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USA 1999
Reviewed by David Jays
Our synopses give away the plot in full, including surprise twists.
Walt (Robert De Niro), a retired security guard, lives in an apartment block on the Lower East Side in New York. When gangsters rampage through the building in search of stolen money, Walt tries to intervene but suffers a stroke. He is partially paralysed and his speech severely affected. In order to help his speech, he takes singing lessons with his neighbour Rusty (Philip Seymour Hoffman), a drag queen and performer. Despite their mutual suspicion, their sessions go well, and Walt meets Dusty's fellow drag artists.
Rusty confides to Walt that he has hidden the gangsters' money in a dressmaker's dummy and can now afford a sex-change operation. Walt recovers sufficiently to dance at his regular bar with a hostess whom he had previously snubbed. That night, hearing Rusty being beaten by the thugs, who suspect him of having their money, he intervenes. He and Rusty fight off and shoot their attackers, but Walt is wounded. Rusty pays for the emergency treatment with the money earmarked for his operation.
Joel Shumacher's films are unsteady juggernauts. Brash liberalism hurtles alongside irresistible sentiment, precarious command of tone and flickering homoeroticism. A Time to Kill, his sweaty John Grisham adaptation, may be the most convincing of his films, but Flawless is enjoyable whenever the movie leaves its rails. A plot about stroke victim Walt learning song from drag queen Rusty conjures up such unpromisingly twinkling scenarios that it's good to see the characters resist togetherness. Ex-security guard Walt, played by Robert De Niro, proves resistant to campery, and bracing insult peppers the dialogue. Shumacher's screenplay cannily decoys its narrative of triumph-through-adversity when a dizzy queen assures Walt, "You have a My Left Foot thing going on, haven't you?" Rusty, played by Philip Seymour Hoffman, also maintains a wry commentary of movie references: during the final chase, he rallies by thinking of "Grace Kelly in Rear Window".
Shumacher insists on correspondences between his protagonists, especially in the sequence in which they prepare for a night out to the strut and swoon of a tango soundtrack. Each defines himself through paraphernalia - Walt lives among his dusty history, his medal for bravery and celebratory cuttings, while Rusty's apartment is cluttered with powder brushes and photos of screen divas. While Walt clears the floor with a slow-step at the Private Dancer bar, so Rusty, glittering in amber, teasingly comperes the cabaret at Femmes Fatales. More importantly, they share statuesque self-sufficiency, refusing pity and compromise. Neither bursts into 'I Am What I Am', but you get the idea.
Flawless is a fractured picture, which is its most winning aspect. The apartment block is a heartbreak hotel for the elderly and the oddball. In an arresting stylistic tic, Walt's neighbour strums songs of abandonment through a half-open door. Jolts of inconsequentiality divert the film's inspirational progress. An old dame greets Walt's accident with, "You think that's bad? I didn't sleep a wink last night!" The violence forcing the plot may be monochrome, but it's echoed in equally perfunctory clashes between rowdy drag gangs ("I need some dykes!" squawks a nervous peacekeeper).
Like other tales of New York - Last Exit to Brooklyn (1989), Taxi Driver (1976) - Flawless displays the freakshow of the lonely town. Walt's apartment sits in sullen puddles of blue-grey light and director of photography Declan Quinn (Leaving Las Vegas) and production designer Jan Roelfs (Orlando) create the perfect environment for characters living separate lives in intrusive proximity. Even in their confessional cups, Rusty and Walt choose to sit alongside each other rather than face-to-face.
The leads perform interesting variations on their screen personae. De Niro is celebrated for the demands he has made on his body during his career (notably Raging Bull), and suits this role of reluctant transformation. Walt strains for fitness (as in the opening ball game), but grim lines tug at his mouth even before the stroke cruelly accentuates them, and his performance subsequently squeezes through vocal and physical constraints. Hoffman is similarly an artist of insistent, creative fleshiness. His characters have an uncomfortable relationship with clammy corporeality (Happiness, Boogie Nights), or make their bulk an arrogant battering-ram (The Talented Mr. Ripley). Rusty, planning a sex-change, decorates but disdains his body. Hoffman also finds a terrific vocal register for the New Jersey queen, a husky plateau skating between sob and sass.