8 MILE (Curtis Hanson, 2002)

Reviewed: November 8th, 2002

Having two of the best films of the 1990s (L.A. Confidential and Wonder Boys) on his resume did nothing to mitigate my skepticism when Curtis Hanson announced he'd be directing a movie both about a rapper and starring Eminem. A little later on down the line Hanson revealed he wasn't making an Eminem biopic per se, but rather an exploration of Detroit youth culture incorporating a few of Eminem's autobiographical elements. I was thus relieved, even intrigued to see what Hanson would pull down. Ironic in retrospect, for now I wish nothing more than for Hanson to have made a straight out The Life and Times of Eminem docudrama, certain in the knowledge Slim Shady's formative years on his road to stardom were infinitely more interesting and dramatic than this glib tripe. Portrait of Detroit youth? Yes, so much as Clueless (two of whose alumni grace 8 Mile) is a harrowing portrait of teen angst. 8 Mile is a hallow, mostly commonplace exercise in style (and in typical Hanson fashion, the movie looks ravishing), a very well (technically) crafted, glossy star pic concealed as more serious fare.

But how serious can you take a film that is more misogynist than any of Eminem's oeuvre, and unlike Eminem, doesn't even recognize its offensive nature. Kim Basinger (a godawful actress who inexplicably has an Oscar on her shelf) is as bad as ever here, playing protagonist Rabbit's (Eminem, in a performance ranging from "fine" to "excellent") neglectful mother with a ridiculous, artificial-sounding Southern accent (and the funny thing is Basinger's indeed from the South). Still, as untalented as she is I can't help but pity her having to wade through a role so thankless I doubt even Julianne Moore et al. could do a damn thing with the part. The Mother is piss broke (until she wins thousands of dollars playing bingo, thus narrowly dodging an eviction; I can only assume the screenwriter Scott "The Mod Squad" Silver put this plot point in on the dare of an old college frat buddy), dates a reprehensible loser as old as her son (who ditches her as soon as his own personal financial windfall comes through), and ignores her young daughter Lily. Rabbit's relationship with his mom merely consists of arguing with her for a few brief interludes about who does less with their life, yet listen to any of Eminem's infamously harsh songs about his real-life mother and it doesn't take a Nicholl Screenwriting Fellowship recipient to recognize a much more complex parent/child relationship feeds Eminem's reality (hence I reiterate my desire to see a balls-to-the-wall, every-gory-detail Eminem movie, instead of 8 Mile's fictionalized candy-coating). The only other female 8 Mile role (note: I use "role" to designate having more than three lines of dialogue) is Brittany Murphy's I-wanna-be-a-star. Murphy is given nothing more to do than be her usual precious self, 'cept this time she also has to be a slut. Literally. Her role is crafted entirely around her promiscuity: she comes into the film, has sex with Eminem, has sex with one of Eminem's friends and exits. Deplorable, yes?

A friend told me he was expecting 8 Mile to be more fun than it was and I asked if his comment was in reference to the boring, simplistic, cyclical, predictable nature of the narrative. Not really, he replied. He was just expecting (and partially wanting) something a little lighter at times. Let me, then, disagree and thank God and whoever else is responsible for not letting Scott "The Least Funny Man Alive" Silver work any more stabs of his intolerably puerile humor (which entail a dumbass shooting himself in his own leg and Kim Basinger telling Eminem her young lover won't go down on her) into the script.

8 Mile rallies in its ending twenty minutes, i.e. its last scene and the compelling Big Rap showdown (these showdowns consist of two combatants hurling insults at each other) everyone knows is coming. Eminem -- in these final scenes playing nothing more than himself -- is possessed by such electricity and powerful rage here, I was once again made to long for a more accurate, feature-length rendering of his real-life self. Most fascinating irony of all: 8 Mile's last scene -- perfectly restrained -- has all the class and subtlety the atrocious L.A. Confidential and Wonder Boys capers altogether lacked.

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