Review: Monster’s Ball

With a title derived from the term used for a condemned prisoner’s final night before execution, this heavy drama stars Billy Bob Thornton as a prison worker in the South in charge of carrying out executions. Joining him is his sensitive son Heath Ledger, who may not have the stomach for the job, as Thornton warns him of getting too friendly with soon-to-be executed murderer Sean ‘Puff the Magic Dragon’ Combs. Thornton’s father (Peter Boyle) is a retired prison officer himself, now basically an invalid. He’s also a vile, unrepentant racist, and has clearly influenced his son with his views to an extent. Meanwhile, Combs’ wife Halle Berry prepares for the inevitable, whilst also scolding her obese son (Coronji Calhoun) for sneaking sugary snacks. After the execution is over, Thornton himself goes through a traumatic sense of personal loss, and when he and Berry happen upon one another one day, a seemingly impossible (or at least implausible) bond starts to be formed between these two damaged people. However, Berry is not aware of the role Thornton played in her husband’s execution, though she is about to meet his dear ‘ol dad.

 

Some of you are probably going to hate me for this review, and most of you in that category will do so having misunderstood me. So please read carefully. I am absolutely not a racist, and if you think I am based on this review, you’re not reading it properly. Although I wanted to, I didn’t much like this Marc Forster (whose “Stranger Than Fiction” was the best film of 2006 in my view) film the first time I saw it in 2001, and now in early 2013 I enjoyed it even less. It tells its story of very serious subjects in a truly perplexing, and in my view, rather offensive and completely overblown manner. As a result, important themes, and fine performances by Heath Ledger and a genuinely disgusting Peter Boyle go largely to waste because Forster and writers Milo Addica and Will Rokos (who are way too ambitious for first-time screenwriters) have decided that the solution to grief and racial hatred is “Jungle Fever”. It’s like “How Stella Got Her White Man On”. Sorry, but it’s how I see the film, and it’s a shamefully simplistic and trashy take on some very important and complex issues.

 

Instead of being moved, the lasting impression is Halle Berry taking it up the arse (or at least being taken from behind) and shrieking pathetically ‘Make me feel goooood!’. It’s almost laughable...except it’s really, really not. This film should not have a scene that is widely available on porn sites on the internet. Not that I know that for a fact, of course. No...I’d never. The whole film seems to have a very odd view of women. They seem to just be there to have anal (or at least doggystyle) sex with. Sure, the Berry character seems to have some depth early on, but then she and Yessir Massir hook up and it all feels both misogynistic and racist. It’s probably neither, but I felt deeply uncomfortable with this film. The big sex scene is quite frankly the most ridiculous, laughable, and needlessly elongated sex scene of all-time. No sex scene involving Billy Bob Thornton needs to be so long and dynamic. It’s absurd and makes the supposedly cathartic message seem really offensive. These are damaged people in need of healing, not Sting-like tantric sex. There is something here, but Forster lets it get out of hand (Dare I say he blows his load?).

 

It also feels like several films in one for starters; The interracial romance (more like a shag-a-thon), Berry’s overweight kid, the deep-rooted racism of a family, etc. The whole thing isn’t believable for these two specific characters anyway. Thornton might not be quite as racist as his father (There are probably more racially sensitive KKK members than this guy), but he’s nowhere near likely to engage in any kind of romantic or sexual relationship with an African-American woman, even if both characters do have a common bond and do both need healing. It’s overcooked and unbelievable because the issues of racial hatred are too deep-rooted in this guy’s family that the only one with any hope of escaping it would be Ledger’s, and well...you’ll see how that works out in the film. It’s also completely contrived- Berry just so happens to be Thornton’s favourite waitress, Berry’s husband is the prisoner whose execution Thornton oversaw, and although she surely visited him several times and they live in a small town, she doesn’t know Thornton, etc. Geez. I’m sorry, but no catharsis is worth stacking this many contrivances and so many histrionics. Hot sex and ice cream are NOT the keys to resolving deep-rooted racial issues or even the loss of a family member. Even if the sex is with Halle Berry (Apparently Queen Latifah was in line for the role. Make of that what you will. I’m totally not suggesting anything...noooo).

 

If you removed the fairly explicit and prolonged sex scenes and have the relationship play out more tentatively, then the message becomes easier to take. I really think in time, the people who lauded this film will feel very, very silly (Ditto with “Crash”). And that’s a shame, because the good stuff here is very, very good. With more subtlety it might’ve even worked as a whole. Billy Bob Thornton’s performance, for instance, has the subtlety and measure the rest of the film lacks, even though his character’s transition is utterly ridiculously implausible. Boyle isn’t meant to be subtle. He’s an unrepentant, nasty, racist cracker and awful father, too pitiful and pathetic to truly hate in my view. He’s not worth your hatred. Thornton and Boyle ought to have won Oscars for this, if you ask me (However, were they even nominated?). Thornton is believably taciturn and tortured, especially early on. Boyle will shock many who only know him from his comic roles, and is spot-on playing this horrible excuse for a human being who has driven at least two people to end their lives. Heath Ledger, meanwhile, projects a real sensitivity and fragility in this film (and seemingly in his sadly short life, too), and although he isn’t in the film much, he’s impressive. He is still missed to this day. Mos Def also shines in a small role, but he and Ledger, good as they are, end up somewhat overshadowed here. Ditto P. Diddly Widdly Doo Da, who has an affecting moment or two of reflection and fear of imminent death. I thought Halle Berry’s Oscar win was a beautiful moment (Denzel, less so), but the film is overblown and on the nose. And to what end is her performance anyway? Her performance on my second viewing of the film was actually less impressive because it eventually becomes demeaning (Angela Bassett was right to criticise the character, I’m afraid). It’s through no fault of her own, though, as overwrought as she is. It’s clearly the script, and this performance guided by that script and the character itself make me deeply uncomfortable and not in any rewarding way.

 

It’s not a terrible film, just a misguided and misjudged one in my view. There was certainly merit in the story of three generations of prison guards and the passing down of racial hatred through the generations. But it is ultimately overshadowed and ruined by Halle Berry (whose character is shrill and never wears a damn bra) having hot, lengthy sex with the son of a racist old cracker and who also pulled the switch on her husband. Oh shut up. Whatever its intentions, based on what we see, it should’ve been called “White Guilt, Milk Chocolate” (Seriously, did the ice cream at the end have to be chocolate?), and the film is sadly begging to be mocked. Perhaps I’m misreading what Forster intended, but perhaps he simply didn’t succeed in conveying it. I know which camp I’m in. At best, it’s hopelessly naive. Sorry, but I didn’t like this at all. I would LOVE to hear Spike Lee’s thoughts on the film.

 

Rating: C