Love
and Death on Long Island
Reviewed
by Leonard Heldreth, July, 1999
Obsession is a very
personal vice, usually affecting only the obsessor but sometimes spilling
over onto the object of the obsession, as when stalkers and voyeurs
interfere with the lives of the people they observe; and almost always,
as seen by an external observer, obsession is both illogical and either
tragic or ridiculous. This extreme infatuation manifests itself in
one of last month's films, Lolita, in which an older man is destructively
infatuated with a pre-pubescent girl, and in another film referenced
in the title of Love and Death on Long Island, Thomas Mann's Death
in Venice. The name of the lead character, Giles De'Ath (John Hurt),
emphasizes the connection further, and many parallels exist between
Giles and the protagonist of Visconti's film of Mann's novel–both
are well-known artists, both are widowed, both live insulated intellectual
lives away from common pursuits, and both are revitalized by their
Platonic infatuations with younger males. Giles falls headfirst from
a regular, detached existence devoted to art into the world of teen
sex idols and drive-in movies. Unlike Mann's hero, however, he survives
his encounter, for this film is essentially a comedy where the ridiculous
side of the infatuation is emphasized instead of the tragic.
Giles De'Ath sets off to see an adaptation of an E. M.
Forster novel but by accident wanders into the theater showing Hot
Pants College II. Disgusted by the film, he starts to leave but is
suddenly struck by the appearance on screen of Ronnie Bostock (Jason
Priestley), one of the minor actors. Beauty, it is said, is in the
eye of the beholder, and De'Ath becomes obsessed with Bostock, clipping
pictures from fan magazines, collecting video tapes, and trying to
find out everything about the young man. The infatuation opens for
De'Ath and for the audience the larger question of beauty and the
appreciation of art: what determines greatness beyond the critical
point of view? Is the gesture or the speech that stuns us really great,
or does it just pander to one of our personal obsessions? Are we making
fools of ourselves when we rave about a book or a movie or a play?
Despite the use of terms of endearment, little reason
is given to believe Giles to be homosexual; he has been married, and
sexuality, then and now, seems at the margin of his existence. It
is beauty that fascinates him, and fortunately for the audience, Jason
Priestly, while good looking, is hardly beautiful, making the infatuation
more obvious. Director Richard Kwietniowski knows how items associated
with the beloved reach a significance far beyond their value, and
he has fun with a ketchup bottle and a death scene from one of Bostock's
films that later overshadows a painting of the death of the 18th century
poet, Thomas Chatterton. Everything that Giles sees is colored by
his growing fixation. His obsession with Ronnie is the same obsession
developed by every scholar working on a project, every scientist trying
to unravel a mystery, any acolyte devoting himself or herself to a
cause, or any one just letting what started as a hobby take over one's
life.
John Hurt (the man from whose chest the creature burst
forth in Alien) is superb as Giles, fussy and opinionated, taking
no gaff from the modern world but then becoming rather intoxicated
by some of the areas he has ignored. He encounters sit-coms, video
recorders, television sets, and pizza; in a last scene, he talks to
the cab driver about faxes and dons sunglasses. His gestures, crisp
dialogue, and wit carry the film and maintain the audience's sympathy
even when he is making a fool of himself. Jason Priestly is asked
to do little except be good-looking without much depth, and he handles
that assignment well enough, managing to convey his confusion and
concern in the climactic scene in the diner. His girlfriend Audrey
(Fiona Loewi) is very good in a minor role, and Maury Chaykin gives
a humorous performance as Irving, the owner of the diner, although
one is not quite sure what to make of his character.
Through its fine performances, Love and Death on Long
Island raises a number of questions about love, infatuation and artistic
evaluation, and if it provides few answers, it at least clarifies
some of the questions that need to be asked about what we love and
why.
