The Cooler

by Shari L. Rosenblum

Fast-paced, dirty dealing, seedy sex-soaked paradise of fleeting fortune, Las Vegas has never seemed less interesting or compelling than it does in The Cooler, Wayne Kramer's directorial debut about a loser in a town where people go to win. Co-written by Kramer and Frank Hannah, the screenplay's would-be wit cannot overcome the inescapable odor of the film's self-conscious sermonizing. Commendable, perhaps, for eschewing the temptation of glitz for an old fashioned treatise on redemptive love, methinks it did eschew too much. Utterly lacking in sizzle and spark, The Cooler (dare I say it) left me cold.

William H. Macy, in a signature sort of role, seems to have faxed in his portrayal of title character Bernie Lootz (get it?), the man with the anti-Midas touch, from a late-night convenience store just outside the studio lot. A great actor, at times, Macy brings nothing new to this tired role -- the ease of his movement plays not as naturalness, but as boredom. Bernie is the kind of guy who can never get milk for his coffee, and whose best friend is his only friend -- a sleazy throw-back casino owner, Shelly Kaplow (Alec Baldwin, playing to the cheap seats), to whom he owes a bit of cash. Shelly is the kind of guy who exploits Bernie's bad luck by using him to cool off lucky streaks at hot tables (which sadsack Bernie can do by simply sidling over and looking on). Shelly is also the kind of guy who doesn't shrink back from breaking a friend's kneecap should the need arise.

Though it be called Shangri-La, the casino on the dark edge of town is no paradise. Stakes run high in the nightlife of indie faux grit (where even Shelly's got some blues), and get even higher when an unknowing flesh-and-bone Lady Luck plays her hand and comes up winner in hearts.

Perhaps there are people in the world who would find it entertaining to watch Shelly and Bernie in action, but I do not believe that cracked fairytale waitress Natalie (Maria Bello) would be one of them. Written with the kind of subtlety previously seen in such as Jessica Rabbit, Natalie is a stock character -- failed showgirl with aging assets and a desperation to beat the odds. Bello looks convincingly washed out and played out, but her performance adds not a shade or nuance to the character. Despite baring her ostensible vulnerability (i.e., cellulite) in requisite (and overly lauded) true-toned sex scenes, her Natalie is never more than someone's surface sketch of a good witch on hard times.

The story that moves these three characters forward, such as it is, is a skeletal frame draped in familiar clichés whose weight it can hardly support. A viewer could readily forget what happened, or why, as the credits are rolling, and then piece it back together from a common-book memory of stock characters and actions and an awareness of indie conceits. Were I a betting woman, though, I'd lay odds such a lucky viewer would consider forgetting a coup, gather up his chips, and walk away from the table.

©2003 Shari L. Rosenblum
CineScene