the Oliver Stone who wrote Scarface now seeking to top himself) in the season for superheroes and cartoons. With Savages, Stone reminds us of his best years even if the political edge is softened to a nub. He excels at a brand of coercive yet inviting storytelling and has never been one for subtlety. That is what some of us love about him.
Gregory Fichter
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