I'm not quite sure how i managed to see this film... Ah yes, i remember. My brother gave it to me as a joke christmas present, because he, having seen it, and repeatedly describing to me just how terrible it was, wanted me to confirm just how right he was.
He was right. The acting, writing, and general execution of this project is so bad, that it is comical to watch. From the first scene with dialogue, it becomes evident that this is going to be an arduous film to watch. The laughably clunking, cliche ridden script, electric keyboard soundtrack, and useless cinematography are topped in awfulness only by the shudderingly bad performances, and rather than a haunting feeling of mystique playing the viewers minds, there is a decided feeling of "what street corner did they scoop these people off?" Abbot Alexander, cast as the flesh creeping "hero" of this piece, is, admittedly, well cast: that is, he is if the makers intended for Vincent Van Gogh to come across as a semi irish, partially swedish, and occasionally glaswegian maniac, prancing around the streets of Hollywood, charitably donating money to "all the starving artists" of the world. And, judging by his performance, one wanders whether this was not what they intended). One can only suppose that he is meant to warm our hearts with his love and idealism, and his apparently selfless actions during his 100 day stay in the modern world. (no remembrance in sight for the general concensus that Van Gogh was, infact, an insane, often violent, and manic depressive homosexual, as opposed to a cuddly, loveable and most definately hetereosexual rogue, with an admirably eccentric lifestyle.) As his love interest, Cathy, (or, as Vincent incessantly, and infuriatingly refers to her: Cat-hee) Lisa waltz displays little to no amount of warmth or affection for her lover; instead, swans around, almost disjointedly, and remaining remarkably undisturbed or otherwise alarmed by her lover's sinister movements, creepy manner, or, worst of all, his frightening mascara. She delivers lines with fatigue and melodrama in equal measure, perhaps (one cannot be sure) experimenting with attempts to compensate for the shockingly stupid dialogue and motivations allotted to her character. However, neither of these two ghastly displays of so-called acting are quite up to challenging Sally Kirkland for the place of "most terrible performance". In the role of the tough, cynical and art detective Brooke Murphy (each introduction she gives to herself in the movie, including her listing all her achievements as an art detective, as well as the scenes inwhich she explains the psychology of "art terrorists" are hilarious) who chases after Vincent throughout the film, She displays a humourless amount of overacting, smouldering with an unreal amount of hatred and anger towards most living beings, particularly Vincent Van Gogh. On the other hand, of course, hers is admittedly, by far the most entertaining performance. Indeed, watching this actress take the possibilities of awfulness in acting to new heights is an all at once engrossing, horrifying, and hilarious spectacle.
But perhaps I have been too cruel. Starry night is, if notihng else, a brave, and might I add, ambitious project, which, with the possible exception of Liza waltz, the cast and crew have approached with incredible enthusiasm. some moments, are, infact,
beggaring in belief ( watch out for margo the peasant woman's most exceptionally weird wink at Vincent, in the first scene). And, for all it's faults (and there be many) starry night is almost , (almost) endearingly terrible. Or, then again, perhaps it is a clever, almost ingenious, but ultimately failed marketing attempt: make a movie so
indescribably awful (ala The Producers) that it will draw in so much incredulous disbelief, and cause audiences to make second, third, or even fourth trips to the cinema, to confirm it's existance.
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