David Mamit was a famous theater writer for half a century, and there are many topics, resources, situations, rhythms, and involuntary cramps that work through his work, so that it is easy to wipe it and simply be classified as “Mametesque”. Continuity there.
However, when I look at the time sequence of Mamit’s profession, I am surprised by a huge and overwhelming split – which is the tune, philosophical color, style and definition of his identity. In the plays that I put on the map, such as “American Buffalo” and “Sexual Deviation in Chicago”, he was trying to bring the ways that ordinary people spoke, which is why the words appeared in non -low boutees, and the characters that released each other’s ideas. Everything was crowned with Mamit’s masterpiece of 1983, “Glengarry Glen Ross”, a immortal celebration/accusation of the young artist sellers who turned the deceptive language from the fraudsters into the poetry of Krakak. In this context, “Speed The Speed” (1988) continued its satire in Hollywood.
The defection arrived in 1992, when Mamit wrote “Oleanna”, Hander about sexual harassment in an academic environment. It was too late, he said that the stabilization of the play in A said/she said that the battle of Wales was before his time. However, “Oleanna” seemed to have written by Chatbot Mamet, as the characters revealed themselves-or, as they were not-in birds of sente-herky-jerky shrapnel.
Mamit no longer reflects the voice of speech. He was dismantling exaggerated. Critics often compared to Harold Pinter, and just as Pinter has become famous for a “temporary stop”, and he may believe that his own reviews are too much, and now it appears to be praising Mamet Headquarters Words that came to shoot like simple fragments, without necessarily adding. The amazing real realism of “Glengarry” was its glory. (For this reason, the 1992 movie release is the greatest movie Martin Scorsese that Scorsese has not made.) But Mamitt seems to be trying to take a leap in a copy of the words restricted by Al -Kubaibiya. To move forward, his plays are increasingly impotent, hidden and ideological. It no longer picks up human nature. He was hanging like a butterfly and drawing it.
“Henry Johnson” is the cinematic version of the Mamet play that was shown for the first time in Los Angeles in 2023 (it’s the first movie that was directed by 17 years), and for the first thirty, at least, it brings you back to that space where there is nothing more than donating – on the stage or in a movie – more than two people who walk in each other, using words as a floors and with Weapons. In this case, people Henry (Evan Junigkit), the character of the movie, is the nital executive official in the style of Oil, and the hair cut Paul Thomas Anderson, and his director, Mr. Barnes, who is played by ordinary Mamit Chris Power, who reminds me of a celebration in the late seventies of the last century. Power, with his infant’s face, tears the role of a disputed senior company officer who speaks to his aggression so strongly that we are aware of, long ago, that he is interrogating him.
While standing in an office with traditional decorations (convincing lamps, whiskey cabinet), Barnes wants to know about Henry’s relationship with a friend of a scandal convicted of wrongful killing. And when we hear about the crime, it is dark and worrying. The friend got a person who carried and wanted to end the pregnancy; When she refused, he caused miscarriage through violence. Early, you get a bitter taste from the new governor Mamet, as this crime appears to be designed to be the sub -provocation of the theatrical writer on the issue of miscarriage. But the real topic of the dialogue is what Henry’s psychological friend was, as he was returning to him when he was a woman’s agency in the college, until then, that Henry was a kind of spirit that could be his fingerprint.
Henry Johnson consists of three actions, each in a different environment, where each of them was built around monologue pretending as a conversation. Henry is the only character that appears in every scene. This first act, which is a cavity on the ways of human manipulation, ends with the development of: accusing the crime, and revelation that Henry was closer to his friend than we thought. In the next scene, Henry is in prison, wearing a yellow Dodis, and our first thought is: How will Dweeb stay there for five minutes?
His colleague in the cell, Jin (Labov), raises this question. Henry seems to have no intelligence in the streets, not to mention prison intelligence. While the gene appears to be a street criminal, I saw him at all. He is one of these brilliant, brilliant, permitted social prize, such as Jack Henry Abbott, and Labeouf inhabits him with a wonderful conviction. Jin’s eyes always study you (they are like radar), and have a feeling of everything in the sense of fictional stories, Princess (the villain and the prince, as he says, is the same person) on how to avoid killing in the prison square.
However, it is good like Labov, the cloudy shouting of the aggression and advice begins to be a little. It is clear that it is the mouthpiece of Mamit, but the film begins to lose the thread of what is going on around it. Ivan Jongkit (Mammate’s son -in -law) makes Henry naive, to the extent that we do not develop much of the attention rooted. It is a two -way deception: everyone around him continues to manipulate him, and Mamit does not seem interested in what is happening to him. Henry Johnson is a procession of cheerful perceptions that never become, as you know … a play. The film begins out of bars when we know that Henry was carrying a flirtation with the prison advisor. Everything about this – and the fact that Jin wants Henry to use the relationship to get a gun – feels a fabricated murderous, to the point that Mamit cannot bother her even to fill her.
After that, in the last verb, Henry got his weapon. The Secretary of the Prison Library (Dominic Hoffman) has taken hostage, and everything that happens seems completely unrealistic, but Mamit does not care, because he got another monologue for you to listen to it. This is from the librarian, and does not work … at all. The film is emptied in front of your eyes.
But in fact, as you think about it, you realize that he was moving for a while, even during the performance of Labov, the strong, because David Mamit no longer writes the plays that passes the test of the smell of reality. He exceeded this in his mind. He writes the plays that are delivery systems for the power of the word “ideas”. Henry Johnson should be a sticker with the following description line: “Three monologors. One of the lengthy theater writer.” Watch it, you feel the deepest talent of Mamit. He never left him. But you also feel the contempt that he has now for entertainment facts. He wants to get us out of our comfort area. The problem is that he invented the rare discomfort area of self -indulgence.