The Canyons
(USA, 99 min.)
Dir. Paul Schrader, Writ. Bret Easton Ellis
Starring: Lindsay Lohan, James Deen, Nolan Funk, Amanda
Brooks.
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| Tara (Lindsay Lohan), and Christian (James Deen). Courtesy of Mongrel Media |
“You can work around bad behaviour,” noted director Paul
Schrader during an extended chat in Toronto earlier this year, “but bad casting
leaves an irreparable, permanent imprint on a production.” Schrader made the
comment while discussing his then-upcoming film The Canyons after presenting a clip at a screening of Taxi Driver hosted by The Seventh Art.
Schrader’s comment, which was made in reference to the notorious on-set
behaviour of star Lindsay Lohan, seems appropriate when the clip of The Canyons is put in the context of the
film as a whole. The Canyons doesn’t
suffer due to Lohan’s bad behaviour. In fact, she’s probably the best thing
about the film. Bad casting, however, might still be the downfall of Schrader’s
admirable misfire.
James Deen, despite his good looks and novel persona, isn’t
the right person to sell yesterday’s garbage. Lohan can still carry a film, but
Deen can’t. It ultimately seems pointless to cast an adult film star in such a
heavy role, since The Canyons calls
upon Deen only once to fill the frame with his, er, large screen presence. Whenever
Deen holds the screen, The Canyons
does indeed have “a deadness to it”, as one SXSW programmer aptly noted.
Deen’s brooding come-hither stare provides a good tease
during the opening few minutes of The
Canyons, yet his lack of dramatic skills betray him early in the film. For
example, one ensuing scene sees Deen fill the frame with his well-toned body as
his character, a sleazy trust-fund brat turned schlock movie producer named
Christian, engages in one of his many nefarious affairs. Deen is rather
convincing in the bedroom scene, but The
Canyons quickly becomes flaccid as soon as Deen stops his business
mid-thrust and opens his mouth. His line delivery has a flatness that would do
Madonna proud. Deen, for all his extensive credits, can’t even provide a
convincing “Y-E-S”.
Lohan, on the other hand, deserves more credit for The Canyons than the pre-release snark
has given her. Lohan’s performance as Tara, Christian’s girlfriend/play-thing
marks a surprisingly appropriate role with which Lohan may salvage her career.
It’s hard not to see the parallels between the actress who made it big at a
young age but got caught up in the scene that goes along with the spotlight and
the twenty-something character who made a decent start in modelling but fell
into a comfort zone of booze, sex, and excess to fill a meandering career.
Lohan hasn’t shown this much dramatic range in years and she easily gives her
best performance since Mean Girls
almost ten years ago. The infamy of Lohan’s star persona enhances her
performance unlike Deen’s, which brings untenable expectations.
The toll of Lohan’s lifestyle is plainly clear on Tara. One
can almost see the hangover in her face as Tara restlessly drifts from one
lover—or bottle—to another. There’s a desperation to the performance, too, but
not in a bad sense, as Tara tries to break from the sex-kitten mould that
Christian has put her in. She’s tired of the lifestyle and she wants a break
from it, but she doesn’t know how to do so.
It might sound like trashing-humping to read so much into The Canyons, but the conflation of
character and star persona is hard to shake from the film’s weary look at
Hollywood in decline. The Canyons is
very much about the decay of the film industry: it’s a way of business that’s
killing itself off through its own methods and madness. Lohan delivers a monologue
that affords the film its most coherent substance as Tara muses to a friend
(Amanda Brooks) about the decline of the film experience. Going to the movies
just isn’t something people do anymore, she notes. The Canyons stresses Tara’s nostalgia for the moviegoing days by
offering chapter cards that indicate the time-frame of the film atop still
frames of abandoned and decrepit cinemas.
The cinema, like Tara/Lohan, is killing itself off by its
own reckless behaviour. As moviegoers turn away from franchise flicks that cost
thirteen bucks a ticket and as the studios continue to churn out films of
costly gaudy excess, the business devolves so that it survives on a temporary
high. Fewer films are built to last these days and The Canyons plays upon a generation that thrives on sensory
overload versus substantial communication. Like the redundant studio films that
can’t bring people to the movie houses, the characters of The Canyons have an apathetic deadness to them that is filled with
sex, alcohol, and blinking lights. Almost every major revelation in The Canyons is mediated through a text
message or some form of iThing. These people have nothing to do but find
anonymous sex partners on the internet and check their phones will the sit with
other people during lunch. There’s nary a soul to be found in The Canyons, just hot young disposable
things.
The debauchery and sordid behaviour of the despicable souls
in The Canyons doesn’t make its point
succinctly enough, though, to be entirely convincing. Comparisons to Sofia
Coppola’s The Bling Ring or Harmony
Korine’s Spring Breakers might yield better
(or worse) examples of films that have told similar cautionary tales of the
youth of today, but The Canyons
meanders too much in subplots and half-baked lewdness to make a strong
impression. The cinematography by John DeFazio, though, is consistently
striking, especially during the much-hyped group sex scene that accentuates the
sleaziness of Christian’s urges with flashing neon lights, and the music by
Brendan Canning adds a sense of blasé LA self-indulgence. Likewise, Lohan
certainly holds her own and provides compelling moments, although comparatively
weaker performances by less able supporting players and the fascinating, if limp,
Deen suffocate the morale of The Canyons
with dead air.
The film might be saved if Tara’s nostalgia for the
moviegoing days is taken in light of the film’s production. The Canyons, famously known for its creation
outside the studios and for its independent financing by the filmmakers and crowd-sourcing
donors, is essentially the proof of Tara’s query. (The fact that the film is
only available on VOD outside of major markets is an added bit of irony.) One
knows that the industry is in a shady state when a great filmmaker looks into
his own pockets and starts mining the dumpster for inspiration. The Canyons is not so much trash but
innovative recycling, which is basically what the studio tent poles are but
they find their way to theatres. Studio junk at least has some mind that the
picture is being made for others, while self-financed films can circumvent
studio red tape and move forward with self-indulgent and self-destructive
choices. The Canyons has already
turned a profit for the filmmakers, as the $250 000 film sold to IFC for a
million dollars. The final product, however, suffers from a lack cohesion that
is largely due to casting choices of which conventional backers might have been
cautious. The Canyons, for all its
admirable attempts to use the newest trends in independent filmmaking, is itself
ultimately a by-product of circumstances that pay off commercially, but not
artistically.
The Canyons’ air
of vapidity never fully sells the idea that this new-age noir is really a moral
fable about the decrepit state of cinema. The revival of Lindsay Lohan shows
that something can indeed be saved in Ellis’s seedy scripting of post-empire
culture, and the aura of sleaze and the laid-back stylishness of Schrader’s
approach certainly give one the sense that The
Canyons has something smart to say about the wasteland of Hollywood; it
just never really comes together. (One would think James Deen could at least
ensure that.) The Canyons a hot mess, which, ironically, is what many people say
about most studio extravagances these days.
Rating: ★★½ (out of ★★★★★)
Rating: ★★½ (out of ★★★★★)
The Canyons is currently playing in Toronto at TIFF Bell Lightbox.
It is also available
on iTunes.
