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When it comes to retreating from the modern world, I've never been a proponent of the electronic entertainment epidemic that has played a pivotal role in negotiating American pop culture for the last quarter century. Nor do I put much stock into the tidal wave of self-help media that has, more recently, peppered our airwaves and book stores.
I also humbly acknowledge that my experience with the growing problem of prescription drug abuse (aka "happy pills") and its palpable effect on the suburban Cult of the Addicted is limited to occasional street corner story snippets. I must also admit my ignorance when it comes to suicide, the mother of all escapes and the ensuing emotional devastation it leave in its wake.
Arie Posin's feature film debut, the surreal "The Chumscrubber," however, confronts these issues head-on. The film is a trip through yet another skewed, quirky, darkly humorous take on The Suburban Nightmare.
"Chumscrubber" stars Jamie Bell ("Billy Elliot") as troubled teen Dean Stiffle, son of a well-known do-it-yourself psychiatrist - who wastes no opportunity to prescribe the latest new wonder drug to Dean - and vegetarian, vitamin-supplement-pushing mother (Allison Janney). The Stiffles live in the picture-perfect suburban paradise of Hillside, surrounded on all sides by gorgeous vistas, housing developments, clean air, the seductive allure of prosperity, and, apparently, rampant drug abuse.
After discovering that his best friend Troy - one of the town's drug kingpins - has committed suicide, Dean keeps the news to himself. The news about Troy eventually gets out, cuing Dean to flee into medicated melancholy. Dean retreats, in part, from his friends: wannabe flyboy Billy; troubled, Wonka-faced, genius Lee; and Crystal, the cute, sort-of-punky female of the group who attempts to charm Dean into handing over the drugs.
The story of the teenagers is balanced against that of the adults, which, in addition to the elder Stiffles, include the grating Terri and her fiancee Michael (muchos kudos for Ralph Fiennes); Crystal's desperately lonely mother Jerri (Carrie-Ann Moss); Terri's still heart-broken and angry policeman ex-husband Lou (John Heard); and Troy's grieving mother Mrs. Johnson (Glen Close. Audible sigh - of love.)
Dean's plans change when the gang kidnaps his younger brother Charlie as a ransom for Troy's hidden pill stash. The plan goes awry, though, when the gang realizes they've kidnapped Terri's son instead. The meat of the story involves the gang's attempts to somehow still convince Dean to deliver Troy's drugs despite their idiotic mistake, while Dean, well, does a lot of solitary brooding.
On the adult side of things, Terri's desperation to plan the perfect wedding leaves her oblivious to both her son's disappearance and Michael's steady descent into something that can only be described as "I got hit on the head; I see dolphins" syndrome. Dean must ultimately decide whether to step in and fix the ever-escalating crisis or to brood himself into oblivion.
The narrative success of Posin's film rests squarely on the shoulders of its use of character. Don't let Posin's carefully crafted, Fellini and Bunuel-influenced use of surreal, bright imagery fool you: Underneath it all, this is a purely character-driven piece. It grapples with dozens of issues, most prominently that of the disconnection between young and old and the outright inability of each group to communicate effectively with the other. However, the film diffuses the central conflict across far too many "key players." What's what and who's who? It seems that Posin and writer Zac Stanford prefer to keep us guessing for all the wrong reasons.
Stanford's ambitious screenplay uses drug abuse as well as an infusion of pop culture symbols - most notably that of the ominous video game hero "The Chumscrubber" - as ways of manifesting this disconnection. For the teenagers, The Chumscrubber represents the frustration and anger they feel for the mindless adults, consumed by the appearance of happiness.
While the film does not necessarily side with the teenagers, it does seem to place particular fault on the vacuous adults as being responsible for their children's addictions and emptiness. The film's teenagers pursue their various forms of recreation to, seemingly, condemn them for their vicious neglect.
The most problematic aspect of the story is vested in its protagonist, Dean. Putting aside his apparent history of mental and emotional problems, where's the justification for what can only be described as his complete inactivity? Where's the attempt to bring the viewer to his side?
The sympathy Dean's story engenders doesn't excuse the screenplay for deciding that the middle third of the plot should be focused instead on the bland Crew o' Punks, sacrificing development because of a simple lack of story for Dean. The teenage story rarely transcends the level of teen soap opera melodrama.
The same can almost be said for the adult side of things, except that Stanford seems to realize that Michael's almost angelic, child-like rediscovery of the world ends up being the film's strongest suit along with Glenn Close's equally heart-breaking and humorous turn. It seems that Stanford decided that his second act was somehow unnecessary, as the dialogue and story simply drop off the map for the middle third of the movie. Indeed, the film seems content to drag its feet along till its satisfyingly comic resolution.
Narrative problems aside, Posin's got the visual style, the ability to command nuanced and moving performances from a diverse, prodigiously talented cast, and the ambition to tell the sorts of stories that Hollywood shies away from.
So, while I may not give "Counter Strike" or Dr. Phil a chance, and I admit that I can't say much about Adderall or a snugly-taught noose, "The Chumscrubber" makes it clear that these examples represent a disturbing trend in our hermetically sealed suburban safehouses: a need to escape, to free ourselves from the emotional emptiness that plagues a post-modern world reared on the facades of understanding and connection. Pop-culture and drugs provide the means for this escape, while fueling the characters' further descent into emotional numbness.
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