HIGHWAY TO HELL -

Traffic & 13 Days

By Greg Walton

Review Film Critic

    	Accents are an actor's best friend.  They're the ultimate

expression of utter identification with one's onscreen alter ego, the

complete emotional makeover that signals a true actor's dedication to

immerse himself in his or her craft.  They're also an arm-waving,

butt-smooching, down-on-your hands-and-knees plea for Academy recognition

and the opportunity to lick Oscar's gold-plated head.

Take Gwenyth Paltrow, who's convinced everyone in L.A. she's a

porcelain-skinned British princess rather than a nasal-voiced nag from New

Jersey.  How can American audiences be expected to trust Hollywood if we

can't ferret out the foreigners?

Two new films, Traffic and 13 Days, flaunt their accents and their politics

with equal gusto, but approach their complex stories from two radically

different philosophies of filmmaking.

Steven Soderberg's Traffic takes the grit left on the bottom of The French Connection's shoe and grinds it into the political and personal turmoil that is America's War on Drugs.  13 Days puts a polished face on the historical figure of JFK, and the apocalypse that almost was during the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962.

With all the Oscar gossip whispered in Steven Soderbergh's ear following

Erin Brockovich, it's no wonder he felt he had the clout to try another

sprawling, ensemble drama that jumps between characters, countries, and

lapses of conscience with narrative impunity.  But just to hedge his bets,

he tossed in controversial couple of the moment Michael Douglas & Catherine

Zeta-Jones-Douglas (one more hyphen and she gets a free tote bag) and

Hollywood mysterioso Benecio Del Toro.  Traffic is, despite an

overwhelming amount of gee-whiz directorial finesse, an actor's movie from

beginning to end.

Backed up by a supporting cast of real life politicians and federal border guards, Soderbergh takes great pains to make his film feel dirty - to roll around in the stink of reality - and back up what is a mostly pessimistic view of this country's never-ending battle against illegal drugs. Shot on ultra-grainy film, with washed out yellow and blue tints, Traffic looks like a documentary of the lowest order (or a film school grad version thereof).  Tearing a page out of his stunning work on The Limey, Soderbergh bounces between thin strings of circumstance that cross on well constructed avenues of coincidence.  This is his experiment - sound, story, and vision.

On the plot end of things, Douglas is the newly appointed Drug Czar,

determined to make a difference, whose own daughter is on the fast track to

full-fledged addiction.  Zeta-Jones is a domesticated debutante whose

husband  (Aidan Quinn) is arrested for dealing, sending her life in chaos.

Del Toro is an honest Mexican cop whose country is consumed with corruption

from the barrio to the baseball diamonds.  Not only does Del Toro

out-shine, out-cool, and generally out-act the rest of the cast with half

the lines of dialogue, he swishes around a Spanish accent like a mouthful

of marbles; combining equal parts Marlon Brando's Godfather and Tommy Chong

after a big score.

Traffic is smart, ambitious, and purposefully ambiguous.  Soderbergh lets

slip his version of a solution (treat the addict, and you stop the supply)

but the resolutions for each of his characters are either conveniently

contrite or completely non-existent.

Certain storylines draw you in, like Del Toro & Douglas' personal crusades,

while others drift into Miami Vice boredom.  You get the feeling Soderbergh

sacrificed a punchy script to prove a point.  Well-intentioned, superbly

photographed, but only intermittently engrossing, Traffic weaves across the

yellow line of Hollywood cliches and indie innovation.  But too often

chooses a bland highway over the scenic route.

Grade: B-

13 Days risks losing all credibility the moment Kevin Costner opens his

mouth.  Instead of the smooth Texas drawl everyone's come to expect, out

pops Mayor Quimby of the Simpsons - delivering the ah...worst Bahston

accent in the...ah...history of cinema.  But even Costner can't keep the

legacy of the Kennedys down for long, and 13 Days pulls out of its

accent-imperiled tailspin to deliver a jazzed up Democratic history lesson.

On the cusp of re-election, John F. Kennedy (Bruce Greenwood) and his

brother, Bobby (Steven Culp), are faced with the threat of all out war when

the USSR moves offensive nuclear missiles into Cuba.  The options are few,

but there's no shortage of opinions.  The US generals opt for invasion, the

Kennedys recommend international boycotts, but as the situation becomes

unstable, the entire country is looking down the barrel of WWIII.

The challenge director Roger Donaldson (who worked on another Costner

political-thriller No Way Out ) faces is how to make all the West Wing

mumbo-jumbo more exciting than your average typo-filled history book.

What's even more surprising, he pulls it off.  Not just with a couple of

intense battle sequences (like tree-topping spy missions  & high altitude

missile maneuvers), but by cranking up the stakes in the oval office to a

white-knuckle, pass  me the Mylanta level.

Costner plays second fiddle to Greenwood as JFK and a supporting cast

that's more crowded than a Big Boy breakfast buffet on Sunday.  As special

advisor to the President Kenneth O'Donnell, Costner passes out sage advice

and watches history unfold from a less than unbiased political perspective.

13 Days presents the Kennedys as much more than heroes; more like the

Catholic Wondertwins with Costner as Gleek the wondermonkey.  But for all

the unsubtle Democratic posturing, the film excels at relating how

dangerous the world of Washington can be towards any perceived threat to

the status quo.

When our leaders are willing to risk war just to save face, the office of

President suddenly becomes more than a cool way to meet chicks.

13 Days deserves praise not only for turning history into a flat out

pressure-cooker of a movie, but taking the high road in doing so.

Grade: A-