*** (out of ****)
Starring Kenneth Branagh, Robin Wright-Penn, Jared Harris, Johnathon Schaech, Peter Riegert, Peri Gilpin, and Lynn Redgrave.
Directed & written by Michael Kalesniko
2001
108 min R
Do you remember when you first heard the name “Kenneth Branagh?” It was probably back in 1989 when his “Henry V” came out. Actor, director, screenwriter, triple Oscar-nominee for one movie (or was it even quadruple? I can’t remember). He was also the definition of boyishly handsome and it didn’t hurt that he was married to the lovely and equally talented Emma Thompson. Everyone kept calling him “the next Olivier.”
So how’s Branagh now? He’s not starving: he acts regularly and he was the best thing about the second “Harry Potter” film. But all his recent starring roles have been in limited release. Sure, his “Hamlet” was up for Best Picture and Best Director, but that was nine years ago. He hasn’t directed a thing since his charming but narrowly-released “Love’s Labour Lost.” His output has certainly slowed. So there might be something biographical to the playwright McGowen, his character in “How to Kill Your Neighbor’s Dog.” It seems that the next Olivier is taking a detour into “next Fellini” territory.
McGowen is some piece of work: jaded, cynical, bitter, superior towards others and down on himself. He drinks too much, smokes even more, and is one of those guys who’s turned self-loathing, self-pity, and general contempt for the universe into artforms. He’ll complain about something, and then when you point out that he’s over-reacting or being self-indulgent he’ll just move right on to talking about what an awful, stupid person he is for being so self-indulgent. Everyone needs someone like this to go drinking with. A boy wonder in the 1980s, McGowen’s last 3 plays have been stinkers, his next might be just as bad, and his ability to work with the likes of Jason Robards has been replaced with soap opera actors in small theatres. Ornery, chronically flatulent, and abandoned by his boyish good looks and full hair, what could be worse? Writer’s block. See what I mean by Fellini?
Home isn’t a bargain for him either. His wife (Robin Wright-Penn) wants a baby but he’s disinterested, his mother-in-law (Lynn Redgrave) is an invalid, his neighbor’s dog is a yap-machine, a stalker (Jared Harris of “Sylvia”) is wandering around claiming to be McGowen, and his other new neighbors include a mildly handicapped little girl who wants to be his best friend. And although the movie does follow some routines, it avoids many others. It looks like his tentative and reluctant friendship with the girl will make McGowen a better man, it looks like his befriending of the stalker will actually work out okay, and it looks like he will decide to have the baby after all. But looks can be deceiving and “How to Kill Your Neighbor’s Dog” is surprisingly honest about how we can’t all make Ebenezer Scrooge reversals in character.
Of course, all this stress is rich soil for McGowen’s latest play and the movie is also honest enough to know that he is too selfish to not put everything he can into his play. I also like that his relationship with his wife avoids a lot of the traps and screaming matches common in movies like this. Nor does she lay down and die for the sake of McGowen’s art. Rather, the couple behaves a lot like real couples who have been married for a decade. Topics are dropped, some arguments are forfeited to trade for others; the playwright and his wife know the usefulness of silence, but they also let too much dead air come between them.
Credit for writing and directing for “How to Kill Your Neighbor’s Dog” goes to Michael Kalesniko, who is either a big fan of Branagh or his pseudonym. Not only is McGowen’s predicament in some ways an exaggerated version of Branagh’s cooled career, but Kalesniko’s direction in many ways mirrors Branagh’s own film “Peter’s Friends.” There are the long takes, the excitable, circling camerawork, the rich dialogue. But the allure of the movie is watching Branagh being cynical. Watch him engage in self-pitying and unprovoked verbal fisticuffs with a local TV “personality” (Peri Gilpin of “Fraser”). Watch him bicker with the director and stars of his latest play, and just generally trying to decide if he or the world is more awful.
Branagh is a walking and breathing example of how art from centuries ago can still speak to us. He made his first big splashes with Shakespeare, yet here I am talking about him almost as if we’re friends, because he is able to make plays nearly half a millennium old autobiographical. Young King Harry’s first major outing was an invasion of France, and young Branagh’s first major production was “Henry V;” Branagh made “Hamlet” not long after his own father died; and “How to Kill Your Neighbor’s Dog,” while not Shakespeare, is still following the same man. I’d love to see Branagh back in the director’s chair, more Shakespeare, or maybe Oedipus Rex, or even a sci-fi movie. I don’t care. Sadly, “How to Kill Your Neighbor’s Dog” got little or no theatrical release and even the DVD is out of print. It’s not a perfect movie, but it’s my kind of imperfect movie, rambling and expansive instead of narrow, with too many ideas in it instead of not enough.
Finished May 31, 2004
Copyright © 2004 Friday & Saturday Night
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