Financial Times (London,England)

December 10, 1992, Thursday

Copycat youthplay

By STEPHEN AMIDON

HOME ALONE 2 (PG) John Hughes

INTO THE WEST (PG)(15) Mike Newell

ELENYA Steve Gough

TRACES OF RED (15) Andy Wolk
Home Alone 2 is surely one of the most carefully calculated movies ever made. After the great popular success of its predecessor, writer/producer John Hughes and his production team seem to have decided that a mere sequel was not a safe enough bet. Instead, they have made a ‘requel’, a film which shamelessly recreates the original on a scene-by-scene, gag-by-gag basis.
The title is a bit of a misnomer. This time young Kevin (Macaulay Culkin) finds himself alone away from home, having become separated from his family in a pre-Christmas scrum at Chicago’s O’Hare airport. He winds up flying on his own to New York, armed only with his father’s credit card and his native wits. Undaunted, he rents a room at The Plaza and manages to live the good life until he crosses paths with the two burglars from the original film (Joe Pesci and Daniel Stern), just out of prison. After learning that they plan to steal money intended for orphans, Kevin lures them to his uncle’s abandoned brownstone, where he subjects them to more or less the same thrashing he administered in Christmas past.

From its opening scenes of confusion at Kevin’s home to the final teary reunion with his mother, the film looks like a weak Xerox of the original. Both the same jokes and plotare trotted out – like the routine where Kevin uses the soundtrack from an old movie to scare off threatening adults. Whereas Hughes’s writing possessed a manic unpredictability the first time around, here it is little more than an exercise in problem solving, as he laboriously sets up gags which Chris Columbus’s robotic direction delivers with all the subtlety of a brick in the face.
Another area in which Home Alone 2 fails to come through is in the supporting performances, which went a long way towards saving the first film. Pesci and Stern lack the clowning inventiveness of their earlier work. Here, they are simply punching bags. Brenda Fricker’s embarrassing performance as a street person with a heart of gold shows how little currency an Oscar statue provides in Hollywood these days. As for Culkin, his doughty charm seems to be solidifying into something hard and indigestible. Only Tim Curry’s turn as an unctuous concierge really stands out.
Still, the film is poised to become the biggest earner ever. Hughes understands the same simple truth as people who manufacture children’s cartoons and fast food – young minds have no problem with a pleasing formula being repeated ad nauseum. Given this, my only advice to those who find Culkin’s face as seasonally compelling as an angel atop the Christmas tree would be to rent the video of the original Home Alone. It is the same story, only fresher, funnier – and cheaper.
With an opening image of a white stallion racing down a windswept Irish beach, Into the West leaves little doubt that its makers intend to take their audience on a one way journey to Fable Country. Unfortunately, they never quite reach their destination, creating a film that lacks the magic needed for us to forgive its excesses.
It tells the story of a down-and-out gypsy king (Gabriel Byrne), who has abandoned the travelling life for the dubious security of a Dublin tenement after the death of his wife in childbirth. He lives in boozy misery with his two young sons, unable to return to the road that is his destiny. Enter the above mentioned white stallion, who befriends the boys, only to be stolen by a corrupt millionaire who sees the horse as a potential champion show jumper. The kids promptly take back what is rightly theirs, leading to a cross-Ireland chase in which Byrne regains his dignity and his sons come to terms with the loss of their mother.
The first half hour of the film is full of promise, with plenty of gentle sentiment and knockabout horseplay, including a nice scene in which the stallion is spirited to a tenth floor flat via the lift. But screenwriter Jim Sheridan, who directed My Left Foot and The Field, milks the boys’ motherless status and dewey-eyed love for the horse for more than they are worth.
The usually assured Mike Newell’s direction is also surprisingly ham-fisted, resorting to conventions such as having the bad guys enter to the sound of bass cellos, the good guys to pipes and penny whistles. What the film does feature are performances by young Ciaran Fitzgerald and Ruaidhri Conroy that put Macaulay Culkin to shame. And I bet they cost a bit less to employ, as well.
A more restrained account of youth can be found in Elenya, the story of a 12-year old girl who befriends a wounded German soldier after he parachutes into her Welsh valley in 1940. Before his arrival, Elenya (Pascale Delafouge Jones) leads a life of quiet desperation, derided by the locals after being abandoned by her Italian-born mother and then her father, who leaves her with a hated aunt when he goes off to fight in France. Then the handsome, battered German flier appears on the scene. Elenya falls in love with him, tending his injuries and trying in vain to keep him from the mitts of the vindictive locals.
Writer/director Steve Gough’s film is a carefully wrought study of youthful alienation, helped by a fine performance by Jones. But in the end his restraint gets the better of him. Too many of the crises he so carefully establishes are left unresolved, most notably Elenya’s dawning sexual attraction for the airman.
Traces of Red is a by-the-numbers thriller that does not really add up. It features James Belushi as a womanising Florida detective whose carefree ways are spoiled when three women close to him, including two lovers, are murdered. He wisely begins to suspect everybody, including his partner and his politician brother. The remainder of the film consists of enough red herrings to fill the Everglades.
Andy Wolk’s film moves along at a good pace but fails to generate much heat in doing so. Jim Piddock’s screenplay knows where the plot twists should be placed but has a hard time on the straights, where characters should be developed and humor injected. And the fine character actors Belushi and Lorraine Bracco are woefully miscast as romantic leads.