Henry encourages Simon to learn to express himself through writing, and Simon does so, writing a book-length poem. Others begin to read the poem, and it becomes a catalyst for miracles. Henry discovers envy, a mute girl bursts out in song, and Fay, Simon's nymphomaniac sister played by Parker Posey (The House of Yes, Dazed and Confused), has her period a week and a half early. While Simon labors over his poem and becomes a sudden celebrity, Henry works just as hard at getting himself into trouble. He makes love to Simon's mother, flirts with Fay, and dodges his parole officer.

Like all of Hartley's films, Henry Fool has desperate faith that people really can change. The film is full of reversals, double-reversals, and redemption. Hartley's final point, though, is that art, and artful living, is all about sacrifice. One early scene has Simon, after a run-in with a neighborhood thug, sitting on the floor of his bathroom with a broken rib and a black eye. Henry has just realized Simon's artistic potential and follows him into the bathroom. Henry immediately forgets Simon's physical condition and launches into a speech about the Poet's altruistic duty, challenging Simon to quit his job and dedicate himself solely to art. Finally, Simon looks up at him and says, "It hurts to breathe." With passion in his eyes, Henry replies, "Of course it does."

Henry Fool is certainly one of the more accessible Hartley films, and it is interesting that this is what seems to have excited the people at Cannes. Here we have a story beginning with a good dose of trademark Hartley dialogue and then backing off to rely on more basic, sparse conversations and well-established character motivation. The film, though, is plot-heavy and a little long, and the audience begins to feel this after about ninety minutes. Still, it all builds to a wonderful payoff with several fascinating scenes consisting of strong visual sequences. And, in fact, the film ends in a most unique way with an entirely ambiguous image which the audience must interpret for themselves, deciding exactly how well they know Henry and just what happens to him in the end.

Jim Carrey in a Memorable Film?!

Jim Carrey is Truman Burbank, a man adopted at birth by a corporation and raised in the world's largest soundstage, the frighteningly perfect town of Seahaven. Truman's entire world is constructed of props, actors, and hidden cameras. It's all an elaborate television show, which has been broadcasting 24 hours a day since Truman's birth. Truman himself, however, suspects nothing and believes he is living an ordinary life. As the film begins, he is thirty years old, married, and selling insurance for a living.

Over the years Christof, the television show's producer, played by Ed Harris (The Rock, Apollo 13), has had trouble keeping the illusion of Seahaven intact for Truman. Morally outraged protestors from the outside world have, from time to time, forced their way onto the soundstage in hopes of freeing Truman. Still, for thirty years, Christof has kept Truman from learning the truth. Then one day a stage light falls out of the sky, crashing into the street as Truman is leaving for work. Later he sees his supposedly dead father dressed like a bum. Slowly Truman realizes the truth and begins to look for the seams that hold his world together.

On the surface, The Truman Show is a very fun film packed with charm and character. Jim Carrey gives an incredibly restrained and focused performance, and director Peter Weir (Fearless, Dead Poets Society, Witness) offers up the strong visuals and engaging atmosphere he is known for. But beneath its surface, the film is something a bit disturbing - an expression of a certain social paranoia, which was also captured earlier this year in the film Dark City. It is a paranoia of conspiracy, an almost superstitious fear of Controlling Powers. In The Truman Show, the enemy is network programming and marketing strategy. In Dark City, it was aliens. (Anyone remember the good old days when all we had to fear was the government?) Still, this paranoia has roots at least as far back as Milton's Paradise Lost, and if seen in a certain light it may not appear entirely unhealthy. Perhaps it is even something positive, a sort of cautious sensibility, and we should be encouraged to see it in the pop culture spotlight.

There is one element, though, of The Truman Show that truly disappoints, and that is the ending. The story builds steadily to an exhilarating and hilarious climax in the middle of film with Truman realizing the truth about Seahaven. Suddenly he begins to act unpredictably, and Christof's actors scramble to control the situation. They resort to ludicrous methods, their ridiculous artifice becoming more and more obvious. It is this period of direct confrontation between Truman and his captors that is the high point of the film. Then, strangely, the camera turns away from all that energy and steps back from Truman to show us more of Christof, the typically bland Ed Harris character. When Truman decides to escape in a sailboat, the film suddenly becomes an abstract struggle between him and Christof. The screenwriter, Andrew Niccol, paints Jim Carrey over with a melodramatic brush, pushing the lonely, tragic hero at us. (Placing this film side by side with Gattaca, which Niccol wrote and directed, one wonders if he has an obsession with Moby Dick.) Finally, all that can be said of the film's ending is that it is adequate, and in a film this good that makes it the story's weak point.