Bad Lieutenant (1992)

Bad Lieutenant (Abel Ferrara, 1992)

Director Abel Ferrara doesn't afford Harvey Keitel's character a name. He is merely called the lieutenant, a denomination that discusses the character's limited humanity. We are clearly made aware of his position. He is a ranking cop in New York City. The film opens with the lieutenant bringing his two sons to school; we become aware that he is also a family man. Yet these positions in society are mere afterthoughts as Ferrara is more interested in what makes this character special --- his hourly trespasses, his obvious contradictions, his unlikely story of redemption.

Right after bringing his kids to school, he sniffs some cocaine while listening to the radio about the Mets-Dodgers game. He bets an ungodly amount for the Dodgers; his stab at luck betrays him as the Mets inch their way slowly from a winless season to championship. He regularly visits a whore (Zoë Lund) whom he engages in different kinds of illegal drug treatments. He drinks while driving; he smashes his radio out of mere wrath; he consorts with prostitutes in sado-masochistic positions; he sneaks away illegal drugs from crime scenes and sells them to a Latino drug dealer; he blasphemes; he uses his positions to force sexual favors from lady trespassers.

In one scene, the lieutenant stands naked, howls pathetically with his arms outstretched (with no one to return the embracing gesture). The entire film tracks the lieutenant in all his vulnerable inglory as every capital sin is committed, as he marathons his way out of human virtue and rational forgiveness. Ferrara polarizes us, gets us angry and disgusted, before convincing us that he hasn't fallen so far out from grace to be irredeemable.

Aside from the spree sinning, the film explores the case of a nun (Frankie Thorn) who was raped by two Latino gangbangers. The rape itself is a thing of complete depravity. The statue of Mother Mary is pushed down the ground while the nun is perversely invaded by both malefactors; the crucifix used as an object of rape; the holy altar as the exact spot of the crime. In the lieutenant's mind, the case represents a way out of his ballooning debts to the gambling shark as a fifty thousand dollar reward is attached to the solution of the case. The lieutenant is faced with two options of redemption; an earthly one that keeps him attached to mortal pleasures and threats, and one which he realizes from an abrupt chat with the rape victim, a spiritual redemption that requires a harsh sacrifice.

Ferrara examines the dilemma of redemption under the most difficult of scenarios. Keitel portrays the lieutenant unforgivingly. The two merely give slight glimpses of humanity to the character, furthering the difficulty of accepting the conclusive redemption in the film. The cries and whimpers are almost inhuman in aural tone. Ferrara's depictions of the lieutenant's family life are mere traces of how far he has fallen. It's a dizzying spiral downfall by a man who has already fallen so far from grace; it's amazing how much more depravity he can commit to the point that the fantastic turnaround (Jesus Christ makes an appearance in a city depicted as modern Babylon --- mostly out of the lieutenant's drug-afflicted mixture of guilt, Catholic upbringing, and wild imagination) becomes a relatively unpalatable reward.

Ferrara has made a film of astounding depth and observant quality. It is unflinching in portrayal of humanity in its lowest yet despite that fact, it's a film that is interestingly religious (or Catholic, depending on your religious denomination). It's a film, with all its sleaze, violence, and celluloid-printed grease, that is more soul-affectingly powerful than Mel Gibson's Christ film. Each of the lieutenant's plentiful trespasses against morality bears a greater ache to the collective Catholicism than the rapid bloody whippings the cinematic Christ Gibson has created. The lieutenant's poignant yet open-ended redemption more uplifting and affecting than that final shot in Gibson's flick.

King of New York (1990)

King of New York (Abel Ferrara, 1990)

Frank White (Christopher Walken) has just been released in prison. Somewhere in the city, a Colombian drug lord is murdered point blank inside a telephone booth, and another one, inside a posh hotel room. Frank is escorted by two beautiful women, and for the first time after several years in prison, sees the streets of New York. It certainly doesn't look good. His kingdom has fallen, and it is up to him to recreate it. He separates his loyal allies from the uncooperative enemies, and kills the latter, if necessary.

Abel Ferrara's King of New York builds up the character of Frank White with royal, or eminent ease. He is unpredictable, ruthless, yet classy and charismatic. He is surrounded by the likes of Jimmy Jump (Laurence Fishburne), an over-the-top and amoral murderer-crack addict, yet he can also rub shoulders with the upper crust. His girlfriend is his lawyer, a famous counsel who manages to deflect criminal charges with surprising ease. Their idea of romance involves fucking inside a subway train. Interestingly, Frank White literally and figuratively fucks the law in public, simply because he can get away with it through hi philanthropy, his under-the-table tactics, and his famous violent zest. The first half of the film introduces us to Frank's world, a world of contradictions and rampant amorality. Humanity is deprived but is seen only in a few instances. Despite everything, Frank sees himself as in the right, and he merely makes money out of the city's inherent sins. He fashions himself a mere businessman.

The other half of the film concerns the coppers, a team of three: Roy Bishop (Vincent Argo), Dennis Gilley (David Caruso), and Thomas Flanigan (Wesley Snipes). Since Frank White's release, they've been finding loopholes to finally pin him down. Frank, like a snake, evades everything they put against him, to the point that Dennis and Thomas finally give up on the law's processes, and attempt to kill Frank instead. The resulting action sequence is the film's highest point: a high octane car chase, pumped up with bullet play by a hyperactive Lawrence Fishburne whose onscreen insanity is leveled by Christopher Walken's unintimidated cool. It's a thrilling setpiece, and showcases the best by cinematographer Bojan Bazelli who lights the underbellies of New York City with careful intensity, evoking danger and eventual demise.

The film suffers from sloppy writing by Nicholas St. John. Many of the characters' decisions in the film seem convoluted and unnatural, especially those coming from a carefully and intricately designed Frank White. The film ends however in a very powerful scene. Frank White just escaped a close gunfight against Roy Bishop, and bloodily walks to a crowded street and gets a cab. Traffic won't move, and the sounds of sirens of the cops' cars are heard. Frank White, the big boss of New York's underworld, and the emerging financier of New York's public works is finally venerated for what he is. A horde of immobilized cars and cabs, armed coppers ready to shoot at will, and Frank White, finally dying from loss of blood. It's a terrific ending, I think. It's an ending that justifies Frank's character yet doesn't belittle him into a petty criminal. The king of New York certainly deserves something more than being caught by the law he literally fucked the moment he walked out the prison, let him die a death he deserves, honorable in an oddly acceptable way.