You Ain't Seen Me, Right? - Lulu on the Bridge (1998)

You Ain't Seen Me, Right? is the weekly feature that reminds you that you have no chance of watching every film that's ever been made, and then makes you feel bad for watching Rush Hour more than once.

You Ain't Seen Me, Right? is brought to you by Daniel Palmer, of Part-Time Infidel web fame. We're currently collecting money to have a giant statue built in his likeness made out of old Betamax cases. You can donate by sending us your money in an brown envelope marked 'You Ain't Seen Me, Right?'.

Lulu on the Bridge (1998)

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While the Airport Boredom Crowd churn out glorified treatments and a YouTube video of a paragliding cat is given the green light for a 3-D extravaganza, the work of authors like Roth, DeLillo and Bellow has been largely ignored by Hollywood. The industry's ultimate self-fulfilling prophecy is that literate people aren't regular cinemagoers, so it's pointless to make films aimed at them. Multi-faceted characters struggling with complex emotions without recourse to violent retribution and failing to learn redemptive life lessons just don't play to the 'average viewer'.

It seems odd that Paul Auster would be one of those overlooked novelists, as his work is infused with a filmic quality, drawing inspiration from numerous cinematic sources. It was inevitable that Auster would end up working in the medium, collaborating with Wayne Wang on his Smoke/Blue in the Face double-header (1995), then writing and directing this existential thriller.

Izzy Maurer (Harvey Keitel) is a Jazz saxophonist who loses the ability to play when he is shot during a performance. Robbed of the one thing that defined him, Izzy is a broken man. During his recuperation, Izzy discovers a dead body in an alleyway, beside which is a briefcase. Inside the briefcase is a napkin with a phone number on it and a stone which emits a strange blue glow and engenders a deep feeling of elation. The number belongs to Celia Burns (Mira Sorvino), a waitress and struggling actress with whom Izzy begins an intense relationship.

Auster has an unerring gift for blending the fantastical and the mundane; his literary output has a cosmic absurdity, playing with notions of chaos, chance and transience without ever being overwrought. He brings the deceptively complex, dialogue-heavy approach of his novels to the screenplay, while his direction has a storyteller's eye for detail, fixing on objects that express the inner lives of his characters.

On his day, Keitel is a force of nature. Sadly, those days have been few and far between of late. Though he doesn't have to run the gamut of emotions required of him for Bad Lieutenant (1992), he skilfully segues between pain, elation, despondency, anxiety, anger and fear. Vanessa Redgrave appears briefly as a veteran actor-turned-director, delivering many of the film's central axioms with her usual wry sagacity - 'beauty fades', 'we're all lost creatures'. Willem Dafoe oozes sinister charisma in a small role; the head-to-head between he and Keitel is a captivating display of screen craft. Sorvino is somewhat overawed in the face of such august company, but her strangely fey performance makes sense in the context of the film's final twist, and feels like a creative choice.

Like much of Auster's canon, a single event changes the course of every life in its orbit; multiple paths converge and profoundly affect one another. Lulu on the Bridge resembles an abstract painting, in that it symbolizes whatever the viewer chooses it to. Maybe Auster's refusal to temper his singular worldview for test audiences and focus groups is behind his lack of success.
That's one to look out for - Harvey Keitel NOT being a tough nutcase. That's like watching a film where Kevin James DOESN'T fall over. More from You Ain't Seen Me, Right? next week.