Smokin' Aces vs True Romance

In True Romance, Alabama (Patricia Arquette) comes back to the motel room to find Virgil (James Gandolfini) waiting for her. They flirt, for just a second, because that’s Alabama’s primary survival skill, and then it becomes one of the most riveting, violent, offensive, exhilarating, hilarious scenes in any movie from the 1990s. Virgil and Alabama beat the shit out of each other. Seriously. As in, Beat. The. Shit. Out. Of. Each. Other. It’s exploitation, probably, but not truly gratuitous, because we never stop thinking about what Virgil wants, and how dangerous it will for Alabama if he finds it. We have two characters in a scene with an outcome that matters because we know these people.

In Smokin’ Aces, one violent thing happens after another, and I wasn’t offended, riveted, amused or one bit interested. The violence takes place among people I’ve had no time to get to know; they’re all villains, so the outcome is the same regardless who’s being shot. In one scene, two characters sit on the floor of an elevator and unload their guns into each others guts. Neither of them reacts much to being hit; they just keep shooting, like the point is to run out of bullets first. Smokin’ Aces has so many random characters, my only reaction was relief that maybe I had two less to keep track of.

Jeremy Piven plays Buddy “Aces” Israel, a Vegas nightclub magician in a cheap wig. Aces—why anyone already named Buddy needs a nickname is beyond me—only appears to do card tricks, but audiences love him, as does the mafia. Aces, for reasons I won’t go into here (partially because they don’t completely make sense to me) is the subject of a hit, and every hitman-and-woman from miles around wants a piece of the action. And why wouldn’t they? Aces’ death means a score of ONE MILLION DOLLARS. That’s right kids. A million. Don’t get me wrong: in real life, a million is a lot. But this is a movie. Maybe raise the stakes a little.

Anyway, everybody wants to kill Aces. Ben Affleck and Peter Berg want to kill him, Alicia Keys and Taraji P. Henson want to kill him, a group of gibberish-talking Cohen Brothers rip-offs want to kill him, and so did I. Buddy “Aces” Israel is pretentious, rude, shallow, and, as if all that isn’t enough, a magician. Man, if you’re looking to get on my good side in a movie, magician is the wrong profession. Couldn’t Aces be something more pleasant, like an IRS auditor, or a necrophiliac? Aces stomps around his hotel room, usually wearing nothing more than a filthy bathrobe (complimented by the aforementioned shitty wig—which I believe we’re supposed to think is real—and an ever-present dusting of cocaine and snot dripping from his nose), spouting pompous speeches about illusion and revenge and life, and the whole time he’s flipping, shuffling and throwing cards. I’m not sure if I’m meant to care whether Aces lives or dies, but it would have been nice to pick a side before the credits rolled (although if I were to pick a side, it would be the one with Alicia Keys and Taraji P. Henson, as smart-ass hitwoman girlfriends. They rock, and deserve some of the screen reserved for card tricks.)

Smokin’ Aces was directed by Joe Carnahan, who also directed the vastly superior Narc (Ray Liotta shows up here as well). He’s certainly got an eye for violence, and Smokin’ Aces has a certain bright, sunny sitcom sheen to it that I find appealing in action movies (except for the make-up. What’s up with the faces in this movie? Fever blisters, extreme acne, cut lips, scraggly facial hair and red eyes abound. Is that more serious? Grittier? More…crimey?) Unfortunately, it’s edited and timed oddly. Cuts between shoot-outs, elevator rides, and hotel-room conversations are awkward (especially since they seem to be happening simultaneously, yet at different rates. Does time move slower inside Aces’ hotel suite? Jeez, it seems that way.) And the violence, which is used for shock, drama and comedy, is never what it could be in a movie like this: fun. The characters are all so baffoonish, that we should get at least a little rush from their actions (I’m thinking of the Nihilists in The Big Lebowski, or Travolta in Pulp Fiction). Instead, I just sat there, like those guys in the elevator, getting hit with bullets and having no reaction at all.

True Romance is probably more violent than Smokin’ Aces. And it has an even bigger cast of lowlifes, murderers, drug dealers, and undercover cops. And it’s fantastic. Clarence and Alabama are on the run, trying to unload a suitcase of cocaine and start their new lives before the cops, the cocaine’s original owners, the mafia, pimps, slackers and wannabe actors ruin it for them.

Christian Slater and Patricia Arquette have never been better, or cooler, than they are here (if not for Vincent and Mia in Pulp Fiction, I’d go so far as to call Clarence and Alabama Tarantino’s coolest couple). Clarence is a comic-nerd, Alabama is a kung-fu loving prostitute. Clarence kills Alabama’s pimp (Gary Oldman, who would laugh at the minor thugs of Smokin’ Aces. His Drexl is funny, yes, but bizarre and terrifying too), grabs a suitcase of cocaine, and hits the road with his new wife.

Along the way, director Tony Scott peppers True Romance with humor, electric action-movie editing, and a series of celebrity cameos that actually serve the story. Brad Pitt, Christopher Walken, Dennis Hopper and Val Kilmer (as Elvis), all show up, but they aren’t distractions, like so many of the characters in Smokin’ Aces. When True Romance plays homage to other movies, they’re stuff like Badlands and Bonnie and Clyde. Smokin’ Aces, on the other hand, is so redundant, it’s paying homage to itself.

Smokin’ Aces: D+
True Romance: A