King Of New York is independent film schlockmeister Abel
Ferrara’s so-called masterpiece. I guess, given his Paul Naschy level
output, it is. But, in the real world, it’s a campy film with
self-conscious silly quote-ready posing masquing as acting. That said,
the performance of Christopher Walken, as Frank White, is really the
only reason to watch this Scarface-wannabe film. He brings a faux
gravitas to the role of modern Robin Hood gangster Frank White that is,
well, interesting. One can take all of the other over the top
performances and toss them away. Larry (not Laurence) Fishburne, Wesley
Snipes, David Caruso, and others, are not acting, but posturing. Only
Walken seems to realize that, despite Ferrara’s best attempts, the film
is a parody- a comic opera, a comic strip.
Here are the essentials: White is paroled from Sing Sing Prison, after
years in the joint on a drug rap. He aims to be a different type of
gangster, to take his ill gotten booty (or ill booten gotty?),
eliminate his rivals and help the poor. Meanwhile, cops played by
Snipes and Caruso, prove to be incompetent boobs, and Walken and
Fishburne, Frank’s top gun- one Jimmy Jump- get the better of both
until Snipes and Fishburne take each other out, and Walken’s White aces
Caruso in a scene so silly that it takes on the level of camp attained
by Scarface, in the scene where Michelle Pfeiffer and Al Pacino pass
out into a pile of cocaine. Then, White puts a bounty out on the lead
cop assigned to nail him, and any other cops on the case. White then
breaks into the lead cop’s home, tells him all this, and handcuffs him.
The cop and White then have a final shootout on a subway train. The cop
dies right away, and White later dies in a cab as the whole of the NYPD
closes in on him.
Of course, hedonism and ultra-violence are rampant, and the
script has logical plot holes the size of an elephant’s vagina. But,
hey, why quibble? This is not real drama. It’s not even melodrama. It’s
camp. The only question might be to ask if Ferrara realized this at the
time. I vote no. Why? Because one need only listen to the audio
commentary on the two disk DVD to see that Ferrara is utterly clueless.
He feels that this is great art, and then that it is not realistic,
unless it is, on his whim. Of course, he’s delusive, OR he’s just
hoodwinking those of us listening into thinking he is. Of course,
that’s it. And, the second commentary track, with crew members, is in
on it, for they seem to be in on the circle jerk. Yes, that’s it. As
for other features in the package? There’s a featurette on Ferrara’s
career, on Schoolly D.- the mediocre rapper behind the film’s score, a
video by said rapper, television spots, and the theatrical trailer.
The problem with this film is that it is so campy that it’s difficult
to appreciate it in the Plan 9 From Outer Space sort of way. Witness
the overacting of David Caruso. This poor bastrad seems to think this
is a drama anyone can take seriously. When he starts kissing Snipes’
cop’s corpse, it’s a Rocky Horror sort of moment. But, is it
brilliantly bad, ridiculously bad, or some other sort of bad? I mean,
it’s BAD, no question, and maybe Ferrara’s cinematic inanity is an Ed
Woodian turn of the tables? Another strike against the Ferrara as
modern Ed Wood theory is the cameo, early in the film, of New York
journalism legend Pete Hamill. I mean, he would not willingly deface
his rep to appear in crap, would he? He has to be in on the gag?
Well….maybe. Certainly Walken is. The most memorable and quoted line
from the film occurs in the lead cop’s apartment, as White confronts
him, and the cop asks him if he thinks he can really get away with the
murders of all the rival scumbags he’s iced. White responds,
hesitatingly, ‘I never killed anyone that….didn’t….deserve it.’
Released in 1990, this 103 minute film initially disappeared quickly
from theaters, only to become a cult hit on VHS and DVD release, just
like Scarface. But, since I’ve spoken of its flaws, let me linger a bit
on its good parts. Rarely has the city of New York been so rapturously
filmed as by cinematographer Bojan Bazelli. Only Woody Allen’s
Manhattan rivals it, but in a different way. Ferrara and his cameraman,
if nothing else, have great eyes. His ideas of what constitutes story
and character, however, are atrocious. But give him a sensational eye,
especially New York at night is gorgeous. The score, even if one likes
rap, is poorly applied- it neither accentuates the moments, not does it
comment wryly on them, much less punctuate them (see John Cassavetes’
The Killing Of A Chinese Bookie for a film that uses music perfectly).
The lone exceptions are a couple of scenes where Walken’s White rocks
out as the diegetic music almost seems to break the fourth wall; a wall
that only Frank White seems to realize exists. See an early scene in
the shower for a good wink and nod.
Of course, even taking the film as a parody, it’s just not that good at
parody, much less grittiness. Compare some of the scenes to classic
moments in a couple of Martin Scorsese films. Look at the scene from
Mean Streets (1973), where one character calls another character a
mook, and the other character asks, ‘What’s a mook?’ What makes that
scene so great is that, on one level, the scene reveals the other
character as a poseur, for mook is a common mob terms for a stolid ass
who’s only good for muscle, if that. On the parody level it shows both
the wannabe gangsters at odds in a moment where in other gangster
films, a simple knowing word connects the brotherhood, and unable to
complete the ritual. As for grittiness, Scorsese’s Goodfellas (also
released in 1990) blows King Of New York away, even though it, too is
stylized. There is no moment of pure savagery to rival the several
explosions of Joe Pesci’s character. An early scene where one of
White’s men is rebuffed at a local Mafia don’s poker game ends up with
White just walking in and blowing the don away, as his henchman cower
in fear. Then watch Pesci’s character blow away the young kid who works
at the mobster club because he gets a little insolent. The Walken scene
is funny, not scary, because it’s telegraphed. Pesci’s scene, however,
is not.
Yes, MTV stylization was in vogue two decades ago, and delusion can
often be invaluable to camp, but the fact is that, aside from the most
often quoted six or seven moments of high camp, this film is mostly
dull, filled with bad acting, an even worse script, by Nicholas St.
John, and its divorce from all reality, while probably a better choice
than splitting the difference, still leaves a viewer yawning far too
often per capita (bodycount, really). However, if one wants to posit
Frank White as a modern Robin Hood, a mortal Nosferatu, a gringo Pablo
Escobar, so be it. I’ll even grant that the lack of ;realism’ in the
film is in a long line of gangster film hagiography of the lifestyle,
going back to the scene in Public Enemy (1931) where Jimmy Cagney
smashes a grapefruit into Mae Clark’s face. But, all the pointing out
of such does nothing to mitigate the film’s many flaws. Still, let me
end this ambiguous review by stating that King Of New York is a bad
film, but a bad film that I….liked. Sort of. A little. At times. Wink.
Nod.
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