Six Degrees of Separation

There's an old Simon and Garfunkel song that lyrically lampoons the aching emptiness of mainstream intellectual conversation. At its best, Six Degrees of Separation, deftly directed by Fred Schepisi, does much the same. But in its dissection of verbal pretentiousness and upper-class vanity, the movie often runs the risk of becoming infected by the very snottiness it's kicking.

Six Degrees of Separation is adapted from the critically acclaimed play by John Guare (who also wrote the screenplay) which, in turn, was based on an actual incident that took place a few years ago in New York. The basic storyline sticks close to the real case about a gay con artist who successfully film-flammed a who's who list of the Upper East Side elite into believing that he was Sidney Poitiers' son. The discovery that Poitier doesn't have a son punctured a few balloons on the social circuit that year.

But gullibility is the least of the characters' problems in Six Degrees of Separation. Their delusions about themselves are what makes them such perfect targets for the sting. That, combined with some old-fashioned liberal guilt and a desire to believe that their own children might actually like them (the con artist claims to be a college chum of their kids and worms his way into the parents' affections with cozy tales about their children's respect for them). Unfortunately, the adults are politically naive and the families are all basically dysfunctional.

Will Smith (of NBC's The Fresh Prince of Bel Air) does a surprisingly decent turn as the con man with a knack for tall tales. His pathological narcissism and fondness for rough trade are the only obvious kinks in his carefully manufactured personality. At first glance, he's the ideal son. (After we meet some of the real kids, Smith still looks good.)

It's Donald Sutherland and Stockard Channing, however, who carry the weight of this film. Sutherland plays an art dealer who peddles his second-hand knowledge of great artists with the superficial sincerity of a man who's substituted learning for living.

The concluding irony is old hat, but parts of the ride we take to get there are
genuinely funny. Most of the characters in Six Degrees of Separation are the biggest windbags you'd ever hope (or hope not) to meet, but their never-ending babble is often both hysterically funny and emotionally touching.

Just in case you're wondering, the movie's title refers to the theory that everyone on earth knows someone who knows someone, until the whole thing comes full circle. The theory suggests that only six contacts exist between you and everyone else.

How about that - life is just a cosmic chain letter.

Independence Day

When he first spots a gigantic alien ship hovering over Los Angeles, Will Smith's character firmly insists that "I don't think they flew over 90 billion light years just to pick a fight." Obviously, his character is in need of a major attitude readjustment. In Independence Day, everybody is looking for a fight.

Everybody finds one, too. The aliens in Independence Day are firm believers in the Pax Roma concept of peaceful co-existence. which means that they will only negotiate after every human is dead. Which also means that Independence Day promises a hi-speed joyride through Armageddon and the movie does largely succeed in delivering a deliciously intense visit to the apocalyptic fun house. Though it occasionally falters during its final stretch, Independence Day is undeniably the most action-packed science-fiction movie since Star Wars. It even has a better cast.

It also has a wildly jingoistic sensibility that is already setting the tone for virtually every other major fantasy film this year. Even the mellow crew of the USS Enterprise is making sure that the Borg's First Contact will be their last. All aliens beware: 1996 is the year when Earth kicks ass.

Not that Independence Day is lacking in nice guys. In fact, the President of the United States (Bill Pullman) is in political trouble for being too much of a nice guy. Though he has an heroic war record as a fighter pilot, the President has spent most of his term unsuccessfully trying to appease every cause with the result being that he is viewed as weak and indecisive.

Likewise, David (Jeff Goldblum) is such a nice guy that he routinely allows himself to be used as a door mat. Though he is suppose to be an electronic wizard with eight years spent studying at M.I.T., David has inexplicably settled into a position as a computer technician with a cable television company in New York. But mostly, he quietly pines for his ex-wife (Margaret Colin) who left him for her career as a presidential press secretary.

Captain Steven Hiller (Will Smith) is divided between his ambition to be an astronaut and his romantic involvement with Jasmine(Vivica Fox), a Los Angeles stripper with an out-of-wedlock son. He loves his girlfriend, but he also knows that NASA will not accept someone whose personal life is anything except squeaky clean.

Meanwhile, Russell (Randy Quaid) is busy drinking his life away. Russell is a Vietnam Vet turned crop duster pilot who claims to have been abducted by a race of terrifyingly hostile aliens who performed nasty experiments on him. Since nobody believes his story, Russell spends most of his time getting drunk at the local trailer park.

The sudden appearance of an armada of massive spaceships over the major cities of the world becomes the crucial focal point for all of these characters. Where all of their good intentions have failed, seemingly raw fear will finally give meaning to their lives. Especially after David inadvertently discovers the aliens' count-down signal and realizes that the visitors are about to cancel more than just the cable service.

Obviously, Independence Day operates like an Irwin Allen production of The War of the Worlds, mercifully minus either Charlton Heston or Shelley Winters. As in such Allen epics as The Towering Inferno (1974) and The Poseidon Adventure (1972), Independence Day offers brute catastrophe as a therapeutic form of personal redemption. Likewise, the movie strictly adheres to St. Irwin's view of calamity as an essential form of social leveling. By the finale of Independence Day, the President is whizzing off to the big interplanetary dogfight with a rag tag team of drunks and yahoos as the movie becomes an equal opportunity provider of do or die heroics.

But the film making team of Roland Emmerich (director/writer) and Dean Devlin (producer/writer) are better at priming these rusty old pumps than Allen ever was. They have no shame at using every cliche in the book, including a dog in peril bit. But they also have a refreshing sense of sincerity about the proceedings. It is almost as if they thought that they had just invented every standard twist for the first time and in so doing, the movie snaps and crackles with a surprisingly zesty sense of genuine thrills. Independence Day may indeed be the biggest B-movie ever made, but it is also one of the most entertaining films of the year.

Much attention has already been given in press stories to the special effects in Independence Day. The film is a visual extravaganza that is capable of provoking an "Oh wow" effect about every ten minutes. But one of the movie's most impressive feats is actually to be found in its editing, most notably the extended montage sequence used for the simultaneous destruction of three different cities. At the very least, the scene should earn editor David Brenner an Oscar nomination in the Sergei Eisenstein look alike category.

But the real energy that pounds through out Independence Day is provided by its actors. On paper, the characters are all two-dimensional constructs with barely a breath of life to hold them up. On the screen, they actually resemble real human beings chock-full of quirks and frailties. Especially notable are the performances by Bill Pullman and Jeff Goldblum, as well as the minor turns provided by Harvey Fierstein and Brent Spiner.

All of which means that Independence Day is a gripping good yarn that will hold the audience enthralled. More than anything, it is a pure crowd pleaser that unloads its rip-snorting, old-fashioned goodies without a single note of back-handed condescension. Independence Day may indeed be nothing more than candy, but it is candy of the richest and most crunchy type.

Besides, the only truly implausible thing in Independence Day is the idea that the American President doesn't know about the existence of Area 51. In reality, everybody knows about Area 51. You just drive along the Extraterrestrial Highway (this is its real name) and turn at the dirt road marked only by a black mailbox in the middle of nowhere. Then after a bunch of heavily armed policemen force you to turn back, you can go on down the road to a local bar that serves a drink called the Beam Me Up, Scotty (one thirds Jim Beam, scotch, and 7-Up).

Sometimes, truth is just as strange as fiction.