Here's a
switch: Today we're going to review a good movie.
No, Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid didn't win any Oscars, and it sure as hell isn't on anybody's Top Ten list. (No one important, that is.) But you've probably been with me long enough to know that I care for other people's lists about as much as Spider-man cares for the Hobgoblin. Hell, even those Top Ten lists on VH1 annoy the crap out of me. And am I the only one who wants to just reach through the TV, grab Carson Daily and twist his head off like a little bottle cap?
And, ya know, when you sever someone's head, the arteries in your neck just fountain blood. Kinda like what happens to a soda bottle when you shake it up and...
What? Oh, don't tell me you've never had a homicidal fantasy about ripping off Carson Daily's head. God, you people are so repressed.
Where were we?
Ah, we were just about to join private detective Rigby Reardon (Steve Martin). Reardon's having a slow day at the office until foxy lady Juliet Forrest (Rachel Ward) walks into his life. Well, she actually faints into his life, but he quickly revives her by "adjusting her breasts." Juliet is the daughter of Dr. Forrest (George Gaynes), the famous scientist known for experimenting with cheese molds. Dr. Forrest disappeared over a year ago after a horrible accident. But Juliet doesn't think it was an accident. She suspects foul play.
Through his unparalleled detecting skill, Reardon begins to peel back the layers of this little conspiracy. In his last days, Dr. Forrest would maniacally make out lists. Lists of names. One labeled "Friends of Carlotta" the other labeled "Enemies of Carlotta." Who Carlotta is and what her friends are after are the lynch pen of the flick as we follow Reardon through a tangled web of lies, deceptions, corruptions, smelly cheese, bullet holes and stock footage.
That stock footage is Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid's claim fame. At least sixty percent of the flick is made up of footage from the great detective/mystery movies of the 1940s and 50s. I counted at least sixteen movies, though I might've been off by one or two. I was never much of a fan of these old detective pictures. That was my mother.
I remember my mom making me sit with her as we ran through marathons of these tapes. From Bacall to Bettie Davis to the Greater Works of Bogart. I got my education in the workings of Hollywood's Golden Age during those little marathons, even if I didn't appreciate it at the time. What can I say? I was a squirrelly ten-year-old. I wanted to watch Star Wars, damn it. Space ships and aliens and lightsword fights and things that went boom. These old detective movies were just too damn slow for me.
They still are. I rarely click on AMC unless they get smart and show something like It Conquered the World. None of the old detective movies had aliens in them. Now, a detective movie with aliens in it...those are really interesting.
But we're here to talk about Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid.
There's lots of filler here because Dead Men is a good movie, and I have trouble reviewing good movies sometimes. With bad movies, its simple: tell all their secrets, tear them completely apart and hang their remains up for all to see. That's what I do. I rip apart what other's have poured their hearts and souls into. But I can't do that and keep anything secret. And if I give away all the movie's secrets, why would you want to watch it? Hence the navel gazing.
I'll just stick to the facts. Fact One: Dead is a satire, though not in a Naked Gun, National Lampoon way. Fact two: The script, written by Steve Martin, director Carl Reiner and George Gipe, is damn funny. Fact three: Rachel Ward is hot. Really, really hot. Those lips, my God, those lips they just make me wanna...wanna...
Never mind. <ahem> Yes. The script is funny. But most defiantly not an Austin Powers, fart joke kind of funny. All jokes and gags (from Steve's one-liners, all the way to those jokes that play on mystery genre conventions) are delivered with a knowing wink. An affectionate wink at that. The jokes never go too far, preferring to wink and nudge instead of just pointing and laughing.
Also, what separates Dead Men from other, lesser satires, is the fact that this movie has a plot at its core. Jokes are derived from the plot instead of the other way around. Compare that to either Austin Powers movie or, even better, that shitty Scary Movie thing that the Wayens brothers unloosed from the Sixth Level of Hell. Those flicks are nothing but excuses to tell as many fart jokes per minute as humanly possible so that fourteen year-old boys will buy tickets.
Aiding things is a talented cast of about 10 people, and some ghosts from the past.
Martin and Ward do good things as their characters, playing
amalgamated visions of every hard-nosed detective and
every beautiful dame to ever walk across the silver screen. These two walk a thin line
above the pit of the stereotype and they walk it with the agility of your friendly
neighborhood Spider-man. The spirits of greats like Bettie Davis, Jimmy Cagney and our
friend Mr. Bogart pop up for supporting roles. If anything, this makes Martin's job even
harder, as he has to spend half the movie working with people who are, at worst, long
dead. Steve seems up to the challenge, though, never letting his character slip, even when
he's talking to Boggy from beyond the grave.
And that Rachel Ward...yummy. And she can act too. I haven't seen anyone this good at channeling the spirit of a dead actor since I watched Man on the Moon. Rachel Ward is to Lauren Bacall what Jim Carrey was to Andy Kaufman. There, that'll give you a good idea.
I'd feel a little ashamed to say that Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid is the only mystery that I watch on a regular basis. I would...if it weren't such a damn good movie. With humor, Dead Men injects the elements necessary to make a mystery really fun for fans of the genre as well as non-fans like myself. No, it isn't serious, but if you can't laugh at something you love than you can't understand it, either.
There, that was your moment of Zen. Now go out and watch this movie.
