Leaving Las Vegas (1995): B-

I’d wanted to revisit Mike Figgis’ “Leaving Las Vegas” for several years now. My initial reaction- admittedly, the reaction of an 18-year old whose most profound movie watching (and life) experiences were yet to come, was one of utter hatred. I didn’t think much of the acclaimed performances by Nicolas Cage (whose Oscar had been for this role) and Elizabeth Shue, and found the characters they played generally unpleasant and just plain depressing, not yet aware of the simple truth of Roger Ebert’s most fundamental principle of film criticism- it’s not what a film is about, but how it’s about it.

On that order, rewatching “Leaving Las Vegas” recently, I still do not find the film all that successful. The style with which Figgis cuts and scores the film feels even artier and pretentious than it did 12 years ago (the songs he chooses resonate deeper than the score he composes), though the story felt more palpable, as did the performances. The tragedy of Ben Sanderson’s downward spiral towards alcohol-induced suicide felt more poignant, mainly because the simple charm that shines through Cage’s impassioned performance more than it did originally. But even at his most charismatic, Ben appears dead on the outside, beyond the point of being saved.

Sera provides him some grace. She accepts him as what he is, just as he accepts her. Ben has moments where his actions and words wound Sera (whom Shue plays note-perfect, allowing us to see the woman behind the whore, especially when one action of Ben’s sends her on her own self-destructive trip to a hotel room with four high school athletes), but in the end, she finds herself forgiving of him. Who knows what tragedies struck these people before the moment of their meeting- hints are given, but one of the film’s strengths is that they aren’t illuminated, because to do so would simply make the film a psychological study, which would be far less moving- but for a brief time, they’re put aside as Ben and Sera form a bond that allows Ben some peace in his last days, and will likely linger deep in Sera’s memories for years to come.

Here I am three paragraphs into my review, and I haven’t even laid out the story, part of me assuming that if you’re reading this, you’ve likely seen the film by now. Based on the novel by John O’Brien, whose own life inspired it, and who took his own life shortly before filming began, Ben is a movie executive whose life consists mainly of round-the-clock drinking and bumming money off of friends (making for a painful opening exchange with a friend in a restaurant). It’s not long into the movie when he’s let go by the company- which his boss takes no pleasure in as he gives him his severance check (which is too generous, in Ben’s view)- he burns many of his possessions, leaving the rest for the garbage to collect, cashes in his check and closes his accounts, and heads off to Vegas to drink himself to death. A burning photograph of a wife and child with Ben give hints, but not the whole story, behind Ben’s wanton self-destruction.

He’s not long in Vegas until he almost runs over Sera, a prostitute working the streets. Formerly from L.A. herself, she’s been in the game for some time now, working for a sleazy pimp (Julian Sands) who isn’t above cutting her when she doesn’t bring home a lot of money (“Never on the face,” though). But the pimp isn’t in the picture for long after she meets Ben, goes to his hotel room with him, and begins to service him before he stops her, asks her to have a drink with him, eventually falling asleep as she watches him. He moves in with her, and there are moments of joy for the pair even when the society around them shuns at their behavior. But for the outsider, it’s hard to figure the things that make some of us, whose lives are at times drenched in misery, feel alive, and harder still to figure why we’re not particularly good at being happy.

Figgis’ approach to the story is deeply personal as a writer-director- no doubt inspired by the pain of O’Brien’s story, as well as the sense of hope of something to lessen that pain- and Cage and Shue’s performances reflect that personal connection. As a filmmaker, however, Figgis sabotages the overall power of his story with a cutting style that reeks of arty excess- too many slow-motion shots when just a handful would work in particular come to mind; Vegas is flashy enough without the film accentuating it (sometimes it works- “Swingers” comes to mind- but other times it doesn’t). His jazz-infused score doesn’t help matters; as mentioned, the songs he chooses (“Come Rain or Come Shine,” “My One and Only Love”) resonate more with the emotional core of the story than his many-times overbearing score does, which overdoes things in many instances. Sometimes the simplest approach is the best. More often than not, Figgis gets it right…usually when he leaves it to Cage and Shue to bring the story to life.

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