Across The Universe vs Natural Born Killers

There is a really special scene near the beginning of Across the Universe. Prudence is a cheerleader with a forbidden secret crush on another girl. She watches forlornly from the bleachers while her would-be love cheers and talks and giggles, and Prudence begins to sing I Want to Hold Your Hand as if it were the saddest ballad ever. Of course it is, if the person you’re singing to doesn’t want your hand too. Prudence walks across the field, while all around her football players jump, dive, tackle, and maybe dance. Her singing is lovely, and her feelings are so touching and common you’re likely to find them on young people across the…well, you know. Besides being arresting visually, and possibly the best debut scene of an actor this year, the moment contains what just might be my favorite cover of a Beatles song. Well, besides Stevie Wonder singing We Can Work it Out, but only because that, well, come on. But in three minutes, Across the Universe accomplishes more than most films do in forty times as much. And yet, there’s something lacking in the film, and I can’t quite put my finger on it.

In another time and place, Across the Universe might be my favorite movie. It’s a film that is so intent on being original and inspiring and sincere, and it is all those things. On the other hand, I’ve come to realize when a movie is just a movie, and sometimes when a movie is just a movie, we should all take a step back and a deep breath. Across the Universe is just a movie.

Part of the problem, of course, was the hype. I thought Across the Universe would be full of surprises, but months ago I knew it was a film set in the 1960s, and that it was a musical featuring songs by the Beatles. I knew it was directed by Julie Taymor, who is a bit of a visionary, and that she was having trouble getting the studio to release her version of the film (which is kind of nuts, with a movie like this. Since Across the Universe exists only because of Taymor’s vision, releasing someone else’s version would be…that would be bad, I bet.) And since Across the Universe’s plot is also its plot twist, it’s hard to go completely nuts for it.

Evan Rachel Wood and Jim Sturgess are Lucy and Jude, respectively (Across the Universe also has characters named JoJo, Prudence, Sadie, Rita, Mr. Kite and a character who wrote a book called I am the Walrus.). Lucy is the kind of girl working class guys from Liverpool wrote songs about in the Sixties. She’s beautiful, friendly, smart and passionate. Jude, luckily, is a working class guy from Liverpool who looks just like Paul McCartney.

Lucy is from Ohio, attends school dances with her boyfriend, and has a pretty singing voice. Before long, her boyfriend has been shipped to Vietnam , where he is killed. After graduating, Lucy joins her brother Max in New York, along with his roommates Jude, Sadie (a Janis Joplin-esque singer who has sadly been sanitized for our PG-13 consumption. A Janis that howls mightily but doesn’t chug or inject or strip or sleep around? Snore.), JoJo (see the prior Janis comparison, only substitute Jimi Hendrix in her place. Snore again.), and the sad, lovely Prudence (played by T.V. Carpio).

There is conflict. Jude is not an American citizen, and isn’t missed in England , so the war isn’t a direct threat for him. And though he’s a believer in art and love, he can’t quite drum up much of a passion for protest. Lucy’s consumed with ending the war, believing her voice to possibly be the one to make a difference. There are riots, demonstrations, and multiple arrests, all set to appropriate Beatles songs. Some of it’s powerful stuff, but it’s nothing we haven’t seen before. Where Across the Universe (and Taymor’s direction) truly succeeds, is when the movie dips into the more psychedelic tunes from the Beatles’ catalog. Eddie Izzard plays Mr. Kite, sort of a P.T. Barnum for acid-droppers, and leads the characters through an awesome tour of a big-top headtrip. There’s beautiful underwater imagery, mind-blowing special effects, sincere performances, and of course all those catchy songs. But storywise, doesn’t Across the Universe sound kind of like Hair? Or maybe even that shitty Sixties miniseries from a few years ago? I’m afraid it might be. Luckily, I was dazzled enough by all the flash not to mind during the movie.

Ultimately, maybe Across the Universe is an art piece. Maybe, this time next year, I’ll watch it in chunks, little music videos, and love it. In that way, it reminds me of Natural Born Killers. I know, some of you just literally said the word “no” out loud. But remember the first time you saw it, how you couldn’t absorb every single detail, because there were always ten things happening at once? The animation, the blood, the crazy edits, the music were all thrown at us in such an aggressive way, it was like movies were never going to be the same. For all the craziness on screen in Across the Universe, I wanted even more, to balance the ordinariness of the story. I wanted to be overwhelmed, exhausted, nearly assaulted by the spectacle; more of a boomer Moulin Rouge, if you will. When I saw Natural Born Killers, I thought every director would start fashioning multi-media experiences. It never really happened, though. Natural Born Killers is controversial, and hated by many, but no one ever denies its creativity, energy, or vision.

It’s also got four of the most interesting, vibrant performances of the 1990s. As the central celebrity killers, Juliette Lewis and Woody Harrelson are trashy, decadent, repulsive, hilarious and larger than life every minute they’re on screen. My favorite moments are the fight in the “key lime pie” diner, and the blood-oath marriage on a bridge. Likewise, Tommy Lee Jones and Robert Downey Jr. have a blast playing despicable characters, out for fame, money and blood. Oh, and they’re the good guys.

I bet Oliver Stone is a big Julie Taymor fan. Whatever you think of either of their movies, you can’t deny they push the boundaries of the medium each time they get behind a camera. And if the plots aren’t quite there (Natural Born Killers, at its base, is True Romance, which is superior, narratively, and is itself already cribbing from Badlands), then they can say all along that we’re missing the point anyway. Film is visual, after all, and maybe that should be our primary goal: to excite our eyes. At times though, like when a lonely cheerleader crosses the football field singing I Want to Hold Your Hand, or when a damaged killer stomps around in her cell singing Born Bad, the results are visceral as well.

Across the Universe: B

Natural Born Killers: A-