Web posted on: Tuesday, July 14, 1998 4:11:10 PM

From Reviewer Paul Tatara

(CNN) -- Quite out of the blue, cult director Hal Hartley (whose previous output generally leaves me cold) has made the most emotionally complex film of the year.

"Henry Fool," a thoroughly audacious examination of the pitfalls of immense self-belief and the burden of being compelled towards artistic expression, is not a total success. Some of Hartley's trademark droll (and occasionally foul) humor is suspect, and the movie is too long by half an hour. But these are very minor quibbles, given the power of the rest of the story. Completely unlike anything that's out there right now, it's teeming with rich, multi-layered ideas about art, aesthetics, and personal ambitions.

There's a thematic richness to the screenplay (which won the big prize at last year's Cannes Film Festival) that's absolutely fascinating. A troubled writer's commitment to creating honest, far-reaching work lies at its core, but it's also about loyalty and the curse of unshakable emotional demons. Ultimately, Hartley is contemplating the process of finding an audible voice in a world where people generally do everything they can to not listen.

That lots of folks will disregard the movie's existence simply adds another level of irony to its already forceful message. It's almost as if Hartley has poured his heart and soul into a story that questions the dynamics of artistic expression in order to berate his considerable non-audience for avoiding him. If a true artist sings out and everyone ignores him, has he actually accomplished anything? And exactly why does an artist require an audience?

These aren't questions that I've heard asked at the movies before -- at least not in these unforgiving terms -- and, for that reason alone, I would consider this to be one of the best films of the year. Even if you can't handle Hartley's determinedly morose tone, there's no denying that "Henry Fool" is as smart and heartfelt as "Armageddon" is stupid and prefabricated, and don't hold your breath waiting for me to apologize for that one.

James Urbaniak stars as Simon Grim (I admit, the name is a bit much), an apparently slow-witted garbage man from Queens who lives with his mentally unstable mother (Maria Porter) and sexually despairing sister (Parker Posey, i.e. the hardest working woman in show business). Simon is nearly mute, even when he's being physically assaulted by the abusive neighborhood tough guy (Kevin Corrigan).

He unexpectedly finds his salvation, however, when his family rents out their basement to a pompous, unkempt drifter named Henry Fool. Thomas Jay Ryan plays Henry, and it's a brilliant performance, even if you can barely tolerate the character's caustic self-importance.

Henry has spent seven years in jail for sex with an underage girl. He seldom bathes or shaves, and he verbally rebukes anyone who comes within shouting distance of him. That is, everyone except Simon. Henry has pretensions towards being a great writer, and can talk the game in the grandiose manner of an unloved, overly studious graduate student. He's been writing a book of "confessions" for years now, filling notebook after notebook with his unformed ramblings.

One day, Henry suggests that Simon should start writing down the things that he can't bring himself to say in his day-to-day life, which is pretty much everything he needs to communicate from the time he gets up until he goes to sleep at night.

When Simon follows Henry's suggestion, it's discovered that he's something of a mad genius. He naturally writes in iambic pentameter, weaving scalding, shockingly sexual statements into poems of great emotional power.

Henry takes Simon under his wing, encouraging him to quit his job and focus on the writing, but his Svengali trip quickly infiltrates every aspect of Simon's life. He mooches money from Simon, toys with his sister, and even has barely-reciprocated sex with his depressed mother.

Eventually, it becomes evident that Henry is picking his friend's life apart as a way of stimulating the fledgling poet's newly discovered impulses. Or, as Henry tells Simon at one point, "You need experience. You need to do something to be ashamed of once in a while." After a lengthy struggle, Simon's controversial verse earns him a fawning audience, and he starts barreling towards an unbelievable amount of fame and glory.

There are a million different ways to read what's going on here. As our lives become overstimulated by words and images, more and more people are getting lost in the shuffle. To me, the game that Henry is playing stems from these decidedly modern circumstances. If you can't be heard above the din, coopt the voice (or attach yourself to the experiences) of somebody who's managed to do it.

This was tragically illustrated when John Lennon was assassinated 18 years ago; our celebrity/artist-obsessed culture not only establishes the parameters that need to be shattered to achieve the goal of being heard, but also encourages the attack. If you get to take the ride, who cares if it's on a set of coattails, or if somebody else suffers for your moment in the spotlight?

Henry is definitely smart enough to recognize the situation, but it never occurs to him that he's been snowing himself when it comes to his own abilities as a writer. This overbearing self-delusion turns out to be his undoing.

That the effective sequences are so good makes the stuff that doesn't work all the more noticeable. Most glaring is Hartley's handling of Simon's visit to a fancy publishing house. He's trying to get somebody -- anybody -- to read his epic poem, but the smarmy editor treats him like an errand boy, and practically laughs in his face after glancing at the writing.

The suits at the publishing house are so obviously reaching for hipness, they seem like the painfully mod advertising guy in "A Hard Day's Night" who tries to test market "grotty" shirts on George Harrison. Suddenly Hartley is selling us cartoon characters when the strength of the movie lies in the very real conflicts of his protagonists.

There's also a sub-plot involving Corrigan's character's abuse of his girlfriend that seems wholly irrelevant until the rather misguided last half-hour of the movie. It leads up to a poignant final shot, but you feel like the whole sequence is laid out solely for that one moment.

Corrigan, however, has the best line in the film. At one point he cleans up his act, puts on a suit, and starts promoting a right-wing political candidate around the neighborhood. His enthusiastic sales pitch? "He takes complicated issues and totally simplifies them. I appreciate that."

In that case, he probably wouldn't appreciate the movie he's appearing in.

"Henry Fool" is no picnic. There's sex, nudity, profanity, violence, suicide, and suggestions of rape (statutory and otherwise). Henry also encourages a small boy to smoke a cigarette and take a sip of whiskey. Even though the story is about overcoming these horrors, you should leave the kiddies at home. One of the year's very best movies. Rated R. 138 minutes.