There is a certain idiosyncratic appeal to this small 2008 piece of strange whimsy thanks to Harmony Korine's ("Gummo") wholly individualistic film-making style. Co-written with his brother Avi, he has created an admittedly weird if visually arresting film that opens with a slow-motion shot of a man in a Michael Jackson outfit, complete with white mask, riding a bicycle with a stuffed monkey attached by a wire flying in the tailwind. This is all accompanied by Bobby Vinton's 1964 falsetto-tinged pop hit, which shares the film's title. However, the movie itself is hamstrung by a disjointed narrative, thinly developed characters, and lethargic pacing that makes the film seem much longer than its 112-minute running time. That's too bad because Korine explores the fallacies of identity with a surprising dexterity. It's just that he can't consistently maintain the uniqueness of his story concept beyond the original set-up.
The protagonist is indeed a Michael Jackson impersonator who performs for change on the streets of Paris. Actually a reticent Mexican expatriate who paints faces on eggs to pass the time in his room, he gets excited when asked to entertain at a rest home. There he meets a kindred spirit in a curvaceous Marilyn Monroe impersonator, who promptly invites him to a castle and farm commune in the Scottish Highlands inhabited by a motley crew of fellow celebrity impersonators. We meet Marilyn's husband, a Charlie Chaplin impersonator, and their moppet daughter, who pretends to be Shirley Temple. Surprisingly, just when you expect Korine to take us on a flight of random fancy, the story takes a more predictable turn into a love triangle of sorts and moves slowly toward a downbeat resolution. In a completely separate storyline, a group of nuns in a Latin American village are given a sense of eternal purpose when one accidentally falls out of a plane and miraculously survives. Korine doesn't bother to show us how one storyline relates to the other, nor does he explain why the diverse array of impersonators would congregate in such an isolated spot. Priority is placed on presenting these strange tableaux rather than building narrative coherence.
The resulting emotional disconnect from the characters makes the cast work that much harder to maintain our interest. At minimum, the principals give sympathetic portrayals despite the challenges. Diego Luna (Tenoch in "Y Tu Mama Tambien") does a dynamite impression of Jackson's 80's-era dance moves and even more, captures the innate diffidence of the eccentric superstar's offstage behavior. But it's the chameleonic Samantha Morton ("In America"), sporting a convincing American accent, who brings heart and vulnerability to her breathy faux-Marilyn. In the other story, renowned German director Werner Herzog ("Fitzcarraldo") seems to be improvising as he plays the priest who wrangles the nuns into their higher calling. Except for Denis Lavant's desultory turn as Chaplin, the rest of the cast fails to make much of an impression beyond their various guises. I just wish the audacity of Korine's venture could have been matched by a gift for storytelling.
The protagonist is indeed a Michael Jackson impersonator who performs for change on the streets of Paris. Actually a reticent Mexican expatriate who paints faces on eggs to pass the time in his room, he gets excited when asked to entertain at a rest home. There he meets a kindred spirit in a curvaceous Marilyn Monroe impersonator, who promptly invites him to a castle and farm commune in the Scottish Highlands inhabited by a motley crew of fellow celebrity impersonators. We meet Marilyn's husband, a Charlie Chaplin impersonator, and their moppet daughter, who pretends to be Shirley Temple. Surprisingly, just when you expect Korine to take us on a flight of random fancy, the story takes a more predictable turn into a love triangle of sorts and moves slowly toward a downbeat resolution. In a completely separate storyline, a group of nuns in a Latin American village are given a sense of eternal purpose when one accidentally falls out of a plane and miraculously survives. Korine doesn't bother to show us how one storyline relates to the other, nor does he explain why the diverse array of impersonators would congregate in such an isolated spot. Priority is placed on presenting these strange tableaux rather than building narrative coherence.
The resulting emotional disconnect from the characters makes the cast work that much harder to maintain our interest. At minimum, the principals give sympathetic portrayals despite the challenges. Diego Luna (Tenoch in "Y Tu Mama Tambien") does a dynamite impression of Jackson's 80's-era dance moves and even more, captures the innate diffidence of the eccentric superstar's offstage behavior. But it's the chameleonic Samantha Morton ("In America"), sporting a convincing American accent, who brings heart and vulnerability to her breathy faux-Marilyn. In the other story, renowned German director Werner Herzog ("Fitzcarraldo") seems to be improvising as he plays the priest who wrangles the nuns into their higher calling. Except for Denis Lavant's desultory turn as Chaplin, the rest of the cast fails to make much of an impression beyond their various guises. I just wish the audacity of Korine's venture could have been matched by a gift for storytelling.