Jennifer 8 (1992, Dir. Bruce Robinson)
Synopsis:
Detective John Berlin (Andy Garcia) quits his job in Los Angeles and to take up a position in the secluded Northern California town of Eureka, where his old police colleague, Freddy Ross (Lance Henriksen) is now based with his family. Berlin’s marriage had ended some years before and he is a recovering alcoholic. On the day he arrives he’s called to a crime scene at the city dump where the body of a tramp has been found. Initially, it’s assumed the tramp committed suicide, but a further search reveals a woman’s severed hand.
The marks on the hand suggest that the woman was blind and despite opposition from the rest of the Eureka police, Berlin begins to suspect the hand belongs to the latest victim of a local serial killer, codenamed “Jennifer”.
He finds a potential witness in Helena Roberts (Uma Thurman), another blind woman who knew the victim; but most of the police, including Ross, suspect that Berlin has simply fallen in love with Helena and don’t take his theories seriously. In the meantime, Berlin starts to worry that Helena maybe “Jennifer’s” next victim.
Those who’ve read the wonderful book of interviews with writer/director Bruce Robinson,”Smoking In Bed”; will know that the production of this film was one long tale of woe from beginning to end. From executives questioning the script, to forcing him to cast Andy Garcia (who despite a good performance is too young to play Berlin credibly — Robinson wanted Al Pacino, who would have lifted the part into another category altogether), interfering with the production and finally cutting 20 minutes from the movie, truncating the ending drastically.
Despite all of this, there’s still much to savour here: The performances are good. Yes, Garcia is miscast — but that doesn’t mean his work here is any less effective. If your awareness of Uma Thurman’s work begins with her performance in Pulp Fiction, then her performance here, as the frail, almost childlike, Helena will definitely come as a surprise. Henriksen is as dependable as he always is and Kathy Baker, as Ross’ wife, brings a lot of depth to what might, in lesser hands, have been a fairly nondescript role. However, it’s John Malkovich’s blistering performance, as the FBI agent who questions Berlin, which is the real gem here. His total screen time is probably only 10 minutes, but it’s so good the film is almost worth watching just for his scenes. These days, like Christopher Walken, his performances often verge on self parody, so it’s worth watching him in something like this to remember how good an actor he really is. His St.Anne (who appears to be coming down with a cold) alternates between boredom, anger and sympathy. He knows exactly what to say to get a reaction from Berlin and I love the part where he outlines his theory about what happened and actually makes Garcia flinch.
The scenes between Garcia and Malkovich come at a point in the movie where things seem very black for Berlin; so much so that, as the viewer, you begin wonder whether Garcia’s character can really “pull himself out” of the hole he’s dug. That’s one of the great strengths of Robinson’s script, it’s not afraid to stake the odds high and really make you doubt the outcome. Or to be creepy. This is one of the creepiest non-horror films you’ll ever see. The scenes at night in the institute for the blind, where Thurman’s character lives, are truly unnerving and often carry the added chill that we know she cannot see the figure lurking at the edge of the frame or the shadow outside the window.
The theme of blindness constantly throws up surprises in this film, such as a clock for the blind alerting Berlin that a suspect’s house is the right one after all and the motion sensor telling Helena that she’s not alone. These are just some of the many little touches that Robinson’s script uses to freshen up old clichés. I love the fact that the pervert janitor, a throwaway character who seems at first to have no importance other than as a red herring, is the one who calls the police when Berlin and Ross’ stakeout at the deserted Institute leads to tragedy; as well as the raw scene afterwards when Berlin confronts Ross’ wife and just holds her, despite the fact that she’s too upset to talk to him. Even the final confrontation with the killer has it’s surprise, not least because, with the running time of the film cut down, the suddenness with which it’s all over is almost brutal.
Finally, it’s not just the director and the on-screen talent that make this film special. Christopher Young’s minimal yet haunting score is perfect and one of the composer’s best. His piano theme is a close cousin to both John Williams’ Presumed Innocent and John Carpenter’s The Fog and the score is even more impressive when you realize that Young was a last minute replacement for Maurice Jarre, who had already recorded his score; leaving Young with hardly any time and a reduced budget.
The editing by Conrad Buff (The Terminator) is excellent and along with the score helps create the unusually creepy atmosphere. However, the highest accolades need to go to the cinematography by the late, great Conrad Hall. His work here deserves just as many accolades as that of his on Road To Perdition or Marathon Man. From the sunlight streaming into the room the first time Berlin meets Helena (she’s blind, after all, why would she know when to pull the shades down) or the scenes in the deserted institute lit only by Berlin’s flashlight to the almost apocalyptic garbage dump at night and in the rain with 50 policeman lit by working lights; this is a masterclass in cinematography by one of the greats and yet another reason to view this sadly, vastly underrated and under-appreciated film.
