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The darkest of the filmic trilogy that unites husband and wife Dennis Quaid and Meg Ryan,
Flesh and Bone is a grimly affecting tale of two lonely lives, one unexpectedly, dramatically affected by the other. Quaid is the tragic Arlis, condemned to running away from memories of his horrific childhood. His is a life on the road, replenishing vending machines including one with a live chicken and predictions of the future. Ryan's unhappily wed Kay fears a past that Arlis is inextricably tied to. Still, they're drawn to each other. Then Arlis's father, the amoral Roy (an appropriately frightening James Caan), shows up and interferes and intervenes. Joining Roy is the benignly malevolent Ginnie (a sharp Gwyneth Paltrow in her first significant role). The film is written and directed by underused Steve Kloves, who wrote the lovely
Racing with the Moon, and who wrote and directed
The Fabulous Baker Boys.
For Flesh, Ryan is at her throaty, dark best, and Quaid's pain is etched on his face. The couple works very well together in this film, their first as a married couple (Innerspace and D.O.A. were made pre-nup). It's not the romantic light comedy both Quaid and Ryan had later success with, but it's a very effective and compelling film, despite its devastating tale. --N.F. Mendoza
The first film written and directed by Steve Kloves, "The Fabulous Baker Boys," was the most mature début in years, and a tough act to follow. His second is a dark and desperate piece of work; the Baker Boys were fated to stay middling and unknown, but the doom hanging over his new characters is altogether more severe. Dennis Quaid plays Arlis Sweeney, who as a young boy was an unwilling accomplice to the crimes of his father (James Caan). He minds his own business until he falls for Kay (Meg Ryan) and finds himself dragged back to the wickedness of the past. Although the plot comes to rely on a particularly outlandish series of coincidences, it's a credit to Kloves's skill that you can almost put this out of your mind and enjoy his long, suspended scenes, brimming with lust or the need to lash out. But he is properly an ironist, not a dealer in Hawthorne-like fables, and you miss the moments of levity that lifted the earlier movie, just as you long for Dennis Quaid's face, swollen with distress, to relax into one of his old wide grins. The movie is almost stolen by a gorgeous performance from Gwyneth Paltrow (who had one good scene in "Malice"), as a sly young drifter. Paltrow seems to know more about cool than all the other players put together. -Anthony Lane
Copyright © 2006
The New Yorker
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