Reviews

Heart-wrenching performances, a witty and sensitive (but never sappy) script, and characters so real they could walk off the screen: these aren't usually things to be found in gay-themed movies, but Beautiful Thing has all of them and more. Where Brokeback Mountain left me devastated and believing happiness couldn't ever last (I will never watch it again), and Latter Days is a prime example of style over substance, Beautiful Thing makes me feel like love is out there and it's really worth fighting for. It has stayed with me vividly and powerfully since I first saw it, and I continue to watch parts of it often.

I don't know if Glen Berry or Scott Neal could have realized what an impact this film would have on some viewers, but I wish I could thank them for bringing such humanity, realism, and likability to the roles of Jamie and Ste. Linda Henry, too, in the brilliant role of Sandra, gives a performance worthy of an Oscar, and Sandra's boyfriend Tony (played perfectly by Ben Daniels) is hilarious and surprisingly endearing. The script is not self-conscious or saccharine; it is uplifting without being preachy, and tender without being grating. If you're gay or just a human being with empathy and understanding (and a good sense of humor -- the script is terribly clever and the film really benefits from multiple viewings), Beautiful Thing is an experience you should not miss. It's a film I will cherish forever, enhanced by the music of Mama Cass Elliot (who was truly gifted and whose death was a great loss).

Favorite scenes (though almost every scene is really a favorite): the "Make Your Own Kind of Music" chase in the woods (I may love this scene more than anything else ever), the bedroom scenes with Jamie and Ste, and the final sequence, (featuring Mama Cass's beautiful "Dream a Little Dream of Me") which I will not spoil -- I envy the first-time viewer, who is in for a huge treat. I like to think that Jamie and Ste live on forever in the final shot, the future uncertain but the present a greater joy than they had ever known, their love a small but bright glimmer of hope in an otherwise gray world.

There is a profound conflict that runs throughout Gattaca -- superficiality versus true depth. The citizens of the film's dystopian society are beautiful on the outside, but in contrast to the aesthetic societal standards of today, beauty on the surface is not enough here. Humans have been genetically engineered to be perfect, right down to the very cells of which they are made. This adds an additional layer to the outside/inside conflict with which we are all faced in 2006; today, there is beauty on two levels: the bodily level and the spiritual level (i.e., "the person inside," as a simplified description). In Gattaca, these layers still exist, but the third is perhaps most important -- beauty on a cellular level.

Vincent Freeman, played by Ethan Hawke in a nuanced and moving performance, is a testament to the fallibility of genetic engineering. At birth, he was never given a chance, his parents having been told with 99% certainty that he would develop a heart condition and die by age 30. He has always dreamed of leaving the world that is so prejudiced against the naturally born, the flawed, and finding his place in the infinite realm of space. However, the hotshot scientists at Gattaca -- the preeminent aerospace institute of the era -- let him in only to be a common janitor. Why invest in someone so certain to fail?

Vincent is not content to watch, day after day, as manned rockets are sent into space to do the research and exploration for which he so desperately craves. He knows that despite what geneticists and doctors have said, he is "as good as all, better than most." With the help of a shady underground businessman (Shalhoub), Vincent takes on a new identity: Jerome Morrow. The real Jerome (Law) had been a world-class swimmer before an accident left him paralyzed, confined to a wheelchair. Vincent changes his hair, gets colored corrective lenses, and follows an austere daily regimen to eliminate traces of his own "in-valid" DNA, to be replaced by conspicuously placed samples from the genetically flawless Jerome. When the narrative picks up, Vincent, posing as Jerome, has a prominent place at Gattaca and is one week away from taking a year-long voyage to Titan, one of Saturn's moons. With the murder of a director at Gattaca, however, his secret identity is thrown in jeopardy; crime scene investigators are determined to find the culprit, and a rogue eyelash leads them to the in- valid Vincent Freeman, whom nobody connects to the Jerome Morrow they know and respect.

From this premise, which is created subtly and smoothly by Niccol, Gattaca truly takes off. Thurman's performance as Vincent's love interest, Irene, is pitch-perfect; she plays the character with a coolly detached elegance appropriate for the futuristic dystopia while maintaining a sympathetic air of humanity. The relationship between Hawke's and Thurman's characters feels genuine (as it should, considering the actors' subsequent marriage), and that between Vincent and his cellularly perfect brother Anton (Dean) is complex but easily understood on a basic, universal level. Many moments between the brothers are among the most poignant captured on film, especially in the science fiction genre (of which I am not normally a huge fan, but this movie is just remarkable).

I have watched this film several times and have yet to tire of it. Though many pictures have been able to pull off sleek, futuristic looks, few of these have anything below the surface. Gattaca does, and it packs an emotional punch. There is a remarkably small number of movies that feel nearly perfect to me; Gattaca is one of them. I would not change a single thing about it even if I could. The characters are fully developed, the plot is intriguing and compelling, the cinematography and sets are beautiful. What is truly amazing about Gattaca, however, is its ability to develop and show its viewers something absolutely vital: what it means to be human.