The Edge: Faithless Trophy Wife, a non-Character

And now, the wife. How am I going to write 500 words about a non-character?

Last time, I commented that The Edge seems at first like a Jack London story: man-against-nature--and I do not mean "people" against nature--with no character development. But either David Mamet intended it to be unexpectedly deep, or else Anthony Hopkins happened upon the cuckold husband role and transformed the movie.

I tend to think the latter. I read that rumor in a biography of Hopkins, in fact. I learned that the Morse character, as originally written, was something of a jerk, himself: he was Cameraman Bob's own age, more or less, and, like Bob, American, and he was something of a prig. A needler. Rich, smug, and arrogant.

Gives the trophy wife's "Bet you can't stump 'im!" comment a whole new ring, doesn't it? (See The Edge: Bookworm) And it changes everything about the way the two men face off, when they do--but that's to come. Here, I must mull over the character of Mickie, Elle MacPherson's character. The trophy. There is resoundingly nothing to mull over!

Let's recap the tale: A photographer named Bob sets off on a wilderness photo shoot with his girlfriend (the model), his crew, and her husband, Charles Morse, who's footed the bill for the trip and provided the transportation. Things go wrong. The male two-thirds of the triangle are cast in sharp relief upon a mountainscape, and they have to find their way back to civilization, stalked (chillingly) by a man-eating bear. Along the way, animosity outs: the younger man's envy--and his affair--come to light and are resolved.

Meanwhile, the woman that my dad identified right away as the faithless trophy wife (MacPherson) is back at the lodge, awaiting the men's rescue and presumably twiddling her thumbs. She is about as cardboard as they come. Even she has some dignity, however; she's faithless, but she's not conniving. She seems to have some genuine affection for the old billionaire she married, considering that she's stabbing him in the back; big words like ‘loyalty’ and ‘ethics’ appear not to have occurred to her.

                                                                                                                         

What more to say?

Well...we could move to the feminist perspective.

<full stop>

I picked this movie out of the discount bin, did I not mention that? It's not popular! It's...well, it would be dismissable, but for Hopkins. Hopkins steps in, adds 20 years to the husband's age and gives him a barely-perceptible-but-no-less-distinct accent--and he drags the whole cast up to his level! More and more, I wonder what the original book or screenplay must have been like!

Gess and I agreed not to write movie reviews, but you need this information to see why I’d bother to take The Edge apart, again and again.

Or maybe I was just trying to understand a certain type of male mystique.

This movie flip-flops from male ... rutting ... to male bonding (and back, but let's save the spoiler for the subsequent posts). There's really nothing else there! If I start wagging my finger about the depth that Elle MacPherson's character lacks, I'll never get done--but, maddeningly, if she were any other way, this would be another movie! This one gives its characters simplistic treatments, because...because their author sees the world that way: Woman as anything more than foil, in a movie that examines … dueling … requires other than The Edge, for vehicle.

The End!

Two Men, Two Mummies

What is it about the The Mummy films, of 1932 and 1999, that frighten viewers? It can't be the Mummy itself; it's only seen for a very short time. The dried husk in the one and the “juicy” specimen in the other are on screen for only a few seconds. These are “monster” movies, but it's not the appearance of the monster that frightens. Both Mummies are hard to look at, but neither is wrapped in decaying cloth, dried up, and wrinkled for long. It's their power that frightens the fictional characters in the film and the live audiences in theaters and homes.

In the 1932 film, Boris Karloff's dessicated face and hands make viewers yearn for a damn good balm. Karloff's Mummy wakes in eerie silence, with deliberately slow movements. The camera lingers on his slowly opening eyelids, on the drop of first one bandaged hand and then the other, on his gentle caress of the Scroll of Toth that revived him, and lastly on his trailing wrappings as he exits. He takes what he needs and leaves the lone human present untouched. “He went for a little walk,” says the so-called “young Oxford chap” who awoke the Mummy, laughing maniacally. “You should have seen his face.” We have; it made us itch.

When next we see the Mummy, he is a man; old and dry, but clearly a man. Karloff's thin limbs and stiff posture are covered in long robes with high-necked dickeys. He is still dessicated and brittle, but definitely human. More important though, his eyes are alive and knowledgeable. It's immediately clear that this man/Mummy has knowledge and contempt of which to beware. Viewers know to fear him even before he says meaningfully, “We Egyptians are not permitted to dig up our ancient dead. Only foreign museums.” When you laugh, it's with a little worry. He calls to Anck-se-ne-Amun in a soft chant that only her reincarnated subconscious can hear and heed. With a similar quiet menace, he forces others to bend to his will or suffer the consequences. With beaming eyes and spells whispered through rigid jaw, he bends commands, “Return that scroll to me, or die.” From his lodgings decorated with only Egyptian antiquities, he watches, controls, and kills by apparent heart failure. And when death reaches him once again, it's only a sudden decomposition that occurs; his dried remains crumble into bones and dust. Not at all scary.

In 1999, Arnold Vosloo's Mummy is an altogether different creature. The scene of Imhotep's live mummification is an homage to Karloff in the same scene. Both men wear the same bewildered expression as their body is wrapped. Beyond that, they share only two characteristics; they are both devout and devoted. In flashbacks we see the men they were; devout high priests and devoted lovers.

In the first sight of Vosloo's Mummy, its gamy consistency, empty eye sockets, and gaping mouth are thrust at the audience with a screech. This Mummy awakens with an angry roar and lunges into action. He surges forth on an immediate hunt for the body parts he's missing and for those who have taken them. Vosloo too wears long robes, but his are gauzy and flowing, open to reveal an increasingly chiseled physique interrupted by a mere gauzy loin garment. Soon, this Mummy is healthy, strong, supple, and still royally angry. His movements are swift and powerful. And he doesn't waste time with requests, duplicity, or explanations. His rage is obvious. And his vengeance is wicked.

Neither Mummy truly frightens. Karloff's pacing and glowering are as amusing as Vosloo's loping run and protruding chest. Still, as the 1932 trailer says, “There is nothing on Earth like the Mummy.” So sit back and enjoy them both!

The Edge: Younger Man, Envying

Let's try to see this from the Younger Man's point of view, shall we?

[For those who just tuned in, we’re discussing The Edge, starring Anthony Hopkins as Charles Morse, a wealthy older man, and Alec Baldwin as a bitter, young photographer named Bob, who’s having an affair with the Hopkins character’s model-wife. The three, plus photo-shoot entourage, have trekked into the Alaskan wilderness aboard Morse’s private plane. It is a working vacation for the photo people; it is a distinctly uncomfortable moment, for the older man.]

Y.M. (Younger Man) relishes his photo-shoot moments, the stated purpose of their trip to the Alaskan inn, for then he has the Faithless Trophy Wife all to himself, sort of. Under normal circumstances, Morse would not be along; he's generally off being a financier of some kind, and they—or she (actually, it's never quite clear who thought this would be a good idea)—decided it would be good for the billionaire to take a break from running the world, and come with.

Once at the inn, Y.M. can be found bristling and envying, or else lamenting his lot as talented and underpaid. He pontificates, making himself an object of mirth to everyone, including his insignificant beloved. Everyone laughs at Y.M.—everyone, that is, except Mr. Billionaire, who seems not to get the joke. This does not help Y.M.’s disposition. Y.M. is developing quite a head of steam.

Y.M.’s goal seems to be to belittle, to embarrass, to drive a wedge—in short, he's an everyjackass. His motives regarding the trophy wife are transparent: there’s no love, there. Y.M. just wants to be a billionaire, and the closest he can get is to pick off the young wife of one.

I wonder, does this happen a lot, in real life?

<jk>

I spent many viewings of this film wondering who else I’d cast as Bob. Mel Gibson, perhaps. Now that Baldwin turns out to be a jerk in real life, too, I guess he’ll do.

So, here's the much-older husband, doddering around in his greatcoat, surrounded by feather-bundled youngsters. He smiles beatifically; he reads a book about survival in the wilderness, about bear traps and building fires, fishing in streams—all the things they end up needing to know how to do, later. Mister Bill(ionaire) is a sympathetic character, and I can’t help wondering if David Mamet drew him that way to begin with; I think he did not.

Y.M. wants it all: the plane, the wife, the respect, and the leisure time to stuff his head full of wilderness trivia. Whatever it is, he wants it. And he wants it bad enough to kill, for it. At first, anyway.

The Edge fooled a lot of people into dismissing it as a Jack London-like tale, but it isn’t. It’s a classic story about envy. The characters are sketchy, as are London’s—but so sketchy are they, that Hopkins stands in relief. And, up there on that pinnacle, he shines.

Trink is engrossed in this story again. It takes so little…!

In the Interest of Science

Do you ever wonder about the sanity of some scientists? For “knowledge,” some of them are willing to go to lengths most people deem unreasonable. They perform tasks like diving to dark, heavy-pressure depths; enduring bone-chilling cold; traveling through areas riddled with deadly animals and insects; even laughing in the face of ancient, life-threatening curses. Who are these people?

They are people who don’t allow obstacles of any sort or size deter them. They are the zealous and overzealous who accomplish the seemingly impossible. They are studious and dedicated. They are meticulous and obsessive. And they are a little bit crazy.

They are people like Sir Joseph Whemple of the 1932 “The Mummy,” who makes heartfelt statements like:

“Our job is to increase the sum of human knowledge… Not to satisfy our own curiosity.”

And:

“I can’t permit your beliefs to interfere with my work.”

And:

“In the interest of science, even if I believed in the curse, I’d go on with my work.”

He does go on with his work, to the detriment of others and, eventually, himself.

The same do-or-die spirit is displayed in “The Mummy” of 1999, in which the Egyptian museum curator makes egoistic declarations such as:

“We are scholars, not treasure hunters.”

And:

“For over three thousand years we have guarded the City of the Dead. […] to do any and all in our power to stop the High Prince Imhotep from being reborn into this world.”

Okay, maybe that last one is a bit much. But he, too, eventually pays the ultimate price.

These are people who live in a world where every question can be answered, every puzzle can be solved, and every evil overcome. Theirs is no world for the skeptical, doubtful, or irresolute. For people like these, we have many reasons to be grateful.