Giving "head" to the Cult of Celebrity...

Rating: Null/10 (15 December 2000)

Somewhere, Andy Warhol is laughing and nodding approvingly.
If anybody finally "got" his prediction of "everyone being famous for fifteen minutes," it was director Spike Jonze and writer Charlie Kaufman, who used that conceit to whip up their freshman cinematic effort, which is the oddest, most uniquely unclassifiable original piece of filmmaking to come along in YEARS.
The meaning of "geek" finds a whole new level in John Cusack's portrayal of the hapless puppeteer Craig Schwartz, who gets punched out for presenting deeply cerebral and blatantly sexual public showcases, such as his take on the doomed affair of Abelard and Heloise. Tired of being lambasted, and in this particular case, lacerated, he finally relents to join the rat race at the urging of his kindly, Animal Planet-minded missus, Lotte, (Cameron Diaz in a death-defyingly unglamorous role.)
The dexterity that helps him with his puppets lands him a job at the Mertin-Flemmer building on the 7 1/2 Floor, (don't ask, just take my word for it: you have to see it to believe it, as well as the hysterically funny pseudo-orientation film that explains it.) It is here at this new gig that Craig experiences several life-changing events.
One, he meets his centegenerean lech of a boss, played with smarmy aplomb by Orson Bean, and his object of desire, a ditzy executive secretary played by the always awesome Mary Kay Place. Two, he finds his own sexual obsession in Maxine, a fabulous Frigidaire of a female coworker, rendered with well-pitched perfection by indie fave Catherine Keener, who has turned playing brusque, brittle characters into an art form.
But here's where it all gets REALLY strange: Craig discovers a portal behind some filing cabinets in the office, behind a tiny locked door, which for all the world looks like a passage into Wonderland. But where it leads is even more wonderful and bizarre....
For fifteen minutes, you get to live inside the head of actor John Malkovich. Seeing, feeling, and thinking everything that he does. Then when time's up, you find yourself expelled on the side of the New Jersey Turnpike.
Where the hell is the logic in that? Who gives a rat's ass? Not Craig, once he's experienced the rush of living inside someone else's skin, especially a big celebrity. Certainly not Maxine, who automatically seizes on the more practical implications of Craig's amazing discovery. Not Lotte, whose journey into Johnnyland causes her to reevaluate her own sense of identity, sexual and otherwise.
And certainly not you, dear viewer, who will be so busy wrestling with what this incredible film has to say about unfulfilled promise, unrealized dreams, the unending quest to escape oneself by living vicariously through others, when you're not laughing yourself silly, or marveling at the sheer inventiveness of the cast and crew, that all you'll be thinking about is hitting the "play" button to see it over again.
This is one of those rare films that demands repeat viewings, during which you'll find a slew of favorite, freeze-frameable moments. My own personal highlight: when a befuddled, bewitched, bothered and bewildered John Malkovich, playing a skewed Doppelganger of himself, goes through his own portal. You'll never look at "self-centeredness" the same way again.
Quirky, spellbinding, surprising, sad, pensive...you could run out of superlatives praising BJM, but as you can see, if somebody asks you what it's about, it completely defies a one-line description.
Just tell 'em what I did: "Rent it. Then come back and we'll talk."
You'll both have plenty to say, believe me. This movie sure does. And for once, I can truly say that this picture was robbed by being passed over for a Best Picture Oscar, and sincerely mean it.