GROSSE POINTE BLANK (1997) ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
I have a long-held respect for John Cusack. He's more than an actor; it's clear from the roles he chooses and the projects he backs that he's a film buff. There's no other way to interpret a career than spans titles like "High Fidelity," "America's Sweethearts," and this 1997 gem from Hollywood Pictures. It was directed by George Armitage ("Miami Blues," "The Big Bounce"), produced by Susan Arnold, Donna Arkoff Roth, Roger Birnbaum, and written by Tom Jankiewicz, D.V. DeVincentis, Steve Pink, and Cusack, although Armitage has stories about the writing process. He says it was contentious, with several rewrites, tons of content rejection, and seemingly endless improvisation.
Complicating matters further, he shot three versions of "Grosse Pointe Blank." There was the version written on paper. Then there was the "mildly understated" version, in which the cast was encouraged to tone everything down. Lastly, he filmed a "completely over-the-top" version, in which its stars interpret their characters as their own limitless creations, unfettered by words on paper. From the looks of the film, which I've seen thirty-six times, he's being truthful about all of this. "Grosse Pointe Blank" looks like three energies of the same reel that were spliced together seamlessly. I think it's a triumph of creativity, a sterling example of brilliant dialogue and the serendipitous chemistry of its leads.
John Cusack plays Martin Blank, a lone-wolf hitman who made his bones in the military before going rogue. He runs a tight ship: his only employee is his secretary, Marcella, hilariously depicted by John's older sister, Joan. Martin is good at his job, and takes it seriously, but he's losing the taste for it, and finds himself in therapy sessions pining for the girl he stood-up at his senior prom, Debi Newberry (Minnie Driver). Alan Arkin plays Doctor Oatman, his therapist, and it's clear that Oatman is terrified of Martin, cringing at his every movement, as if he expects to be gunned down at any moment. Marcella informs Martin that he's been invited to his ten year high school reunion in Grosse Pointe, Michigan - news he doesn't take well. Meanwhile he faces pressure to join a hitman's union, presumably the first of its kind, spearheaded by a rival contract killer named Grocer, played by an entirely over-the-top Dan Akroyd.
What ensues is a curious comedic exploration of a cold-blooded killer's irrepressible desire to start over, which poses the obvious question of whether such a person can start over. This is where the film's cleverly-written screenplay shines. For example, in establishing what Blank does for a living, it's necessary to see him kill someone. But how can that be done without sacrificing the audience's view of him as a sympathetic character, the man everyone is supposed to root for? Easy: have his first victim be another killer. Better yet, have Martin hit the other hitman just as he's about to wax someone. This little subliminal trick pulls Cusack's character out of the gutter and makes him a hero, which is exactly what he needs to be if we're going to sit through two hours of hoping he gets the girl.
This kind of thoughtful calculating upholds the movie's admittedly unambitious boy-meets-girl formula, although here the formula is a little edgier than usual. Why did Martin Blank leave Debi Newberry hanging that night? How does she feel about him, ten years later, with that potentially hazardous high school memory being dredged up? Can years of murdering people for money be erased by attending a high school reunion? These questions are all answered by the characters themselves, and they are surprisingly lucid people. There's attention to detail: Martin, being a veteran of the CIA, believes in the efficiency of simplicity - his drink of choice is vodka neat, he wears all black, and doesn't really believe in relationships, which puts him at odds with himself, and everyone else. Even his secretary is given a brief scene that effectively reveals the kind of woman who manages a professional killer's schedule (clue: she's an insane person who moonlights as normal). Debi's reaction to Martin veers from a mesmerizing blend of pained infatuation to an ever-growing sense of unease, which crescendoes in a scene with some of the best dialogue I've ever heard in a film. Words matter in movies, and "Grosse Pointe Blank" has a way with them.
What really elevates this movie for me is its energy. It was released when nineties Hollywood creativity was at its zenith, and despite the conscientiousness of its director, the whole thing looks great in an effortless, almost ad-libbed way. "Grosse Pointe Blank" has been criticized for having an intellectually sound build-up to a mindlessly violent finale, and while the ending does involve a fair bit of gunfire, Armitage's direction is kinetic in a way that keeps our eyes on people's faces and their rapid-fire expressions. Cusack takes the brutal bits and uses them as an opportunity to monologue about his character's entire reason for being, even as he's wielding a pair of hot Glock 17s. He confides in Debi as he ushers her to safety: "So I was in the Gulf last year. I was doing this thing. Anyway, and I came up over a dune, and I saw the ocean . . . and it was on fire. And it was beautiful. So I just sat there and watched it, and that's when I realized there might be a meaning to life, you know? Like an organic power that connects all living things. God? Yahweh? I dunno."
How could anyone not love this guy?
--- Bill Fontaine
