Dan's Papers - August 1, 2008

Sorry 30-something's, it appears your time has went "I mean, come." Once upon a time, Generation X may have represented the kids of a youth movement, but let's face it, middle age arrives whether you like it or not. And if you need proof that the teenagers and young adults of the '90s have truly hit the next age demographic, check out The Wackness, a hip, funny and touching indie film that recalls the practically ancient year of 1994.

This movie goes out on several limbs to tap the nerve of those who were "dope" 15 years ago. (Note: the term "dope" and "wack" figure prominently in the meaning of this movie's title, so if you need a rap refresher - dope = good and wack = bad). But slang is only a tiny tidbit of the nostalgia, as this film revels in the Clinton-era musical tastes of Luke Shapiro, the focus of Wackness. He's played by Josh Peck, who is primarily known as the chubby/funny half of the squeaky-clean Nickelodeon kid show "Drake and Josh" - or was - as Peck's Shapiro is a sweaty, rap-loving Manhattan drug dealer who manages to remain (not by choice) virginal, while the other city kids are effortlessly swirling in lust. He grows increasingly frustrated, while his products boost those without a care. He seems mired in shyness, as well as anger, as his doughy-soft parents continually squabble. Furthermore, while his internal monologue offers the viewer an insight into his poetic and sensitive nature, he is both a bundle of nerves unable to speak and a stunted artist who dulls himself with marijuana. Painfully twisted inside yet still wise enough to realize his predicament, Shapiro enlists a therapist to help work out his problems.

Enter Sir Ben Kingsley, who may have played hit men and questionable types before, but never completely sacrificed his class...until now. Kingsley co-stars as Dr. Squires, a drug-addled psychologist, who hates that his young trophy wife has aged, and despises how he's morphed from someone who thought he was cool into someone who can only desperately cling to what he once knew as cool. He treats Shapiro...or does Shapiro treat him? The two form a strange friendship, as the doctor follows his patient around and joyfully watches Luke peddle his illegal wares. Ironically, while Shapiro dutifully breaks the law to make money - and not enjoying it - Dr. Squires is emboldened by the danger. Before long, they're bar hopping, and while Luke soberly stands guard, the man he turned to for guidance is getting drunk, vandalizing property and making time with a college-age hippie chick (played by Mary-Kate Olson no less).

But the friendship goes astray as a young lady finally expresses a romantic interest in Luke - she also happens to be Dr. Squires' stepdaughter. The doctor is not happy with this coupling, for reasons he can't - and perhaps shouldn't - explain, and just as Luke starts using the tidbits of advice he's gleaned off of Squires, the same man who gave it goes a hypocritical 180 degrees and turns on his patient and friend.

While the story here is very interesting, it's not the reason this film cooks so well. Kingsley is the primary force. Given free rein, he transforms from a classically trained Brit into a New York jumble of juxtaposition and uncertainty, aging out of control and most ungracefully all the while. Peck is also quite good, deserving special praise for completely shedding his career as a Disney-fied sidekick (to a partner who wrongly outshone him simply by virtue of not being fat) and becoming a leaner, harder, very realistic human being. Best of all, for those of us who remember Manhattan circa 1994, it's a great and accurate reminder of a time yet to be officially denoted as an era. Back then, NYC Mayor Giuliani had started policing the "cabaret" laws - put in the books during the 19th Century, but never enforced - until it served the administration's agenda. The characters in this movie often refer to the former mayor as the greatest party-pooper Manhattan has ever seen - a minor detail, but here a plot device that has been perfectly recalled and used to strengthen the film's true meanings.

It was also the time when hip-hop music had really come into its own, taking on endless variations, and the year the late Notorious B.I.G. broke onto the scene, soon squashing every other style of rap music until only his gangster style survived. And whether you like hip-hop or not, that fact is another important underpinning of the fable of Luke Shapiro: in a town where one musician crushes all the others, where the top executive is short-circuiting the lawless fun of the East Village and love comes only when bound to anguish, where a psychologist is the craziest man in town, Shapiro is realizing he needs to do some situational overwhelming himself. His journey may be tearing him apart, but it's yours to enjoy.

Ian Stark is a frequent TV and radio commentator on the film industry, and consults with private organizations on their collections. He is widely published on film and other arts/culture topics.