Since it's hard—and possibly verboten—to say a bad word about Tom Waits, unholy shaman of whacked-out Americana, I'll content myself with expressing a few mild reservations. From the startling departure of Swordfishtrombones—over 20 years old now—Tom's every subsequent move has been worth following with avid fascination. But with 2002's simultaneously released Alice and Blood Money, it seemed he was veering off into wilfully art-wank Hal Willner territory.
John Frankenheimer's ruthlessly constructed, hugely entertaining actioner is essentially three stand-out car chases (Paris by night, Nice, and Paris by day) surrounded by a heist movie, a silver McGuffin suitcase, a sassy Provo pin-up (Natascha McElhone), an ex-CIA hitman (De Niro), the Russian Mafia, Sinn Fein and the Northern Ireland Peace Process. Naturally.
Kerry has a long face. At the time of writing Bush leads in the polls by 10 per cent. Despite everything. If only the volatile, human Howard Dean hadn't scared the Democrats into playing safe. Moore's documentary mostly doesn't, but if it can't swing the election, history might deem it a failure, a rebel yell forgotten at daybreak. We live in interesting times, which sucks.
Considering all the Vietnam literature/cinema, Moore isn't doing anything new. He's doing necessary protest for the 21st century. He manipulates our emotions brilliantly, and is certainly a force for good.
