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The joke is that the search for enlightenment requires funding, a stickup or twenty will suffice. The Ex-Presidents, a gang of masked criminals cutting a swath through Los Angeles, the FBI's one clue is a tan line on a jeering rump caught on security camera. "Young, dumb and full of cum," the rookie agent from Ohio (Keanu Reeves) getting his feet wet in "the world's bank robbery capital." The investigation points to surfing tribes, the undercover dude learns the métier and falls under the spell of the bronzed guru (Patrick Swayze). "Big wave riding's for macho assholes with a death wish," warns the beach tomboy (Lori Petty), the hero succumbs all the same to the brew of Zen koans and flowing testosterone. Twain saw the sport "whizzing by like a bombshell," Kathryn Bigelow keys her kineticism accordingly and ravishingly. Ecstasy with the elements, gliding on foam and leaping from planes, a drop of Leos Carax "like acid in the mouth" of an action thriller. The pulse quickening on a languid summer morning, a raid on a shack packed with muscleheaded meth-dealers that seasons mayhem with a knife-wielding nude blonde and an upturned lawnmower waiting to shred somebody's face. The surrealistic sight of the fugitive with Reagan mask and makeshift flamethrower launches the remarkable foot chase across Santa Monica, culminating with Swayze's blue eyes glaring through the rubbery façade while Reeves unloads his pistol impotently. "The air got dirty and the sex got clean," laments Gary Busey as the FBI vet, incidentally noting the gulf between the days of Big Wednesday and the Nineties. "That kamikaze look," shared during a freefall and in the face of a gargantuan swell, the sublimated Liebestod of jock-daredevils ending with a blur of sea and rain and tears. "Dans l'onde toi devenue / Ta jubilation nue." Cinematography by Donald Peterman. With John C. McGinley, James Le Gros, John Philbin, Bojesse Christopher, Lee Tergesen, Vincent Klyn, Anthony Kiedis, and Tom Sizemore.
--- Fernando F. Croce |