Mike Figgis
Via da Las Vegas

Hate him? No, come on, the verb is too strong even for him because to hate someone I think there must be familiarity with the person in question. After all, it's me who, in a kind of masochistic foolishness, seek out his films and even watch them (obviously not at the cinema) precisely with the mere intent of discrediting him. Nicolas Cage, Coppola's little nephew, I have always considered a privileged actor, and if not inept, certainly very little talented, overrated, and as likable as a bunch of sand in the sheets. Faces at his disposal: one. The one of a half-drugged, dazed guy whether he plays the good hero (a bit bad) or the bad guy (in the end half good) depending on the very original scripts I've seen him tackle. I don't know his entire extensive filmography, but until yesterday I had only witnessed mediocre/pitiful performances. Some titles: Face Off, Con Air, The Rock, Apache, Windtalkers, The Mandolin..., Gone in 60 Seconds, Family Man, Ghost Rider, The National Treasure, and The Wicker Man with which he won the award for worst performance of the year. When I found out that Cage had recently won an Oscar, I was literally stunned and tried to obtain the film in question.

"Leaving Las Vegas" by Mike Figgis is a very strong film from the mid-'90s that tells the story of a man utterly devastated after a divorce (Ben) who has only one intent in mind. To destroy himself, to the point of dying, with alcohol. The plot is simple and aims to strike the audience violently from the very first scene. Without preamble, we are presented with a person self-condemned with no way out. Ben can't even remember the reason for his situation. Maybe his wife left him because he drank, or maybe he started drinking because he was left. It doesn't matter. He wants to die with a bottle in his hand and nothing will stop him. It's a two-hour agony during which we witness a spectacular downward spiral. Even when it seems calm might return (the encounter with the sweet escort Sara), it’s understood that it is only temporary balance and indeed it falls even further with a deafening crash. The casinos of Las Vegas, the thousand deceptive lights frame this devastating photograph enriched by a desperate soundtrack by the director (Figgis) perfectly in tune with the plot.

Nicolas Cage, I must admit, impressed me and I'm not saying this for the award he received, but because he really seems like an alcoholic. I suspect he shot the entire film drunk and that the bottle/glass perpetually clutched in his hand is actually not water. It's not just the gaze, absent, but the perfectly uncoordinated and clumsy movements and that grinning/idiotic expression typical of a drunkard teetering on the edge of consciousness and fainting that proves to be tremendously real. Applause for the opening scene where he fills the shopping cart with alcohol with a disturbing smile. In that mimicry, he is aware of just condemning himself and he is pleased. Not least, the night attack of Delirium Tremens that hits him at night and turns out to be impressively true.

Elisabeth Shue, a perfect unknown to me, is superb in portraying an escort, sweet and romantic. An unfortunate soul who, despite everything, hopes for a better future and despite disappointment after disappointment, always somehow manages to rise again. I find it really strange that an actress with such beauty and intensity hasn't had much of a career.

The film is entirely based on these two very well-rendered characters. The story, and the film itself, are elementary and deliberately aim to impact the audience by trying to evoke sympathy with 120 minutes of American drama. It succeeds.