Steven Soderbergh
Out of Sight
Erin Brockovich
Hello hello hello, dear readers, I hope you’re thriving or surviving or are, at least technically, still alive-ing. Taurus season has been a bit topsy-turvy so far, as we experience record-breaking high temperatures, unpredictable allergen levels, and a rather speedy conclave that ended with the selection of a Pope from Chicago. I can’t really complain, though—I’ve been watching a lot of good movies lately, and have been feeling inspired to shine a light on a director whom I often love but rarely immediately recognize. A few months ago, I saw a ghost movie called Presence, which was a strange, unique, meditative story surrounding grief, shot from the perspective of a ghost haunting a house. It wasn’t so much frightening as it was suspenseful and engrossing, and with a tight 90-minute runtime and a satisfying ending, I could forgive the lack of terror (and questionable acting from some of the performers.) Even more recently, I saw the sleek, sophisticated thriller Black Bag, starring Michael Fassbender and Cate Blanchett, in which two married government agents become paranoid that there’s a mole in their inner circle. It felt like a movie made by adults, for adults, which, in an era of conscious pandering and constant, nostalgic IP regurgitation that skews childish, felt immensely refreshing. Then it clicked for me: both of these completely different films were directed by Steven Soderbergh. This writer, director, producer, editor, and cinematographer is responsible for making some of the most iconic, award-winning, cultural-moment-making cinema of the last thirty+ years, often averaging about two movies a year, but I worry that he doesn’t always get the credit he deserves because all of his films are truly so different from one another. The Oceans Trilogy, Traffic, Solaris, The Informant!, Contagion, Magic Mike, Behind the Candelabra, Logan Lucky, Unsane, The Laundromat, Let Them All Talk, No Sudden Move, Kimi—all of these films are so dissimilar thematically, aesthetically, and tonally from one another, that even well-versed cinephiles do not know that these were all made by the same person. He’s one of the only directors to be nominated twice for Best Director for two separate movies at the same Oscars ceremony—which he ended up winning for Traffic, btw. He’s known for stories surrounding crime and sex and the human condition, he’s also known for using blue and yellow tones respectively to convey different attitudes, but for the most part, he’s a total chameleon. He once expressed interest in directing the Fantastic Four movie of the early 2000s, but he’s never even dipped a toe into a pre-existing franchise, he’s only ever created his own. And Soderbergh’s lack of trademarks is something he takes pride in, “The fact that I'm not an identifiable brand is very freeing, because people get tired of brands and they switch brands. I've never had a desire to be out in front of anything, which is why I don't take a possessory credit.” In fact, he often takes cinematography credits on his films under the alias Peter Andrews, the given name of his father, and editing credits under Mary Ann Bernard, that of his mother. His father was the Dean at Louisiana State University (aka LSU, go tigers), so Steven could’ve been a nepo baby in the world of academia, but he instead ventured off to Hollywood, with dreams of making movies. His very first project came in 1985—a concert video for the band YES—which was nominated for a Grammy. On an eight-hour drive back to Baton Rouge, Soderbergh wrote the script for Sex, Lies, and Videotape—the film that would, at age 26, make him the youngest solo-recipient of the Palme d'Or (the top prize) at Cannes Film Festival, and officially put him on the map. This film has been noted as not only being sexy and strange and cool, but foundational to the independent film movement. Soderbergh's relative youth and sudden rise to prominence in the film industry at this time made him known as a sensation, a prodigy, and a poster boy of this generation’s indie filmmakers. Following the unexpected success of a film that he once thought of as “unpolished and technically incomplete”, the young Soderbergh made several low-budget box office disappointments. It wouldn’t be until 1998 that Soderbergh made another commercial and critical hit, tonight’s first film: Out of Sight.
This was Soderbergh’s first foray into the heist and crime thrillers that made him successful, but like all of his movies, there is a lovely tinge of humor and unpredictability here that makes it extra special. Based on Elmore Leonard’s novel of the same name, Out of Sight opens on the outside of a tall building, with the camera eventually focusing on an ultra-tan George Clooney as a man named Jack Foley, who we see ripping his tie off and throwing it to the ground before walking across the street to a bank. He then proceeds to casually, without a gun or any plan, really, rob this bank, and he almost gets away with it, until his car won’t start. This move lands him right back in prison, a place he’s been in and out of since the age of 18, when he first started robbing banks. Jack is such a smooth, seasoned criminal, he even negotiates with the prison guards, and informs them of certain inmates who plan to escape. This gets their attention off of him long enough for Jack to make his own escape, and his pal, Buddy (Ving Rhames), is waiting for him outside of his foxhole with the getaway car. But as we soon learn, Buddy’s isn’t the only car parked outside of the prison, a US Federal Marshal named Karen Sisco (Jennifer Lopez) pulls up, spots this escape in progress, and alerts the guards. In the chaos and confusion and gunfire, Jack grabs Karen and they both end up in the trunk of her car, with Buddy driving them away. Even covered in dirt and grime and a smug smile, Clooney’s charms immediately shine through here, and he can’t help flirting with the woman he just kidnapped. Karen rolls her eyes through the claustrophobic but sexy interaction, asking for Jack’s name, since it’ll be in the papers tomorrow anyway. Even when she escapes and shoots at him, their chemistry is undeniable, and it sparks a dynamic that is ill-advised but impossible ignore. The rest of Out of Sight is told through flashbacks and forwards, where we are given the pieces to this non-extensive but compelling puzzle, that makes it even easier to sympathize with the crooked protagonists. Even as the web becomes untangled, though, Soderbergh creates a palpable feeling of tension, and we can glean that this game of cat-and-mouse may be sexy, but also deadly. Though this film has an impressive ensemble cast—featuring Steve Zahn, Catherine Keener, Don Cheadle, Albert Brooks, Dennis Farina, Isaiah Washington, Luiz Guzmán, Viola Davis, Nancy Allen, and Samuel L. Jackson and Michael Keaton who are just in one, single scene, respectively (with Keaton reprising the same role he played in Jackie Brown, also based off of an Elmore Leonard novel)—Out of Sight isn’t like Ocean’s Eleven, which was (intentionally or not) a bit more concerned with quippy dialogue that highlights the distinct charms of each cast member. There’s a delicious complexity to each character here, that makes the nature of their actions and decision-making difficult to predict. And as witty and sexy as some of the dialogue was here, there were also countless moments of intrigue and emotion that were wordless, and simply involved Clooney staring at J.Lo. I’ve already sung the praises of Miss Jenny from the Block and her unexpected acting chops, but I was pretty blown away by the subtlety of her performance here. For her to be (at this point) so new to acting, yet hold her own comedically and dramatically here next to so many veterans, was impressive. And because of Soderbergh’s semi-hands off directing style, which involves very little direction given to his actors, we got amazing ad-libbed lines like Don Cheadle’s, “In a situation like this, there's a high potentiality for the common motherfucker to bitch out.” Apart from some freeze frames that fell a bit flat for me, the rhythm and pacing of Out of Sight is done beautifully. This is not a film I hear people talking about often, which is a shame, because it’s just a clear-cut, no-bullshit thriller with a hilarious Steve Zahn and a sexy George Clooney, but it likely got buried by the influx of heist movies of this same era. One movie that is always discussed, though, one that still comes up in conversations surrounding feminist film, critiques of capitalism, and iconic quotes—is Soderbergh’s 2000 film Erin Brockovich.
To quote Soderbergh, Out of Sight was "a very conscious decision on my part to try and climb my way out of the arthouse ghetto which can be as much of a trap as making blockbuster films", which is as salient a statement as it is ironic, as the next several films he made were straight-up blockbuster successes, like Erin Brockovich. This is one of those beloved, iconic, downright classic movies that people are always shocked to learn I’ve never seen. And despite this movie’s quotability and biographical story, I’ve avoided spoilers for this film for decades. The idea for this film came from executive producer Carla Santos Shamberg, who learned of Erin Brockovich and her story because they shared a chiropractor. Santos Shamberg invited Brockovich over to her house to share her story, and of this meeting Santos Shamberg recalled: "I couldn't believe it. It seemed incredible that this twice-divorced woman with three young children, who had no money, no resources, and no formal education, had single-handedly put this case together. I thought she seemed like the perfect role model for the new millennium." Screenwriter Susannah Grant spent a year following Brockovich and her kids around while writing the screenplay, and, after three “big-name” directors declined to take on this project, Steven Soderbergh stepped up. Julia Roberts stars as Erin Brockovich—a tough, tenacious, gorgeous, short skirt-wearing single mom to three kids who is struggling to find a job. Like many unemployed people I’ve known (including myself, up until very recently) Erin’s resume is so all over the place that potential hirers look past her high potential and diverse capabilities and only see disorganization. To make matters worse, Erin’s car is hit by a reckless driver when leaving a job interview, and her attorney, Ed Masry (Albert Finney) is unable to win a case—partly because Erin is her usual, brassy, strong-willed self on the stand. Ed ignores Erin’s calls after this failure, but one day, she’s working in his office, like she’d been there for years. Ed tries to reason with her and apologize, but Erin simply says, “I don’t need pity, I need a paycheck.” Erin’s persistence is hard to fight against, and she’s clearly a driven individual, so Ed reluctantly gives her a job at the firm. But Erin’s house is still full of roaches, her car is still busted, and she needs regular childcare. Enter George (Aaron Eckhart), a noisy motorcyclist and Erin’s new neighbor, whom Erin meets when she tells him off for revving his bike while her kids are trying to sleep. George immediately hits on her, which Erin hardly has time for, “I'm a single mom of three, I’m broke, I have baggage” she says, but George is too curious and her kids like him too much for him to leave her alone. George proves to be a reliable babysitter and a good lover to Erin—who resists him for as long as humanly possible, but, I mean come on, it’s Aaron Eckhart with long hair. Finally in a healthy routine with a decent paycheck, Erin is handling her hectic life as best as any woman could, but then she makes a series of troubling discoveries when going through some files at work. She notices that, in an otherwise run-of-the-mill file regarding a real estate case, there are medical records included. The major corporation Pacific Gas & Electric (or PG&E) is trying to purchase the home of Donna Jensen, a resident of Hinkley, California who lives very close to the power plant there. Erin visits Donna, who explains that she appreciates PG&E's help: she has had several tumors and her husband has Hodgkin’s lymphoma, but PG&E has always paid for their doctor visits. Erin asks why they would do that, and Donna replies, "because of the chromium". Erin pays a visit to the county water records office and weaponizes her cleavage to gain entry, and pretty quickly she finds evidence that the groundwater in Hinkley is severely contaminated with carcinogenic hexavalent chromium, even though PG&E has been telling residents that the version they use is safer. Little by little, Erin discovers even more residents with horrific health issues, all stemming from one likely culprit: the water in their community. Erin isn’t lawyer or a detective, and yet she goes out of her way to investigate this growing case and earn the trust of these affected families who are over the stuffy lawyers. Her blunt nature and explicit vocabulary gets her in to trouble at times, but for the most part, it earns her respect and appreciation for her candor. Even as the case evolves, and a larger firm has to get involved to handle the massive number of plaintiffs, Erin is a vital member of the team and an ideal advocate. I won’t spoil how this case goes down, though I’m likely the last person on earth to watch it unfold, because it is such a satisfying and inspiring story without too much schmaltz. Even if Tom Girardi, one of the attorneys on Erin’s side, was later caught stealing his client’s earnings, the story of Erin Brockovich is a rare, genuine triumph in the chaotic and corrupt American legal system. This film would pair well with Silkwood, as a palate cleanser and proof that justice can, sometimes, be served. Maybe if Karen Silkwood had had more people on her side and a good push-up bra, she’d still be alive today. Erin Brockovich is full of iconic line reads like “I’m not talkin’ to you, bitch!”, “They’re called boobs, Ed”, and “I was Miss Wichita, for Chrissakes!”, all of which no-doubt helped Julia Roberts earn her Best Actress Oscar, but the quote that really stuck with me was, “Bite my ass, Krispy Kreme!” This is because, a few apartments ago, I lived beneath a revolting, cartoonishly-oafish man who, when asked by the leasing office to move all of his garbage and clutter off of his balcony, screamed “BITE MY ASS, KRISPY KREME!” at the top of his lungs. I heard it so clearly, even with all of my doors and windows shut, and though it startled me, it made me laugh so hard because… who thinks to say that? And all these years, I was giving this repugnant man an ounce of credit for his creative insult, when really he was just quoting a lesser-known line from a very well-known movie. This realization blew my mind almost as much as the entirety of the wild, true story that this film is telling. Soderbergh knows how to make these big scale stories seem smaller, more intimate, and therefore, more personal. Along with his cinematographer Edward Lachman, Soderbergh set out to shoot a major commercial film with an independent approach, shooting on location and recruiting local extras from Hinkley who had been involved in the case—which made for a more naturalistic, lived-in result. As Cate Blanchett revealed on her episode of Las Culturistas, Soderbergh often shoots under budget, and under the time scheduled to film, which, as an anxious, OCD person who is constantly planning for the worst and hoping for the best, is so cool. I loved Erin Brockovich, just as much as everyone told me I would, and for it to end on a Sheryl Crow song, was just icing on the good movie cake. Well, I think I’ve shown enough appreciation for another director whom I deem as underrated even though they’re super successful, though I’m likely to do this again. Thank you for following me on another cinematic adventure, my dear, sweet readers. In the time that it’s taken me to write this, I’m sure Soderbergh has made at least two movies so it’s time for me to get out of sight. Ttyl!
