Dual Redemption.

Rating: 6/10 (18 January 2009)

Christina Ricci is a nymphomaniac in a small Southern town. That's a good start right there. In her previous films I found myself so wound up in her broad forehead, Walter Keane eyes, and tiny lips and mental process that I never realized she had a figure. But that she does, and it's pretty much on display here. She spends half the movie running around in the remnants of a polo shirt and a pair of tiny underpants that emphasize her pubic symphisis. A soupcon of bondage too, for those interested in such things.
She's more or less engaged to Justin Timberlake who is often away on National Guard assignments, including combat in the Middle East. He's a good soldier but he gets buck fever when he has to shoot at another human being. When he's out of town she floods out with testosterone. One night her lovers take her to a woodland, beat the hell out of her, and leave her lying unconscious in the grass.
Samuel L. Jackson is a blues-playing Jesus-driven guitarist who has alienated his estrange wife and now lives alone in a generic wooden shack on a dirt road. He finds Ricci, picks her up, and takes her home.
So far, so formulaic. We immediately think that somehow Jackson is going to "cure" Ricci. And he DOES. But there are many twists and turns along the way. Jackson comes to realize that you can't dominate others' lives, which is presumably what cost him his family. Ricci overcomes her nymphomania. Timberlake conquers his rage when he finds out everyone in town has been doing his girl friend when he's away, and he winds up marrying her, though still burdened by anxiety attacks. We all feel, as the couple drive away to start a new life, that she will help him find peace.
I wasn't surprised at Jackson's superior performance as a rickety and crotchety old man. He's always fine. And this role is a challenge. He must project both a protective impulse towards Ricci and at the same time an uncontrollable desire to exercise power over her. He chains her to a radiator in his shack and keeps her captive -- for her own good. Well, that's the sort of thing he expect from the heavy in an ordinary slasher movie. What comes next -- the torture? The branding with red-hot pokers? But the writers and the actor keep it clean. It's still a tough role though. Ricci in her minimalist clothing keeps offering herself to Jackson -- "If you want me you can have me. I'll do anything you want." Of course, he brushes off her advances, as any normal eunuch would.
Ricci's performance is pretty good too and that was a bit of a surprise because I'd never seen her do much more than hit her marks before. But then she's never really had a chance to play such a flamboyant Lulubelle before, or to take off all her clothes for that matter.
Justin Timberlake doesn't have a very large role but he's not bad at doing rage and anxiety. Or rather "anxiety", because it seems clear the writers have never had anxiety attacks as I've had. Yet the writing and the direction is subtle enough to suggest the kind of thing that precipitates anxiety attacks, what shrinks call "low-probability catastrophes." For example, on their final getaway in the car, Timberlake is driving slowly, as anxiety neurotics are want to do, and is being passed by one of those loud, threatening eighteen-wheelers loaded with timber. The monster truck takes an agonizingly long time to pass in the outer lane, sometimes appearing to slow down to the speed of Timberlake's own sluggish vehicle. Meanwhile another loud monster with a grill the size of a king-sized box spring has pulled up behind him, its air horn screaming. Stuck between threats, Timberlake adjusts the rear-view mirror nervously a few times then tells Ricci he has to pull off onto the shoulder. The symptoms may not be right, but the trigger and the behavior are spot on.
The musical score is steeped in blues played on an electric guitar, and I found it lugubrious and ultimately tiresome. "Shot a man in Memphis -- bullet hole in his haid." Well, not that. The lyrics actually underline the development of the characters. I also wish the writers hadn't thoughtlessly thrown in the abuse excuse for Ricci's nymphomania. As if it were that simple.
Something else I'm compelled to add. If I don't, nobody will get it. In the third sentence above, both the words "mental" and "process" are puns. They have independent meanings in anatomy and psychology, and both usages are apt. I'd pat myself on the back if I could reach it but I really can't claim credit. The voices tell me these things.
The movie's pace is a bit slow too, but it's obvious that a good deal of effort has gone into it. Not badly done.