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Brooks Peterson

Brooks Peterson's column is published Mondays. Brooks also sits on the Caller-Times editorial board and can be contacted at petersonb@caller.com

Monday, January 29, 2001

Had enough seriousness? Get 'Gone'

Are you up for some good news? Up for a change of pace? Most important, are you ready for a vacation from Significance? From Substance?
   Have I ever got a movie for you.
   I am here to report the rebirth of plain old put-your-brain-in-neutral, message-free Hollywood escapism.
   What it is, is "Gone in 60 Seconds," now available at your neighborhood video emporium. And it is a hoot.
   You should know this is the second "Gone in 60 Seconds." The first version, made in 1975, has attained the status of a cult classic, and it could be argued that the 2000 version, from slam-bang action producer Jerry Bruckheimer, is an hommage. Or, if you prefer, a shameless ripoff.
   You know what I say? I say, phooey to hommage. Not having seen the first "Gone" yet, I can't speak on it with any real authority, but what we're dealing with here is a couple of flicks that are essentially a pretext for a car-chase spectacular.
   And, seriously, can pop cinema pursue any higher goal than that? (It was a rhetorical question, kid. You don't need to answer. I don't want you to answer. Take a hike.)
   Here's the plot line, such as it is: Our hero, whose name I don't recall (it's that kind of movie), is Nicholas Cage. He's a master car thief who years ago was driven out of town by an ultra-tough cop, with the admonition that if he ever showed his face in town again, let alone attempted to resume his nefarious activities, well . . .
   In a brilliant stroke, the film-makers introduce us to Cage (who, happily, has shucked the totally bogus Dixie drawl he affected in another Bruckheimer smash-crash-and-bash vehicle, "ConAir") at work at his new, legit job: presiding over a go-kart raceway for pre-adolescent California munchkins. Irony? You could cut it with a knife.
   We learn that Cage's little brother (who turns out to be a seriously obnoxious little turkey - but I'm getting ahead of myself) has landed himself in seriously deep sewage by getting crosswise of a sadistic crime boss. Fancying himself the equal of big brother as a car thief, little brother has defaulted on a pledge to deliver a raft of stolen vehicles to this thoroughly unpleasant individual.
   So: If the twerp's bacon is to be hauled out of the fire, Cage must come home and . . . you see where this is heading? Right: He's got to boost a whole bunch of cars, but pronto. And not just any cars: exotic cars, performance cars, luxury cars, road-ripping vehicles of the kind that inflame the imagination of countless 15-year-olds (not to mention more than a few grown-ups).
   And - here's the beauty part - he's got to pull it off in one night.
   Of course, you, being the hip, savvy customer you are, know what happens next:
   We put the old gang back to work again!
   Which brings us to another of the really neat things about the movie: We get Robert Duvall as the wise old head who's long since gone straight. Can Cage's pleadings lure him out of retirement for one final, Wagnerian, phantasmagorical eruption of vehicular thievery and motorized mayhem?
   What do you think?
   Now, I'm a Nicholas Cage fan, no question about it. Having first seen him in "Moonstruck," I had a little trouble wrapping my mind around the notion of him as an action hero. Got over that, finally.
   But one of the greatest joys of this exercise is simply watching Robert Duvall do his thing.
   It is an exercise in minimalism: no emoting, no pyrotechnics - just Duvall . . . being . . . this tribal elder. A Yoda to Cage's Luke Carbooster, if you will.
   The central thrill, of course, is all those glorious cars racing down urban streets at insane velocities, those howling exhausts: It is nothing less than an automotive bacchanal, and if there is even a trace of car buff in your DNA, you'll emerge sated and exhilarated . . . but with no traffic tickets.
   You may also appreciate what's not in the movie: There's relatively little violence; the language is fairly mild, as such movies go; and the closest we get to major whoopee is Cage and (mechanic!) Angelina Jolie pawing each other . . . in a parked car, needless to say.
   Take a vacation from high seriousness. Trust me: You'll thank me in the morning.


Brooks Peterson

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