I wonder what the cynical adulescents of Kevin Smith's early films would have to say about Red State... Just imagine this new outing as The Phantom Menace seen through the eyes of bitchy, over-analytical Randall from Clerks. What would you think he'd say? Would he rip it to shreds? Probably. Would he point out how uncaring the work is in regards to fans? No doubt. Would he ever stop talking about how bad it is? No. And although I am reluctant to praise Randall in any way (except for his hilarious depiction of the Lord of the Rings trilogy and his closing rant against Dante at the end of Clerks), I must say that I felt exactly like him while watching Red State. I felt like an abused fanboy ready to latch out violently against what I considered to be a cruel trick by Smith. However, it also got me thinking of a practical way to remove the horrible shit stain left on the screen by the director. Another film, a sequel, about the reactions of nerdy fans to his abysmal new film. Then maybe he could redeem himself, seeing how he can only make relevant films when they're entirely located within the confines of malls, convenience stores, studios and other such places where slackers congregate to talk shit about this or that dreadful cultural product.
Are you seeing what I'm seeing?
While eagerly anticipated by flocks and flocks of fans, Kevin Smith's new film, a confused hodgepodge of torture-porn-cum-action comedy, plays strictly for cheap laughs and dry, witless cynicism directed at the most obvious of targets, the Southern red states. In the literal sense, a red state is simply a Republican state. Hence, the film title alone should tell you just how unfocused Smith's attack on conservatives is. Gun-toting, gay-bashing, religious fanatics abound. Sometimes ridiculed to the point of silliness, sometimes gravely depicted, they never come off as characters. They're mere archetypes crafted to push on the viewer's buttons instead of being cogs in a real narrative. Such indeterminacy plagues the entire film, starting with the early promise of torture porn, which quickly evaporates to set the stage for a never-ending action sequence that would feel more at home in a Michael bay film. Torpedoed by Smith's unsure foot at the helm, and in the editing room, this film is a highly unwelcome departure from the character-driven, slacker-realist comedies that have made fat, bearded Smith a staple of the American indie scene. It is an ill-advised attempt at generating cynicism outside of his comfort zone and away from the involving and everyday look of his better outings. New rarely means better, and it is certainly not the case here.
Don't be fooled by the gag; this ain't a horror film.
I will not fiddle with the puck here, as Smith did while shooting his film. Red State is an exercise in futility, a tedious, never-ending series of uninspired, flavorless vignettes trying to pass off as a legitimate, high-minded critique of religious extremism. And while the main antagonist manages to give an occasional jolt of electricity to this lifeless outing, he cannot balance the shit-filled scale that is the narrative. Red State is probably one of the worst Fantasia films I have seen in years, and certainly the worst Kevin Smith film out there. While the famed anecdotalist struggles to create a coherent storyline out of the many big ideas and genre inclinations contained in the film, he also struggles in the editing room, where he multiplies the abrupt cuts and awkward alternations of contrasting moods contributing to the atrocious pacing of the ensemble. Cutting back and forth between genuine moments of dramatic tension, mean-spirited snippets of over-the-top violence and absurd comedy bits, the film ultimately amounts to a confused and highly dubious mish-mash of ideas thrown in a mixer, which is then flicked on with crossed fingers. It's like throwing the entire contents of your vegetable crisper in a blender, pushing the button and hoping for the best. In this case, Smith hadn't realized that there were lots of rotting onions and rancid kelp in the mix, which is probably what caused the debilitating sickness of his narrative.
Michael Parks does what he can to try and
bring a silly caricature to life
Aiming to please both his own fan-base and the horror film crowd, Smith manages to please neither. Because while he sets up an horror film early on, he never follows up on this, nor does he manage to craft the kind of likeable slackers and engrossing, over-the-top situations which he is famous for. Drawing energy from the torture porn premise he apparently vows to update, Smith offers horror fans a tantalizing perspective, which he never capitalizes upon. Instead, he abruptly branches into Greengrass-esque territory, leaving his three leads in the dust and starting anew, with a new protagonist and a new, lighter mood at the halfway mark of the film. The ultra-lengthy, but strangely involving monologue meant to establish Cooper as a delusional, but charismatic monster is thus defused and so are all the efforts made to establish mood up to that point. After that, the film never recovers, deconstructing and rebuilding itself endlessly much to the dismay of the viewer. Throw in some useless, incongruous peripheral characters such as the gay sheriff portrayed with unease by Stephen Root and you've got a narrative far too dense for its own good. Had I trusted my instincts, I would've walked out when the boat started drifting away toward the maelstrom of irrelevance. But I stayed instead... which isn't bad, considering the extra ammo I was given to whine about the film, and thus, to stay true to Kevin Smith, whom I still love.
1/5 Throw a whole bunch of narrative influences, bland caricatures and one hell of a vain, overlong gunfight together without any discrimination and you get something like this: an empty, uninspired farce that will forever scar Smith's filmography.
