The Player

Robert Altman’s The Player (1992) rejuvenated his long dormant career and foretold of the resurrected ideas of ensemble pieces, relationships, and satire that would continue to guide his career into the present day. However, at times The Player finds itself settling for an easy though caustic satire of Hollywood instead of delving into the psyche of one desperate individual.

Griffin Mill (Tim Robbins) is a Hollywood executive producer, entrusted with mining different combos of other movies for upcoming projects, coddled by his underlings and by his girlfriend, Bonnie, and thoroughly drifting with power. When he begins to receive harassing postcards from what he assumes to be an screenwriter (Vincent D’Onofrio) who was long ignored, Griffin takes action into his own hands and dispenses with the screenwriter. However, he also falls in love with the screenwriter’s girlfriend, June Gudmundsdottir (Greta Scacchi), and, moreover, continues to receive threatening postcards.

This film works better as a satire of Hollywood than as a psychological study simply because it is never as interested in inner psychology as it is in the big payoff. And that is not necessarily an affront to the film so much as it is an affront to my habitual viewing interests. Observing Griffin, June Gudmundsdottir offers a throwaway line about whether or not one suffers if there is no sense of true suffering, and, indeed, Griffin echoes this observation by being too indifferent and detached to do more than worry for his own skin. Yet these are the details that I wish to see explored more, not the vacuous satirical bits.

However, the critique that a soul only gets you hurt in industry, despite being an easy target, nonetheless acts as a real critique, especially in the late-80s-early-90s era that the film documents. Moreover, the ending, which involves a circuitous overhaul of our previous conception of Griffin’s story, does work, even if it does not feel totally thought out (i.e. was Lyle Lovett’s character leaving the postcards at the dinner hotel, or was a second person tailing Griffin?). Also, the detective sequences feel at odds with the remainder of the picture, and though this can be defended by arguing that every scene is transcribed through Griffin’s subjective mind, these scenes still don’t quite work as well as they ought to.

On the other hand, The Player is thoroughly enjoyable and it does possess an intersting commentary on the merits of reality versus Hollywood fantasy, and the ending is delicious fun.

The Player: 7/10