Capone
トーク情報- kutenbuki
kutenbuki There is a line between “good” and “bad” where quantifiable binary judgments don’t matter because the thing itself is so interesting. Great filmmakers like David Lynch and David Cronenberg frequently walk this line, creating works that are unpleasant, indecipherable, possibly in bad taste and yet are captivating regardless of whether you consider their works “good” or “bad”. (Recently, Robert Eggers’ The Lighthouse fell into this category. ) On the flipside, bad filmmakers can stumble into the same club by virtue of their sheer badness, creating work so insanely terrible it becomes compelling in its own weird way, like Ed Wood’s entire oeuvre, Tommy Wiseau’s The Room, or Harold P. Warren’s Manos: The Hands of Fate. Capone, the gangster biopic from writer/director Josh Trank, feels like a shot at the first group, making an ugly-on-purpose film that challenges the audience to stick with it, but instead it falls into the second group, a fascinatingly bad movie that transcends its own dullness. Capone is terrible in myriad ways, each issue compounded by its proximity to The Irishman, a film that covers similar ground to better effect. Tom Hardy stars as Al Capone, known as “Fonzo” to his friends and family, in the last years of his life, when he has been thoroughly ravaged by neurosyphilis. Released from prison, Fonzo spends his degraded middle-aged years at a palatial estate in Florida, surrounded by swamps that hide FBI agents listening in on his every moment. The best trick up Trank’s sleeve is presenting the spying agents and maybe-figments of Fonzo’s addled imagination—it’s actually too bad he spoils the reveal and lets us know the agents really are watching Fonzo’s compound. A savvier filmmaker than Trank would’ve kept that reveal for late in the film, or even just let it go entirely because the point here is not the “gotcha”, it’s Fonzo’s steady decline and a weak mystery about some hidden millions. Hardy is completely untethered as Fonzo, indulging all of his fa