February 23, 2001 | Action, attitude,
Elvis Presley iconography and a hunka-hunka blazing guns figure prominently
in 3000 Miles to Graceland, the kind of boisterously flashy and
trashy crime drama best described as the cinematic equivalent of junk
food: Loaded with synthetic additives, deficient in nutritional benefits,
but uniquely and undeniably satisfying if you have an appetite
for such stuff.
Try
to imagine yourself channel-surfing between Ocean's 11, Reservoir
Dogs and Honeymoon in Vegas, and you'll be ready for the
slapdash story about thieves who pose as Elvis impersonators while robbing
one of the glitziest places on the Las Vegas strip, the Riviera Hotel
and Casino. Considering the amount of gunplay and wanton slaughter that
results when the robbery goes terribly wrong, one can only assume that
the Riviera managers who O.K.'d the location shooting - er, I mean,
filming - aren't the most image-conscious of business people. But the
violence doesn't end even after the Elvises have left the building.
One thing leads to another, one thief shoots nearly all of the others,
and Graceland quickly detours into another stretch of familiar
territory while evolving into a long-distance chase movie.
The entertainment value of this dubious enterprise is super-sized by
the audaciously offbeat casting of Kevin Costner as Murphy, the baddest
of the bad news Elvises. With his mean-stud swagger, brushed-back coiffure,
scimitar-shaped sideburns and a wardrobe that reeks of white trash sartorial
splendor, Costner certainly looks the part of a sneaky-snakey ex-convict
with grand plans and a short fuse. Better still, he plays the part with
full-tilt conviction, striking the perfect balance of animal-like cunning
and hound-dog charm when he isn't casually gunning down innocent bystanders,
SWAT team sharpshooters and all-too-trusting partners in crime. Costner
hasn't seemed this dangerous on screen since A Perfect World,
and hasn't so clearly enjoyed himself since Tin Cup. Indeed,
his bad-to-the-bone antics in this film, along with his self-effacing
supporting performance in Thirteen Days, indicate he may be trying
to re-invent himself as a character actor. Which, all things considered,
could be a great career move.
Kurt
Russell, the nominal star of the piece, is largely overshadowed by the
more flamboyant Costner. Still, Russell makes a reasonably engaging
impression as Michael, Murphy's former cellmate, who manages to escape
with his life - and the $3.2 million swiped from the Riviera - after
the thieves fall out.
Michael is the closest thing to a hero on view in Graceland,
a fact underscored when, during the robbery, he is the only ersatz Elvis
who doesn't shoot anyone. Later, he reinforces his standing as a good
guy, or the least bad of the bad guys, when he doesn't open fire - or
turn violent, or even yell very loudly - after he's repeatedly betrayed
by Cybil (Courteney Cox), a slatternly single mother who swipes the
stolen loot. While she attempts to launder the dirty money, Michael
has the opportunity to bond with Cybil's young son, Jesse (David Kaye),
whose penchant for pickpocketing suggests he's learned a lot from mom.
Eventually, the three characters form a dysfunctional family unit, if
only as a common defense during the inevitable showdown with the vengeful
Murphy.
Russell,
you may recall, played Elvis Presley to good effect in a 1979 TV biopic
directed by John Carpenter. It's nice to see that, after all these years,
Russell can still make all the right moves when he pretends to be The
King. Cox is surprisingly effective as a sexy small-time grifter, and
newcomer Kaye more than holds his own in scenes opposite experienced
grown-ups. Other supporting players of note include Kevin Pollak
and Thomas Haden Church as cops in hot pursuit of the robbers, ex-footballer
Howie Long as a helicopter pilot who apparently prefers Paul Simon to
Elvis Presley, and Christian Slater, David Arquette and Bokeem Woodbine
as Elvis impersonators who discover that crime really doesn't pay.
Music
video veteran Demian Lichtenstein directs with all the empty but insistent
stylishness you might expect from someone with his resume, using all
manner of attention-grabbing visual stratagems - slo-mo, fast-forward,
flash cutting, whatever - to goose along the formulaic caper plot he
concocted with co-screenwriter Richard Recco. Lichtenstein sets the
show-offy tone during the opening-credits sequence, cutting between
shots of a cherry-red Cadillac convertible zooming through the desert
and massive close-ups of a grudge match between computer-generated scorpions.
For the closing credits, he gives us - well, a music video. And, truth
to tell, a pretty nifty one, complete with Russell in Elvis mufti, lip-synching
an appropriate Presley golden oldie. Thank you very much, thank you
very much.