Those waiting to get a thrill out of the sleazy topic at hand may want to toss aside the raincoat for Paul Schrader's "Auto Focus" does not give in so much to the exploitive element as it does present a smart, clever, elbow-nudging look at the intriguing facade of actor Bob Crane, whose decidedly genial, wholesome image on TV was severely undermined by a pathological addiction toward sex.
It seems inconceivable that hopelessly smarmy material could be presented in ways other than smarmy, but if we look back, it has been done. None more so than Bob Fosse's "Lenny," which was another superbly directed account of an assertive, self-destructive sleaze (comedian Lenny Bruce) that effectively captured all the contrary motives of its protagonist with a bold, clever eye. Although "Auto Focus" is not on par with "Lenny," Greg Kinnear still manages to pretty much do for the "Hogan's Heroes" TV star what Dustin Hoffman did for the late comic.
Kinnear fascinates by not allowing his most complex and interesting character to date try and be all that complex. With almost a flawless superficiality, he manages to slip into the mind and pants of this TV personality with a, well, Bob Crane-like ease, and examine the not-all-that-deep dichotomy of a ladies' man torn and confused by a normal, seemingly healthy preoccupation. Kinnear plays the highly appealing Crane just as he was...with a smirk, a handshake, a joke, and a deceptively leering eye. It's a subtle, captivating package that actually pulls more weight and dimension than may be perceived.
The always interesting Willem Dafoe excels as Crane's creepy partner-in-slime, John Carpenter, who validates his lonely existence by servicing the stars. While setting up a music system for "Hogan's Heroes" co-star and buddy Richard Dawson, Carpenter happens upon an interested Crane and immediately picks up on the man's predilection for video equipment and a beautiful woman's body. In a matter of no time, the predatory Carpenter has leeched onto his biggest catch yet, a TV star, and, with arm around shoulder, willingly leads his pal down whatever mangy sexual road he cares to experience. With Crane first jokingly playing percussion at a strip joint, Carpenter slowly adds some of his own rim shots for extra measure in the form of wanton females, and off they go. Careless along the way, Crane's squeaky-clean Disney image starts to fall by the wasteside.
Director Paul Schrader introduces us into the pre-Hogan life of Crane with a clear, assured, brightly-colored camera focus as it recounts his more promising days as a talented "King of the Airwaves" disc jockey who earlier enjoyed a wholesome stint as Donna Reed's next-door-neighbor on her long-running sitcom. Even the opening credits seems to have a bouncy, upbeat, fanny-slapping "Rat Pack" allure to it. Schrader allows the happy-go-lucky Crane (Kinnear) himself to serve as an almost mirthful, posthumous narrator with tones of cheerful, bemused denial -- a narrative that easily recalls Kevin Spacey's darkly effective chronicle of his own life in "American Beauty." Ever so slowly, Schrader's camera begins to become grainier, muted, darker and shakier as Crane's life spirals out of control. By film's end the camera has served as the film's most potent metaphor...Crane's life has the cheap quality of a porn film.
Lots of jiggling babes with big mammaries to be found here, some pretty, some not, but Schrader's point is not for titillation. After a while, just like anything else, they become a blur. Teasing, but strangely unerotic, they start serving as your standard, every-day dangling carrots.
The movie, and the book on which it is based ("The Murder of Bob Crane") points the obvious finger at Carpenter as Crane's murderer. However, the movie is less efficient in setting up this accusation. To me, Carpenter knew the abject seriousness of Crane's addiction. A major desire to go straight and brief respite would probably not have lasted long. It had happened time and time again and they got back together. The two videophiles would have reconnected soon enough. The breaking-up scene seem half-hearted on Crane's part. What scared Carpenter this time in thinking Crane meant what he said? It wasn't set up as well as it could.
"Auto Focus" could have been just sleaze entertainment, but thankfully it offers much more thanks to director Schrader and actors Kinnear and Dafoe. Definitely worth seeing.
It seems inconceivable that hopelessly smarmy material could be presented in ways other than smarmy, but if we look back, it has been done. None more so than Bob Fosse's "Lenny," which was another superbly directed account of an assertive, self-destructive sleaze (comedian Lenny Bruce) that effectively captured all the contrary motives of its protagonist with a bold, clever eye. Although "Auto Focus" is not on par with "Lenny," Greg Kinnear still manages to pretty much do for the "Hogan's Heroes" TV star what Dustin Hoffman did for the late comic.
Kinnear fascinates by not allowing his most complex and interesting character to date try and be all that complex. With almost a flawless superficiality, he manages to slip into the mind and pants of this TV personality with a, well, Bob Crane-like ease, and examine the not-all-that-deep dichotomy of a ladies' man torn and confused by a normal, seemingly healthy preoccupation. Kinnear plays the highly appealing Crane just as he was...with a smirk, a handshake, a joke, and a deceptively leering eye. It's a subtle, captivating package that actually pulls more weight and dimension than may be perceived.
The always interesting Willem Dafoe excels as Crane's creepy partner-in-slime, John Carpenter, who validates his lonely existence by servicing the stars. While setting up a music system for "Hogan's Heroes" co-star and buddy Richard Dawson, Carpenter happens upon an interested Crane and immediately picks up on the man's predilection for video equipment and a beautiful woman's body. In a matter of no time, the predatory Carpenter has leeched onto his biggest catch yet, a TV star, and, with arm around shoulder, willingly leads his pal down whatever mangy sexual road he cares to experience. With Crane first jokingly playing percussion at a strip joint, Carpenter slowly adds some of his own rim shots for extra measure in the form of wanton females, and off they go. Careless along the way, Crane's squeaky-clean Disney image starts to fall by the wasteside.
Director Paul Schrader introduces us into the pre-Hogan life of Crane with a clear, assured, brightly-colored camera focus as it recounts his more promising days as a talented "King of the Airwaves" disc jockey who earlier enjoyed a wholesome stint as Donna Reed's next-door-neighbor on her long-running sitcom. Even the opening credits seems to have a bouncy, upbeat, fanny-slapping "Rat Pack" allure to it. Schrader allows the happy-go-lucky Crane (Kinnear) himself to serve as an almost mirthful, posthumous narrator with tones of cheerful, bemused denial -- a narrative that easily recalls Kevin Spacey's darkly effective chronicle of his own life in "American Beauty." Ever so slowly, Schrader's camera begins to become grainier, muted, darker and shakier as Crane's life spirals out of control. By film's end the camera has served as the film's most potent metaphor...Crane's life has the cheap quality of a porn film.
Lots of jiggling babes with big mammaries to be found here, some pretty, some not, but Schrader's point is not for titillation. After a while, just like anything else, they become a blur. Teasing, but strangely unerotic, they start serving as your standard, every-day dangling carrots.
The movie, and the book on which it is based ("The Murder of Bob Crane") points the obvious finger at Carpenter as Crane's murderer. However, the movie is less efficient in setting up this accusation. To me, Carpenter knew the abject seriousness of Crane's addiction. A major desire to go straight and brief respite would probably not have lasted long. It had happened time and time again and they got back together. The two videophiles would have reconnected soon enough. The breaking-up scene seem half-hearted on Crane's part. What scared Carpenter this time in thinking Crane meant what he said? It wasn't set up as well as it could.
"Auto Focus" could have been just sleaze entertainment, but thankfully it offers much more thanks to director Schrader and actors Kinnear and Dafoe. Definitely worth seeing.