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The Opening Of The Mouth
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The Worm In Every Heart
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Monday, Feb. 21, 2005 - 8:50 AM
Monday morning. The wall is up. Last night we saw Constantine, and were amazed (yet once more) by critics' general capacity to be idiots--critics and geeks, I suppose, since I've heard just as much slagging from the "oh-the-humanity, they-got-Neo-instead-of-Paul-Bettany" set. Whereas Steve and I, who both know and like the "actual" John Constantine, have only to make the relatively minor adjustment of going: "Ah, so this is the Angeleno J.C. instead of the Liverpudlian J.C." (or the female J.C., or the J.C. who was Arthur's replacement, or the J.C. at the end of the universe...), and all is love once more. Funny, that.
And damn (ha, ha), people, but there's a whole lot to love here. The look, first off; next, the tone--yes, there are jokes but no, none of it's meant to be funny. Djimon Hounsou as Papa Midnite, so cool he brings his own color-scheme to the film. Tilda Swinton as the archangel Gabriel (man, it's always Gabriel, isn't it?), gorgeous as a medieval painting come to life, yet foul-mouthed and unequivocable as ever. Peter Stormare as Satan. The spine of it comes from "Dangerous Habits" and Hellblazer's initial run, but the skin is from somewhere else entirely: L.A. as incipient hellscape, as prototype noir City on the Edge of Forever.
And the soul? That's something new too--because those who've called this a theological thriller (probably the first since the Prophecy movies) are right as well. It's pretty fine to see people, along with other beings, playing for keeps in a universe with genuine rules. Accept them, you'll have a great time. Quibble, you'll go home with a mouthful of ashes.
