THE CANYONS (Paul Schrader). 100 minutes. Opens Friday (August 2). For venues and times, see listings. Rating: N
The Canyons opens and closes with montages of deserted, decrepit movie theatres. I think it’s director Paul Schrader’s way of telling us that cinema as we once knew it is dead, rejected by a generation that can’t sit still for two hours.
But that’s just a guess. The Canyons isn’t about cinema it isn’t about much of anything, really. Written by novelist Bret Easton Ellis, it’s a dull, plodding look at the lives of a handful of 20-somethings in West Hollywood who spend their time screwing each other – and screwing each other over – while juggling various indulgences and wearing as little as possible.
One of those people is played by Lindsay Lohan, which is the only reason anyone is talking about the picture at all. Yes, she looks like hell yes, she takes her clothes off. And at no point will you care about her character Tara’s relationship with either dead-eyed movie producer Christian (porn actor James Deen) or old boyfriend and struggling actor Ryan (Nolan Funk).
That’s because Ellis hasn’t bothered to give any of those characters a personality beyond “Hollywood type” and Schrader hasn’t encouraged the actors to flesh them out.
Unlike Ellis’s key L.A. work Less Than Zero, the ennui here is entirely accidental.
