HUNCHBACKED TRANSEXUALS AND THE WOMEN WHO LOVE THEM

by Greg Walton

Review Film Critic

No matter what Andy Warhol says, most of us don't deserve our 15 minutes of

fame.  The vast majority of us can't do anything particularly creative,

entertaining, or even distracting - unless you count standing behind the

weatherman and waving to Aunt Flo in Petoskey.

And even though we're filmed at nearly every stage of life - from the

baptismal/circumcision double feature to the embarrassing potty training matinee  -

television seems to bring out the worst in everyone.

15 Minutes, the film, is kind enough to shift the blame for all this bad

behavior on a much easier target: the media.  This must come as a huge

relief to all the Springer guests who slept with their 300 pound sister in

a hot tub full of Cheez whiz.  But then again, no one is looking for excuses.

As fervently as 15 Minutes preaches against the gospel of media inspired

debauchery, it knowingly throws some scraps to the hungry mob.  After all,

Hollywood is just TV with less channels and a bigger ego.

 Riding out his next wave of career tough guys, Robert De Niro stars as

Detective Eddie Flemming, a bonafide cigar-chomping celebrity on the

streets of the Big Apple with a string of high-profile cases to his name.

His involvement in a recent homicide teams him up with Jordy Warsaw (Edward

Burns), an idealistic arson investigator who resents the hell out of

Eddie's fame but admires his results.

The men they're after are Emil and Oleg (Karel Roden and Oleg Taktarov),

two vowel-impaired Eastern European immigrants living out the new American

dream: to become rich and famous at all costs.  Their plan: steal a camera,

kill a celebrity, sell the footage, then plead insanity.  Not the best of

plans, but bear in mind these guys were probably watching nothing but

Baywatch and Dynasty re-runs.

The film's motives are blatantly obvious.  Just in case, there's TV's

Frasier (Kelsey Grammer) as a smarmy reporter quoting Johnnie Cochran isms

like... "If it bleeds, it leads!  (alternate line: 'If someone ain't shot,

you ain't got squat!' or, 'If they're dead, I make more bread').  But for a

contemporary issue movie15 Minutes is surprisingly old-fashioned.

DeNiro's noble cop and Burn's virginal fireman might as well be cowpunchers

in some John Ford western, so classically American are their values and

honor system.

 Director John Herzfeld, a veteran of TV issue movies like The Ryan White

Story is obviously a true believer in the old-school, two-fisted, lip

splittin' version of 'purple mountains' majesty.'  His heroes are larger

than life, and his villains are lower than dirt.  "You think I came to

America to work?!"  lead villain Karel responds in disgust when offered a

job as a plumber.  I'm sure he had his heart set on being a lifeguard.  But

lines like that exist only to set up the one-two screenwriting punch when

instant karma comes around.

With all this patriotic rambling you'd think the film was nothing more than

some boring after-school assignment for college credit - stay in school,

kids, and keep off the Oprah!

But 15 Minutes is a deceptively exciting movie - smartly scripted, very

well acted (especially by Roden and Taktarov in their U.S. debut) and often

wickedly funny.  It's that blend of humor and horror that keeps you hooked

into the proceedings despite the political posturing.

Capturing the first murder on tape almost by accident, Oleg becomes more

and more enamored with his role of director, even bothering to film over

his shoulder during a footchase with the cops.  He's a quirky character,

but a believable one because he himself believes in something.

And as heavy-handed as some of the moments in 15 Minutes are, Herzfeld

redeems himself by creating characters with purpose - not dictated by some

phony foo-foo action movie gimmick.  And he does it by revealing as little

as possible.  There are romantic entanglements, patriarchal subplots, and

misguided ambitions, but all in moderation.  It's what the film leaves out

that makes it seem complete.  This all fits in well with De Niro's acting

style - whose best stuff seems to be made up of moments when the director

was sleeping one off.

Sure, we could always debate whether the film is hypocritically promoting

media irresponsibility by milking the gruesome violence, lurid sex, and

shameless commercial ad campaign for its own purposes.  But Survivor's on

in ten minutes and I hear Elizabeth is gonna gut a boar in her bikini.

Priorities people.

Grade: B

ZEN-MASTER FLASH

How and why Steven Seagal went from tough talkin' square-jawed, butt kicker

to pot-bellied, pigeon-toed tree hugger the world may never know.  But

after treating us to three or four politically correct films of flaming dog

poo (with titles like On Deadly Ground & Fire Down Below) it's no mystery

why he shed the nature-boy image.  Even die-hard fans were ready to cover

the guy in crude oil and beat him like a baby seal.

 Exit Wounds is the latest hip-hop action crossover from producer Joel

Silver, whose Jet Li quickie Romeo Must Die turned a tidy profit by laying

P-H-A-T beats over Hong Kong style.

While Jet was jammed rather uncomfortably into a standard Americanized

revenge yarn, this kind of stuff is right up Seagal's alley.  A cop who

can't play by the rules has his unmanageable bad-self demoted to Detroit's

15th precinct where he uncovers a corrupt cop conspiracy so blatant they

might as well have embroidered bowling shirts.

DMX is around to add some street cred (let's face it, Seagal's top billing

died about as quick as he did in Executive Decision), but this is

unquestionably old-school Stevie.  Although it must have been almost

irresistibly tempting to hook on Matrix stunt wires and send the big lug

zipping into a shiny new career, he admirably does what he does best: stand

still and take hits like a flabby punching bag.

Producer Silver always had a flair for the explosive, and the action scenes

resonate with more energy than they have any right to - like an improbable

but incredibly fun fight scene with Seagal handcuffed inside a driverless

van.  Even Tom Arnold lives up to his flash-in-the-pan True

Lies potential 10 years later with an amusing turn as a rage-aholic talk

show host.

Come for the kicks.  Stay for the violence.  Then take a long hot shower to

wash off the guilty pleasure.

Grade: C+ but I'll bump it to a B- if Seagal promises not to cry every time

I spit my gum out the car window.