Attraction, usually called "chemistry", is what makes a relationship snap, crackle, and pop. In Monster's Ball, this chemistry seems hopelessly out of proportion---Halle Berry plays Leticia Muskgrove, a woman who is scalded by life's torments. After her son is killed and her husband is executed, she simply pulls all the stops out of the meaning of Drama Queen. Playing her opposite in this odd duet is Billy Bob Thorton, as Hank Grotowski, who's beginning to make a habit (typecasting, anyone?) of choosing roles that require minimal effort - er, sorry---"subtle" tones.
Billy Bob plays a sorry sort of mope, who's emotional range is stuck somewhere between less and non-existent. This man's response to his son's self-inflicted demise becomes stuffed into a saran-wrapped vacuum of denial and weary acceptance.
The fulcrum (emphasis on "crum!) is Billy Bob's father---Peter Boyle gives a sneering portrayal of a man who's emotional range teeters between his matter-of-fact contempt for African-Americans and his contempt for his son, because he chooses to live life in a comfort zone of numbing boredom.
By the time these two polar opposites trade sweat I was more interested in Halles' butt tattoo than this story of two tired people unable to care and unwilling to emotionally commit.
But the end of this frustrating flick is the emotional payoff for the viewer; and I'm glad I endured the hour + to finally "get the point". We're left with a scene that speaks volumes about what lies ahead for these two emotionally caged sweethearts.
Sitting on the steps, enjoying the nighttime symphony of stars, and sharing ice cream (I know, could the writer have been a little more, uh—subtle?) it's clear that Halle and Billy have been playing stereotypes---the angry black woman with an attitude and the constipated white man with a polite grimace.
And their self-contained happy ending is really a challenge for us, because the starry sky holds a universe of choices—and it's up to us how we want to go through life
Billy Bob plays a sorry sort of mope, who's emotional range is stuck somewhere between less and non-existent. This man's response to his son's self-inflicted demise becomes stuffed into a saran-wrapped vacuum of denial and weary acceptance.
The fulcrum (emphasis on "crum!) is Billy Bob's father---Peter Boyle gives a sneering portrayal of a man who's emotional range teeters between his matter-of-fact contempt for African-Americans and his contempt for his son, because he chooses to live life in a comfort zone of numbing boredom.
By the time these two polar opposites trade sweat I was more interested in Halles' butt tattoo than this story of two tired people unable to care and unwilling to emotionally commit.
But the end of this frustrating flick is the emotional payoff for the viewer; and I'm glad I endured the hour + to finally "get the point". We're left with a scene that speaks volumes about what lies ahead for these two emotionally caged sweethearts.
Sitting on the steps, enjoying the nighttime symphony of stars, and sharing ice cream (I know, could the writer have been a little more, uh—subtle?) it's clear that Halle and Billy have been playing stereotypes---the angry black woman with an attitude and the constipated white man with a polite grimace.
And their self-contained happy ending is really a challenge for us, because the starry sky holds a universe of choices—and it's up to us how we want to go through life