The Caveman's Valentine

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BY Jason Anderson   March 15, 2001 16:03

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Starring Samuel L. Jackson, Colm Feore. Screenplay by George Dawes Green based on his novel. Directed by Kasi Lemmons. (AA) 105 min. Opens March 16.

In a performance that's both powerful and utterly ridiculous, Samuel L. Jackson plays Romulus Ledbetter, a mentally ill homeless man who gave up a career as a classical pianist and composer to go live in a cave in a Manhattan park. In the best stretches of The Caveman's Valentine, the viewer shares Ledbetter's visions, like the man-moth creatures that flutter about a cathedral as he plays piano and the menacing green lights emanating from the Chrysler Building, which Ledbetter believes are sent by a mysterious enemy.

It is only in these sequences that director Kasi Lemmons -- the actor who made her directorial debut with the excellent 1997 indie Eve's Bayou -- has a sure grip on the picture. Otherwise, it's a confusing and confused mix of genres and tactics. After a young man freezes to death outside the cave, the movie unsuccessfully tries to shunt these fantastic depictions of Ledbetter's mental interiors into the more conventional mode of a murder mystery, with Ledbetter serving as a particularly rumpled Columbo. What makes Jackson's performance ridiculous is that his character seems more like an ambling detective with a weird gimmick (he's nuts!) than the towering figure of mythic significance that Jackson and Lemmons intend him to be.

These problems are compounded by the tendency of George Dawes Green (who based the script on his own novel) to fill his plot holes with pretentious hoo-hah. As it turns out, the dead man was a model and boy-toy of David Leppenraub (Colm Feore), a photographer who portrays angels in homoerotic, Mapplethorpe-style contexts and who spouts platitudes about art and suffering.

Lemmons' direction often overcomes the script's shortcomings, and she nails scenes like the dreamy sexual encounter between Ledbetter and Leppenraub's sister (Ann Magnuson) and the way in which the white people watching Ledbetter play piano clearly regard him as some splendid trained animal. But for all the efforts of Lemmons and Jackson, The Caveman's Valentine is so incoherent, it makes less sense than one of Ledbetter's conspiracy theories.

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