 The Crying Game (1992) Ha, just kidding. Seriously though, they do think of only one thing: Boy George's haunting recording of the theme song. Ha, got you again. Really, though, what they think of is the devastating presence of Forest Whitaker in perhaps his finest role. Hee hee. Of course, I'm joking. What they really think of is the innovative two-part structure of the film, played to a tragic depth by Neil Jordan's unflinching direction. Okay, okay. So what people think of when they think of The Crying Game is Jaye Davidson's dick. It's a powerful shaft that can overshadow an entire film, especially a damn good one, but there you have it. The one scene everyone remembers still packs a punch, though now that the world is so gay, it's surprising to think that when the film was originally released, people didn't see that twist coming a mile away. The Crying Game having become synonymous with trannie cock, it seems that most people don't feel the need to ever revisit it. But that's like not watching Star Wars because you know that Darth Vader is Luke Skywalker's brother. Film critics, too, still hold up The Crying Game as a landmark, a classic, etc, though I doubt very much any of them has seen it since it came out. Having just done that, I can report back that the film stands up as a beautiful, poetic, challenging, and affecting piece of art. Its pace is deliberate, its performances subtle, its messages conflicted, its climax perfectly played, and its resolution warm and funny. So come for the dick, stay for the heart. The lingering question, though: What has become of our Jaye Davidson, whose weiner we cherished so in that more innocent era? I guess, contrary to what my dad (a modestly-endowed man at best) always said, you can't build a career on your dick. You can, however, build a tiny model boat on it, if you're real careful with the glue.
Review by Farting Dracula |