Review by
Eric Hillis
Directed by: Ethan Hawke
Starring: Maya Hawke, Laura Linney, Phillip Ettinger, Rafael Casal, Cooper Hoffman, Steve Zahn, Vincent
D'Onofrio, Alessandro Nivola, Christine Dye, Willa Fitzgerald, Levon
Hawke
Few actors have as much credit in the cinephile bank as Ethan Hawke.
While all around him actors are dropping their pants for the Disney dildo,
Hawke insists on taking roles he's actually interested in, and working with
filmmakers he respects. Nobody bats an eyelid when Hawke name drops some
literary figure or arthouse auteur in an interview. We fully believe in him
as a well read, thoughtful renaissance man. That wasn't always the case
though. Back in 1996 he was roundly mocked for having the audacity to write
a novel, met with the sort of snobbish "stick to the day job, stay in your
lane" derision we now see levelled at any sports personalities who dare to
express an interest in any subject outside their competitive field. Hawke's
latest film as director, Flannery O'Connor biopic Wildcat, is so terrible that even the kindest of critics may think Hawke might be
better off sticking to his day job after all.
Hawke has cast his daughter Maya in the lead role of the Southern
Gothic wordsmith. And why not? Hawke Junior is a rising star in her own
right and a very capable actress. But Hawke Senior hasn't done his kid any
favours, filling her mouth with a set of fake dentures that will have you
thinking of Mr. Ed when she bites into an apple at one point; a pair of
over-sized astronaut's wife glasses; and an "I do declare" Southern accent
that wavers back and forth across the Mason-Dixon line like a prohibition
bootlegger trying to shake off a chasing G-Man.
Perhaps inspired by his title turn in Michael Almereyda's electrifying
Tesla, Ethan has crafted an unconventional biopic, one that incorporates
O'Connor's short stories. The central narrative sees the young writer
leave 1950 New York, where she's struggling to be taken seriously as a
writer, and return to her home in rural Georgia. Diagnosed with lupus,
O'Connor finds herself confined to the home she shares with her mother,
Regina (Laura Linney), whose conservative, Southern Catholic values
the writer firmly rejects.
The idea that fiction is explicitly inspired by a writer's real life
surrounds, as though they're Kevin Spacey in
The Usual Suspects, is a pat notion that too many biopics run with. Despite being a well
established writer himself, Ethan gives in to this simplistic urge, with
the real life characters from O'Connor's life popping up in the
recreations of her short stories, Wizard of Oz style. These
depictions of O'Connor's writing are ludicrously overwrought and give the
impression that O'Connor was little more than a Southern hack, the JD
Vance of her era. Maya is cast in each of these stories, but she's not
simply playing the fictional characters, she's playing O'Connor playing
her own creations, horse chompers and all. Poor Linney is similarly stuck
playing a variety of over-the-top caricatures of racist southern ladies.
Hers is the sort of awful performance you sometimes get from a great actor
when a director has failed to, well, direct them, and they're allowed off
the leash. Just when you think the film can't get any hammier,
Liam Neeson pops up in a cameo as an Irish priest, a collection of
"Ah sure begorrah" clichés that sees the Irish actor struggle to convince
as an Irish character.
That scene sees Ethan and Maya try to get to the heart of O'Connor's
struggle with her Catholic faith, but it's impossible to take seriously
because all we can see are those damn false teeth. In this scene and
others, Hawke proves himself a filmmaker who is uncomfortable with visual
storytelling. He relies almost solely on O'Connor's words to tell us who
she is, rather than using his cinematic toolbox to get inside her head.
The script, which he co-wrote with Shelby Gaines, lazily puts
O'Connor in a series of confrontations that give her the opportunity to
launch into a monologue that crudely spells out her philosophy regarding
writing, religion and various other topics.
Not everyone comes out of this mess minus their dignity.
Cooper Hoffman, son of the late Philip Seymour and breakout star of
Paul Thomas Anderson's
Licorice Pizza, proves the highlight of the film as a fictional salesman in a
reenactment of O'Connor's story 'The Good Country People'. Unlike his more
experienced co-stars, the young actor captures the Southern Gothic vibe,
delivering a performance imbued with the charm and creepiness that defines
that sub-genre. Thanks to Hoffman's late intervention, the audience may
leave the film with a curiosity for O'Connor that the rest of the film
fails to inspire.
Wildcat is in US cinemas from May
3rd. A UK/ROI release has yet to be announced.
