Release Date: February 23, 2001
Starring: Kevin Costner, Kurt Russell, Christian Slater, Courteney Cox, Howie Long, Jon Lovitz, David Arquette, Thomas Haden Church, Kevin Pollak
Directed by: Demian Lichtenstein
Written by: Demian Lichtenstein, Richard Recco
Distributed by: Warner Brothers
MPAA Rating: R (strong violence, sexuality, language)
The writer Stephen King has said that good stories often come from the fusion of two unrelated ideas. While this may be true most of the time, there are certain limits to the theory, and veteran music video director Demian Lichtenstein's combination of some Elvis impersonators and a casino robbery in 3000 Miles to Graceland is one of those limits. And even if it hadn't been, whatever combination Lichtenstein could have come up with would have been submarined by his wretched writing and uncoordinated direction.
Graceland is not so much a heist picture as it is a "post-heist" picture -- much of the action in the story involves the adventures of recently reunited partners-in-crime Murphy (Kevin Costner) and Michael (Kurt Russell) after they make off with over three million dollars from the Riviera casino in Las Vegas. With their accomplices dead and the two set against each other, mostly because of a scheming country girl named Cybil (Courteney Cox), the plot becomes a grudge match that won't die until either Michael or Murphy does.
The most absurd thing about 3000 Miles to Graceland is that it insists on plowing ahead on the course it has set for itself. The crude humor and awkward tension of the opening scenes do not continue, or at the very least continue in muted fashion, but they are replaced by some of the most gratuitous instances of sex and violence seen in the theater within the last five years. And worst of all, if this is some sort of cruel joke, writer/director Lichtenstein and co-writer Richard Recco never let the audience in on it.
The first hint of the awfulness in store for the viewer is the collective risk the cast has become -- or in the case of some of them, has always been. Kevin Costner, a decent actor not so long ago (and perhaps as recently as 1999's For Love of the Game), has begun to fill his résumé with embarrassing titles like Tom Hanks fills his trophy case with Best Actor awards. His costars, on the other hand, have a much shorter distance to fall. Kurt Russell, Courteney Cox, Christian Slater, and David Arquette (the last two of whom have a combined thirty minutes of screen time) have never been among Hollywood's finest, and as long as they continue to take part in wretched projects like this one, they will never be.
But the acting corps isn't to blame, because the movie goes south before a single one of them even appears onscreen. A pair of computer-generated scorpions duel as a backdrop to the opening credits, for no other reason than to -- well, come to think of it, there wasn't much reason for the scorpions. Hundreds upon thousands of filmmakers prior to this have found a way to start their motion pictures without resorting to computer-generated scorpions, so there's no reason for director Lichtenstein to start his with them. (Unless, of course, he wanted to tip off discerning viewers about the quality of the movie they were about to watch.)
In that fashion, though, the majority of the movie is telegraphed. It's possible for the viewer to pay close enough attention (a task not really recommended due to the aspirin that will doubtlessly be required afterwards) and guess what a character will say or do about two seconds before he actually says or does it, but, taken far enough, the viewer can then guess the outcome of the movie and avoid the firsthand experience. Though writers Lichtenstein and Recco have some nice ideas, such as the scene where Murphy and Michael are placed in adjoining prison cells, they don't have enough of them to make a decent story. The script maintains an intelligence level befitting of computer-generated scorpions.
On a side note, the story has less to do with Elvis than the casual observer might think -- it's simply Lichtenstein's gimmick for the casino robbery. Occasionally he tries to bring it back into the story (like the here-and-gone subplot about Costner's character allegedly being an illegitimate child of the King -- an idea negated by his ridiculous auburn muttonchops), but like the supporting characters that bite the dust in the film's first half-hour, it's too useless a detail to bother keeping around. Lichtenstein and Recco use this pick-and-choose method of scriptwriting far too often, though, and even the most persistent viewers will grow tired of their technique.
Similarly, Lichtenstein the writer is no better than Lichtenstein the director. He has an inkling of what he wants, but apparently cannot fathom how to execute it. His casino heist scene is as blandly choreographed as it is written, and his constant use of slow-motion shots of weapons discharging becomes quickly overused and does nothing for the viewer's adrenaline (which is teased with but never given genuine tension during the initial melee). He also makes use of that classic action-movie sequence wherein a character, previously shot in the chest at point-blank range, rips open his shirt to reveal the slug stuck in a bulletpoof vest. Well, good, sighs the audience, not once but twice, for a second we thought that along with belief the director had also suspended the laws of physics and biology.
Ultimately, because all of the parts of the movie -- the script and the directing especially -- are so terrible, the sum of them is dreadful. This isn't one of those cheekily bad movies that can be recommended to a certain demographic because they will appreciate it; no, 3000 Miles to Graceland is simply no good.
all contents © 2001 Craig Roush