The world bows down, kisses your confident bare butt cheeks and proclaims you’re a genius warrior hero in this idyllic vision. Except, you’re not a movie messiah. In fact, you’re a very naughty boy. The world is alienated, Mad Max looks level-headed in comparison and you still have a girl’s name. This is ‘Melcalpypto’, which in the Yucatec dialect means ‘the undoing and great shaming of warrior who was once Braveheart.’ Mel Gibson needs to get revenge on the cruel fates that have brought him ignominious misfortune. Surely someone or something is eager and able to lend the Lethal Weapon star a hand and help him achieve some form of salvation. Well, don’t worry, Sugartits! Things will be just swell again! Leave it to Beaver! Since I first heard about the film’s intriguing premise (depressed man adopts an alternate puppet personality in a therapeutic transference exercise to get over mental illness), I was eager to see it. Yes, I was an eager beaver for The Beaver, but I, and the rest of the world, were kept waiting. The wait went on as the flick languished in the vaults, constantly held back because there never seemed to be an ideal release date. It was partly due to the film’s nature, but mostly because it was fronted by Gibson, whose off-screen controversies continued without redemption or public image revolution. St Jodie helped save the soul of Travis Bickle and calmly confronted Hannibal Lecter’s cannibalistic ferocity but, sadly, has had no luck with Mel and her own very worthy movie about mental illness. Actually, labelling The Beaver as a ‘mental illness’ movie isn’t fair either and does Foster, Gibson and everyone else involved in the project a disservice. What they’ve all delivered is an affecting motion picture that tells a compelling story of the human condition without compromise. It’s a film that deserves to be seen, not just because of the themes, issues and truths it portrays, but how it portrays them with sincerity and solid screenwriting, direction and performances. No one saw The Beaver, though, because the movie only received a very limited release. Good reviews mean little against box office takings, and lack of screenings and popular preference for high concept blockbusters over sobering ‘dramedy’ flicks has meant the film’s been damned as an epic flop. Meanwhile, other movies have been making fortunes and finding audiences, even when critics savage some of them with the most vicious reviews imaginable. There’s no justice in the movie mainstream and with juggernaut pirate franchises and rudely boisterous Bangkok-bound bachelor parties making waves, the sad, soggy rodent was always doomed to drown. I’m comparing incomparables here, of course. Scrutinising the industry like this only leads you to despair, howling with apocalyptic ire like some Charlton Heston character before you cry, “Oh, God damn you all to Hell!” and completely give up on the human race. Nevertheless, it’s worth considering The Beaver alongside a few recent blockbuster hits when, if you squint carefully, you catch glimpses of similar themes hidden between the frames. The superhero genre is all about psychology and psychoanalysis, but the big questions often get buried beneath the blockbuster bluster and wish to be family-friendly and appeal to wide audiences. It’s assumed that consumers don’t want to spend too long contemplating superhero ego issues and personality crises, so those concerns are always cast as secondary elements behind the special effects action, thick with iconic costumed characters. That might explain some of the antipathy to Zack Snyder’s Watchmen adaptation. It also explains why mental illness-themed sci-fi flick, Franklyn, was erroneously advertised as a vigilante movie in the vein of V For Vendetta. Franklyn is an intense picture about trauma, crises of faith and significant psychological disturbance that makes The Dark Knight look as light and chirpy as Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. It’s a huge shame to think that, at a different time, with a different outfit, an excellent film would have got fairer treatment. It’s a hard world out there, and I don’t know how Gibson, Foster and everyone behind The Beaver could have guaranteed they got a shot at sharing their valuable work with audiences. Despairing and at a loss, I think I need help from a hand puppet shrink. James’ previous column can be found here.
