Mark Farnsworth is currently reviewing selected films from the London Film Festival.
Klaus Kinski is alive and well, and living under Nicholas Cage’s skin. In “Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans,” Director Werner Herzog has finally found a worthy replacement for his ‘best fiend.’
Imagine Aguirre, Richard the 3rd, and Disney’s villain Jafar stuffed into a cheap suit and given free reign to police the flood-damaged streets of New Orleans. Got that image? Now have that cop devour every bag of coke, smoke every rock of crack, snort every grain of smack and wash it all down with hard liquor and painkillers, and you’re still nowhere close. Cage is so imperious as Lieutenant Terence McDonagh, so exquisitely deranged, that he should burst into the Academy Awards, scream “Get the f*ck down!”And stuff a bunch of Oscars down his trousers next to his Magnum .44 before exploding into a Jerry Bruckheimer fireball.
This is irresponsible filmmaking on a breathtaking scale. No sordid stone is left unturned. The ludicrous heights of Herzog’s direction and Cage’s performance are always in danger of spiralling out of control like a celluloid Katrina, but the opening sequence just manages to snag a stray ankle and keep the whole thing from flying off the ranch completely.
During the hurricane, McDonagh injures his back saving a drowning inmate. This baptism in the filth and scum leaves him with a monster drug habit to kill the pain. He’s a respected, intuitive detective, but the aftermath of the catastrophe has warped him both physically and mentally. He’s Jekyll and Hyde, gradually folding in on himself as he tries to solve the brutal slaying of a Senegalese family.
And that’s as normal as it gets, because after about 3/4 of an hour or so Herzog flicks a switch so incredibly messed up that you are left hanging on by your fingernails. We do get to prepare ourselves for the lunacy to come when he places his camera low down besides a gator grinning at a fatal car accident. It’s a jarring shot, but Herzog springs it on us just at the right moment.
McDonagh’s world swirls completely out of control, flushed down a whirlpool of gambling debts, a family of addicts, his hooker girlfriend’s pissed off clients and some singing iguanas. Yes, you read that right, singing iguanas. And all the while Cage’s appearance depreciates into a hyperactive blur of hair, teeth and shoulders. Cage is a drowning man in a drowned world – is he out of his mind or is there method in his Ralph Steadman madness?
“Bad Lieutenant” might just be the second greatest film of the decade after “There Will Be Blood.” This is no mean feat, and it’s no wonder Abel Ferrara, the director of the original, is so pissed off. Herzog directs with wild abandon and outrageous glee, and we love him for it. You can see the glint in his eye as he winks at us from behind the cinema screen. What next? A remake of “Dirty Dancing” with Sean Young on steroids?
Herzog, like Scorsese, has found a new muse later in life. He made five memorable films with Kinski, and one can only hope that he continues to use Cage and keep him away from dross like “Knowing.” Cage, in turn, has been reinvigorated by the veteran director, unshackled and unleashed and back to his over-the-top best. Reducing an audience full of critics to fits of laughter by raising a single eyebrow is nothing short of genius. As Terence says, “I love it! I just love it!”