Primary navigation

USA/France 1999
Reviewed by Geoffrey Macnab
Our synopses give away the plot in full, including surprise twists.
Lyle Carter is a millionaire businessman who breeds and trains thoroughbreds on his estate in Lexington, Kentucky. He is about to sell Simpatico, a highly valued stallion, when he receives a call from his old friend Vinnie who claims he has been arrested. Years before, Vinnie and Carter collaborated on a horse-racing scam. Their plan was rumbled by racing commissioner Simms, but they blackmailed him by photographing him having sex with Rosie, Vinnie's girlfriend at the time. Rosie informed the racing authorities Simms was crooked and his career was ruined.
Vinnie, now living in squalor in Cucamonga, Ca., wants to make up with Simms. Worried this might jeopardise his business empire, Carter flies out to California to stop him. Vinnie steals Carter's plane ticket and flies back to Kentucky where he tracks down Simms who is annoyed and wants nothing to do with him. When Carter realises what Vinnie is up to, he persuades Vinnie's friend Cecilia to meet Simms with a suitcase full of money to keep Simms quiet. Simms is charmed by Cecilia. Carter, meanwhile, stays at Vinnie's place, gradually turning into a bum himself. Vinnie confronts Rosie, now Carter's wife. Carter had been planning to sell Simpatico to stud for a fortune, despite knowing he's incapable of siring any foals. Rather than let this happen, Rosie rides off on the horse and shoots him. Months later, Cecilia turns up to meet Simms at the Kentucky Derby.
Unlike other films about horse-racing, which tend either to strike a light Damon Runyonesque comic tone (California Split, 1974, for example) or to play out along the lines of a Dick Francis thriller, Simpatico unfolds with all the solemnity of a Greek tragedy. Adapted from a Sam Shepard play, the film features three protagonists who have unleashed the furies on themselves through their own misdeeds. "There's no running away any more," Rosie snarls at one co-conspirator. "You're in your hell and I'm in mine."
The film starts out reminiscent of Wim Wenders' Paris, Texas (scripted by Shepard). This time, instead of Harry Dean Stanton's Travis wandering through the desert, the dishevelled loner Vinnie is a bum living in a rundown LA bungalow beside the freeway. Just as Travis was eventually reunited with his ex-wife, Vinnie has a painful, final-reel reunion with his former girlfriend Rosie, now married to Carter. In Paris, Texas Wenders used home-movie footage to evoke happier times between Travis and his wife. Here, director Matthew Warchus (best known for his work on the London stage) and his co-writer David Nicholls resort to flashbacks in which we see younger versions of the three leads.
What might have been a fast-moving noir thriller, touching on blackmail and race fixing, is weighed down by its own gravitas. Vinnie, Carter and Rosie are so consumed with guilt they cast a pall of gloom over the film. Jeff Bridges' resilient yuppie Carter may seem the model of the successful businessman, but from the first time we see him with Vinnie (Nick Nolte, in a performance which rekindles memories of the tramp he played in Down and Out in Beverly Hills), it is obvious both men are damned, and that each offers a distorted reflection of the other. It is no surprise how easily they switch identities.
In a drama like this, where almost everybody is tainted, there is invariably one holy innocent. Here, Catherine Keener takes on the thankless role as the Pollyanna-like check-out girl Cecilia. Her scenes with Simms, the disgraced racing commissioner, sum up just why the film finally seems so inconsequential. His response to her bribe is an offer of a day at the races. While Vinnie, Carter and Rosie tear themselves up with Euripidean angst, Simms simply isn't bothered. His indifference makes their antics seem absurd; if he doesn't care that they ruined him, why should they?
Like fellow British theatre director Sam Mendes with American Beauty, Warchus allows his actors plenty of space to develop their characters. Jeff Bridges, Nick Nolte and Albert Finney, all in typically belligerent form, have their share of close-ups and monologues. There's a striking cameo, too, from Sharon Stone as the blowzy, hard-drinking Rosie, spitting out sarcastic one-liners. Warchus succeeds in opening out Shepard's play for the screen, but ultimately the problem is that the material just doesn't have the emotional resonance of Sam Shepard's very best work.