When A-lists collide

Be Cool (2005)
MGM presents a F. Gary Gray film, starring John Travolta and Uma Thurman. Written by Peter Steinfeld. Based on a book by Elmore Leonard. 114m. PG-13 for violence, sensuality and language including sexual references.

1.5 stars

The most irritating facet of the “Be Cool” promotional blitzkrieg is that it concentrated solely on who was in the movie, not what it could be about. If merit was given singularly on star-power alone, “Be Cool” would be considered sacrosanct, an A-list “Citizen Kane.” To paraphrase Aristotle, the activity of entertainment may occupy an entire lifetime, but 12 stars does not a movie make.

Is it John Travolta, or his character Chili Palmer, speaking in the opening when he says, “I got hustled into doing a sequel”? A full decade after the multi-charactered “Get Shorty,” Palmer is back as a Miami-based loan shark looking for action in the music business.

After the death of his friend Tommy (James Woods), Chili looks to unite with Tommy’s ex-wife, Edie (Uma Thurman) to produce an album from Tommy’s teen-age lover, Linda (Christina Milan). Plans hit a roadblock when producer Sin (Cedric the Entertainer) demands a $300,000 debt of Tommy’s from Edie. There’s another problem: Linda is under contract to both faux-gangbanger Raji (Vince Vaughn) - usually accompanied by his muscle Elliot (The Rock) - and record executive Nick Carr (Harvey Keitel). There’s also some blood-thirsty Russians in the mix here somewhere.

The movie banks on a “wink, wink, nudge, nudge” attack of self-referential moments from not only its prequel but from other movies and real lives. After Tommy is gunned down, Chili wryly adds over his still-warm body, “You can’t have a movie where somebody dies in the first scene.” Audiences are supposed to laugh, but no one did at my screening. That’s because we don’t want our characters to be breaking down the fourth wall and joining us in the jokes. We want them to entertain us and never suggest we can’t enjoy dalliances in escapism without being reminded that we’re doing so.

Similarly, after mugging for the camera in a sub-plot involving Edie’s former life as an Aerosmith laundry maiden, band frontman Steven Tyler says, “I’m not one of those singers who shows up in movies.” But didn’t I see Tyler jarringly out-of-place in “The Polar Express”? It’s a stupid joke, that’s supposed to be funny because the screenwriters want you to believe the actors are in on the joke. They know they’re in a movie, so we can laugh at jokes about being in the movies they’re not supposed to be acknowledging. Oh, my head is starting to hurt.

Lacking a main element of creating an enjoyable story, “Be Cool” shoots itself in the foot by reminding audiences of better films. John Travolta, Uma Thurman and Harvey Keitel all appeared together in the 1990s classic, “Pulp Fiction.”

One step further, Thurman’s character in “Pulp Fiction” had a convertible. One more step, Travolta and Thurman danced together at a 1950s-themed cafe. Finally, Travolta is probably best known for his role in “Saturday Night Fever,” where he tried to make a living from dance contests.

This is not the stuff of homage; it’s the source content for bad parody. And while it’d be easy to blame the actors for the ultimate failure of the overall piece, the blame rests solely on the original material.

While Travolta has turned in some laughable performances, he knows how to inhabit Chili Palmer. Unfortunately, Palmer is resigned to playing out one scene after another, all of which have a unifying arc but none of which lead you to any satisfying conclusions.

The actors who are trying the hardest are those with the most left to prove. The Rock (nee Dwayne Johnson) still bears the stigma of wrestling entertainment huckster. In “Be Cool,” he’s a bodyguard who waits for his turn on the silver screen. The film drops several non-subtle references to his homosexuality, which Elliot either pretends not to acknowledge or is the last one in this universe to realize his disposition.

Yet The Rock ultimately feels like a miscast because he comes with such an intricate backstory. Leaking machismo from every orifice, The Rock seems more like someone producers would hire if they weren’t looking to convince anyone that he was really soliciting sex from his own gender. And the large, detailed Samoan tattoo that runs across his left chest isn’t helping matters either.

Then there’s Andre 3000 (nee Andre Benjamin), one-half of the rap group Outkast, whose character’s thug credentials come up invalid. He’s the troubled cousin of Sin’s wife, employed by the record producer out of a call for nepotism, not for any legitimate scare tactic. He’s outlandish, but in a room full of A-listers just reciting their lines, Andre is a standout.

Had this movie played out as a chilling thriller instead of a soft-pedal comedy, I think we would have had something. Instead we have drivel, cast off as entertainment and something audiences are bound to forget six months after they’ve seen it.