By Aaron Cutler
By Amy Nicholson
By Simon Abrams
By Chris Klimek
By Nick Schager
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Alan Scherstuhl
And the drugs. Oh, the drugs. Gilliam is no drug enthusiast; he claims never to have tried acid. Perhaps this is why the characters in the film seem to be having too much fun, even when loaded to the breaking point on chemicals. It's a farce, such exaggeration. In the book, a saltshaker half-full of cocaine. In the movie--a wastebasket-full. Drugs enough to fell elephants in the book. Drugs enough to incapacitate the state of Idaho in the movie. Of course, overstatement is nothing new to Gilliam.
"I've never thought the book was about drugs," he insists. "It's a road movie. The drugs were a fuel, but that's not what it was about. It was a character piece, it's always been that. It's about people throwing themselves into the abyss to see what happens."
There are places in the film where Gilliam breaks away from the real story and surrenders dramatic power. If he's emphasized, for instance, that Duke was in Vegas on assignment, screwing up big-time--watching that thin thread that connects his incoherent self with legitimacy fray away--it would've given his excesses a larger, more desperate meaning. There's no sense that his Vegas degeneracy will affect his or his sidekick's futures. Instead they seem more like a couple run-o'-the-mill drug fiends, binging for the hell of it, instead of two lost, unhinged men trying to disassociate themselves from reality.
Still, Fear and Loathing is an incredible roller coaster, a visual feast, and enough to get you thinking about where this country started to go wrong in the '60s. It's apparent, too, that very few changes for the better have occurred since then. "The '80s sort of numbed everything down," Gilliam says. "Materialism has sort of blanketed everything. Everybody's got the goodies now--the CD players, the televisions--no one wants to make any noise. But the pendulum always does swing."
Gilliam has called the film a "cinematic enema." And since we're ensconced in the rabid climate of the "War on Drugs"--the drug use in Fear and Loathing seems lifetimes away--the rest of the story is just as relevant now as it was 27 years ago. "We're hoping it will cause a stir--touch a nerve," says Gilliam. "See, the beginning of the '70s was kind of interesting because the Hunters were still out there. They were angry and disillusioned but were still alive and kicking and fighting. But now, I don't know who's alive and kicking and fighting anymore.
"And at least at that time it was clear who the enemies were--you had Nixon, you had the war in Vietnam. Now it's harder to know what's wrong and why it's wrong and what needs fixing. I get a sense that people--not people, but people who are alive and thinking--realize that something is lacking here, and it must be dealt with. There are a lot of furry mammals coming out from under the rocks saying, 'Man, we've got to change something,' and I'm not even sure if people even know what it is that needs changing or what should be done."
Whatever the film's failings, you do leave the theater with a definite contact high. You may not be contemplating methods to overthrow the government, although you'll sense that something is wrong, terribly wrong, with the world. You just can't put your finger on it. You'll have been too busy gorging yourself on Gilliam's visuals to walk away with a message. But you'll have absorbed something strangely revolutionary, and God knows what you'll be up to later.
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Directed by Terry Gilliam; with Johnny Depp.
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