Skins (2002)
I suppose the American-Indian has
as much right as any other minority in America to
grouse. But do I have to listen to it? I mean, I know
the "white man" fucked over the Native Americans in
this country. That's ancient history. I think it's
great that film gives a voice to the disenfranchised.
I really am. But I don't have to listen (or look).
And neither do you. So, unless you really enjoy hearing
American-Indians piss and moan about there lot in
life, skip "Skins."
There's certainly nothing cinematic
to enjoy here. "Skins" is one of those really weak,
really amateur, badly acted, choppily edited, poorly
written, poorly filmed indie pieces. The story is
pointless.
The film begins with a sort-of narrated
history of the American-Indian in the particular area
where the film takes place. The film starts as narrow-minded,
one-sided documentary. It's bad filmmaking and bad
script writing. Scripter Jennifer D. Lyne makes her
debut here (from an Adrian C. Louis novel) and it's
obvious she is a neophyte. This script would get a
D+ in any college script writing course. It's choppy,
sketchy and full of lousy exposition. Worse yet is
dialogue that is stupid and hokey. For example, when
a cop spies on a pair of teenagers at a campfire,
he gets there just in time to here them talking about
the murder they committed, the one the cop suspects
them of. Dumb, dumb, dumb. There's no subtlety here,
no skill.
Director Chris Eyre, who made the
massively hyped Native- American indie film "Smoke
Signals" a couple of years ago (which I didn't see)
does nothing worthwhile here. His direction is poor,
his composition is generally drab (granted he's filming
a tragic human dump heap) and his work with the actors
seems non-existent.
Graham Greene is just awful as Mogie,
a drunken bum whose brother Rudy, a cop, constantly
cares for. Greene seems to have taken the method acting
approach here and drank himself into the role. I don't
mean this as a compliment. His work is stiff and careless.
Rudy, meanwhile, is stoic and as dull as hell. Eric
Schweig may have been perfect as the strong, silent,
romantic, gay love interest in "Big Eden," but here
he seems clumsy and oafish. He is simply not lead
material. If there is any actor of note here, it is
Noah Watts as Herbie, but he is only a secondary character.
He doesn't have enough to do. As for the supporting
cast, if your idea of compelling is seeing Elaine
Miles, who played the nearly silent Marilyn on "Northern
Exposure," say "fuck" and "bastard," then this may
be the film for you.
But the most abhorrent and mean-spirited
and stupid thing about "Skins" is the ignorant climax
which finds Rudy defacing a national monument. Okay,
he pours red paint on George Washington's face at
Mount Rushmore. I don't feel like I'm giving anything
away because the poster for this piece of crud has
that image as it's main focal point. There's nothing
in this film that has anything to do with George Washington.
I don't fucking get it. Mogie wants to blow-up George
Washington's nose so when he dies (whoops, did I give
that away), Rudy goes and dumps paint on his face.
It's stupid. You can't even get up to the top of Mount
Rushmore these days, can you? Dumb, dumb, dumb.
Vandalizing an American icon, an
American institution like Mount Rushmore, is not a
way to win my sympathy. You'd think that if film were
going to give your downtrodden people a voice, you'd
say something worth hearing. Eyre shrieks but his
howl is the vapid scream of nothingness. This film
is a stinking pile of angry crap. I couldn't even
appreciate it as a sort of punk statement. Maybe I'm
just old. Then again, maybe I expect to be informed,
enlightened and entertained, you know, if you want
me to see your point of view.
White man may speak with forked
tongue, but his ears are closed when you piss all
over one of his heros. The act of terrorism at the
climax of this film (and it is nothing less than terrorism)
is reprehensible. Especially in this post 9/11 world.
The next time an American-Indian starts pissing and
moaning about how bad his "people" have it, I'm sticking
my fingers in my ears and going, "lalalalala..." And
that's thanks to no one other than Chris Eyre.
Note:
Filled with a lot of whiny, pompous
Native-American type music. Hope you like fifes or
whatever those damn high- pitched wind instruments
are.
