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grrgoylHate Crime is a movie that poses the question: What would happen if the son of a hate-preaching fundamentalist moved in next door to a gay couple?
Answer: Hilarious hijinks, of course!
Not really.
Chris Boyd (Chad Donella, who spends the whole movie clenched up so tight it looks like it might be painful for him to even blink) moves in next door to dreamy couple Robbie and Trey. His distaste seems immediately apparent.
Robbie and Trey appear to have the perfect life. They're both professionals, sort of; Trey works at his parents' vet practice and thank god Tery wasn't watching with me, because he's shown performing surgery on a cat sans a face mask or even gloves. Everyone knows germs and bacteria don't affect animals! If I know Tery (and I do, pretty damn well actually) she would have been unable to think of anything else the rest of the movie. Robbie, well, it's not clear what Robbie does. He's jogging during the opening credits, but never actually goes to work. It's almost as if the screenwriter couldn't imagine two different careers a couple of gay men could pursue.
They're wary when they realize their new neighbor is less than thrilled with their relationship, but not nearly as wary as Phoebe, their Boston terrier. She acts fearsome enough, but if this movie has taught me anything it's that if you live near a bigot, you need a decent-sized dog. One who does more than scamper home as fast as its wee legs can carry it at the first sign of trouble. One with a comprehensive resumé of defense skills.
You can't have a movie called "Hate Crime" without a hate crime, so it's only a matter of time before Trey is savagely beaten while walking useless little Phoebe. Coming as it does hard on the heels of a not-so-veiled threat from neighbor Chris, he's of course the prime suspect. But he has an alibi -- spent the evening at mommy and daddy's (daddy is Bruce Davison, a hellfire-loving fundy minister).
Trey suddenly dies in the hospital, and the investigation isn't moving nearly fast enough for Robbie or Trey's family's liking. Robbie starts stalking Chris trying to incriminate him. Gradually we learn something that's hardly a surprise -- Chris is a classic self-loathing closet case, explaining his barely restrained homophobic rage. Kind of simplistic and predictable. (He also smokes, drinks and curses despite being a youth minister himself. It's like the filmmakers were determined to make him every stripe of hypocrite possible.)
When Robbie becomes the prime suspect thanks to Trey's life insurance policy, he's advised by his neighbor Magda not to rely on the law or the justice system to do the right thing (her name isn't Magda, but she played Magda in There's Something About Mary so that's how I think of her now). She had a husband who beat her and the law didn't lift a finger to protect her, so she's understandably cynical. With her egging him on, Robbie earns himself a restraining order and comes off looking even shadier than Chris. Every attempt to learn the truth and get some useful evidence is a violation of Chris' rights. It's all enormously unfair and frustrating.
Finally, a break in the case: Robbie overhears (and tapes) a conversation where Chris' father practically admits he killed Trey. Because if "someone doesn't do something, that filth is going to run rampant over this country and destroy society," making homosexuals sound like the Mongolian horde. We WISH we had their numbers. Chris is appalled by his father and contemplates suicide (sadly being too much of a pussy to do the right thing).
The tape is inadmissible since it was obtained illegally, and at this point Robbie has had just about enough of the impotent police (as has Trey's mother (played by Ferris Bueller's mother!) and Magda). They concoct an elaborate plan where they take Chris' father hostage to force him to confess. When that fails, plan B involves staging it to look like he broke into Robbie's house and tried to shoot him. Robbie then murders him in "self-defense." The only flaw in the plan is Trey's mother, his accomplice, has a limited black wardrobe and has to wear a silly cabby cap during the kidnapping.
What's also kind of funny is in the planning stage there's a line of dialogue where Trey's mom asks Robbie where Phoebe (the dog) is, which Tery would have heartily approved of; she's forever asking in the middle of things what happened to the baby or the dog or the bird from scene one. Finally, a screenwriter considerate enough to provide the answer.
The plan works. Justice is served (in a backhanded, vigilante way). The police buy the package delivered to them (well, the homicide detective has a nagging doubt about why someone would bring only two bullets with them if they planned to break into someone's house and kill them) and Robbie presumably finds another hot young dude to help him forget the pain of Trey's loss. Happy ending! Sort of.
From the bonus featurette, the movie seemed to be warmly received by teh gays (at least the ones who have been victims of hate crimes). I'm not sure it's sending the right message about taking the law into your own hands, but I suppose it might give the hatemongers something to think about (assuming any of them would even watch it).
I did like that in the interviews the actress playing Chris' mother (who has one pivotal scene where she shows up at Trey's mother's house to express sympathy, only to be kicked out again when she naively but well-meaningly tries to justify his death with the fact that "he should have known he would be a target") expressed my exact world view: You're free to have your own beliefs and opinions, but you got no business trying to force them on anyone else. Period. What kind of world would we live in if this was rule #1?
There was also one well-done scene (pretty much just the one) where we see a montage of two opposing sermons -- the hate-filled, damnation-threatening, terrifying style of Bruce Davison, and the gentle, smiling, god-is-love and love-thy-neighbor and all-we-need-is-love message of Robbie's church. There's no question which one I'd rather sit through.
On the subject of movies, I rented a trifecta of horror flicks (without the "fecta) that I can sum up quickly: Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon and Murder Party are both quirky, occasionally funny (and occasionally VERY funny), clever send-ups of horror movies with a satisfying amount of actual horror. Fear of the Dark, on the other hand, is trite, dull, derivative and painfully predictable.
I'm also pleased to report that the "unrated director's cut" DVD of Midnight Meat Train actually DOES contain scenes that aren't in the theatrical release. Blood-soaked, horrifying, gruesome scenes that will haunt you until the day you die. Buy your copy immediately.
Answer: Hilarious hijinks, of course!
Not really.
Chris Boyd (Chad Donella, who spends the whole movie clenched up so tight it looks like it might be painful for him to even blink) moves in next door to dreamy couple Robbie and Trey. His distaste seems immediately apparent.
Robbie and Trey appear to have the perfect life. They're both professionals, sort of; Trey works at his parents' vet practice and thank god Tery wasn't watching with me, because he's shown performing surgery on a cat sans a face mask or even gloves. Everyone knows germs and bacteria don't affect animals! If I know Tery (and I do, pretty damn well actually) she would have been unable to think of anything else the rest of the movie. Robbie, well, it's not clear what Robbie does. He's jogging during the opening credits, but never actually goes to work. It's almost as if the screenwriter couldn't imagine two different careers a couple of gay men could pursue.
They're wary when they realize their new neighbor is less than thrilled with their relationship, but not nearly as wary as Phoebe, their Boston terrier. She acts fearsome enough, but if this movie has taught me anything it's that if you live near a bigot, you need a decent-sized dog. One who does more than scamper home as fast as its wee legs can carry it at the first sign of trouble. One with a comprehensive resumé of defense skills.
You can't have a movie called "Hate Crime" without a hate crime, so it's only a matter of time before Trey is savagely beaten while walking useless little Phoebe. Coming as it does hard on the heels of a not-so-veiled threat from neighbor Chris, he's of course the prime suspect. But he has an alibi -- spent the evening at mommy and daddy's (daddy is Bruce Davison, a hellfire-loving fundy minister).
Trey suddenly dies in the hospital, and the investigation isn't moving nearly fast enough for Robbie or Trey's family's liking. Robbie starts stalking Chris trying to incriminate him. Gradually we learn something that's hardly a surprise -- Chris is a classic self-loathing closet case, explaining his barely restrained homophobic rage. Kind of simplistic and predictable. (He also smokes, drinks and curses despite being a youth minister himself. It's like the filmmakers were determined to make him every stripe of hypocrite possible.)
When Robbie becomes the prime suspect thanks to Trey's life insurance policy, he's advised by his neighbor Magda not to rely on the law or the justice system to do the right thing (her name isn't Magda, but she played Magda in There's Something About Mary so that's how I think of her now). She had a husband who beat her and the law didn't lift a finger to protect her, so she's understandably cynical. With her egging him on, Robbie earns himself a restraining order and comes off looking even shadier than Chris. Every attempt to learn the truth and get some useful evidence is a violation of Chris' rights. It's all enormously unfair and frustrating.
Finally, a break in the case: Robbie overhears (and tapes) a conversation where Chris' father practically admits he killed Trey. Because if "someone doesn't do something, that filth is going to run rampant over this country and destroy society," making homosexuals sound like the Mongolian horde. We WISH we had their numbers. Chris is appalled by his father and contemplates suicide (sadly being too much of a pussy to do the right thing).
The tape is inadmissible since it was obtained illegally, and at this point Robbie has had just about enough of the impotent police (as has Trey's mother (played by Ferris Bueller's mother!) and Magda). They concoct an elaborate plan where they take Chris' father hostage to force him to confess. When that fails, plan B involves staging it to look like he broke into Robbie's house and tried to shoot him. Robbie then murders him in "self-defense." The only flaw in the plan is Trey's mother, his accomplice, has a limited black wardrobe and has to wear a silly cabby cap during the kidnapping.
What's also kind of funny is in the planning stage there's a line of dialogue where Trey's mom asks Robbie where Phoebe (the dog) is, which Tery would have heartily approved of; she's forever asking in the middle of things what happened to the baby or the dog or the bird from scene one. Finally, a screenwriter considerate enough to provide the answer.
The plan works. Justice is served (in a backhanded, vigilante way). The police buy the package delivered to them (well, the homicide detective has a nagging doubt about why someone would bring only two bullets with them if they planned to break into someone's house and kill them) and Robbie presumably finds another hot young dude to help him forget the pain of Trey's loss. Happy ending! Sort of.
From the bonus featurette, the movie seemed to be warmly received by teh gays (at least the ones who have been victims of hate crimes). I'm not sure it's sending the right message about taking the law into your own hands, but I suppose it might give the hatemongers something to think about (assuming any of them would even watch it).
I did like that in the interviews the actress playing Chris' mother (who has one pivotal scene where she shows up at Trey's mother's house to express sympathy, only to be kicked out again when she naively but well-meaningly tries to justify his death with the fact that "he should have known he would be a target") expressed my exact world view: You're free to have your own beliefs and opinions, but you got no business trying to force them on anyone else. Period. What kind of world would we live in if this was rule #1?
There was also one well-done scene (pretty much just the one) where we see a montage of two opposing sermons -- the hate-filled, damnation-threatening, terrifying style of Bruce Davison, and the gentle, smiling, god-is-love and love-thy-neighbor and all-we-need-is-love message of Robbie's church. There's no question which one I'd rather sit through.
On the subject of movies, I rented a trifecta of horror flicks (without the "fecta) that I can sum up quickly: Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon and Murder Party are both quirky, occasionally funny (and occasionally VERY funny), clever send-ups of horror movies with a satisfying amount of actual horror. Fear of the Dark, on the other hand, is trite, dull, derivative and painfully predictable.
I'm also pleased to report that the "unrated director's cut" DVD of Midnight Meat Train actually DOES contain scenes that aren't in the theatrical release. Blood-soaked, horrifying, gruesome scenes that will haunt you until the day you die. Buy your copy immediately.
