Review: 50 million Costner fans can be wrong

Friday, Feb. 23, 2001 | 9:41 a.m.

Geoff Carter's movie reviews appear Fridays in the Sun and vegas.com. Reach him at geoff.carter@vegas.com

Grade: One-and-a-half stars

Starring: Kurt Russell, Kevin Costner, Courtney Cox and David Kaye.

Screenplay: Richard Recco and Demian Lichtenstein.

Director: Demian Lichetenstein.

Rated: R for strong violence, language and sexuality.

Running time: 125 minutes.

Editor's note: Beginning today former Sound Check columnist Geoff Carter will be writing weekly movie reviews for the Sun.

Elvis Presley was incapable of failing his audience. Like any true southern gentleman, he went to pains to give those around him exactly what they wanted or needed: an autograph, a Cadillac, an extra show, a cover of "Bridge Over Troubled Water." Say what you will about his Demerol, peanut butter and firearms, but the man could give and give and give, which is more than could be said for the Kevin Costners of this world.

For a movie that borrows so heavily on the Elvis myth, "3000 Miles to Graceland" has little of the King's generosity. On the contrary, the film all but goes out of its way to deprive its audience of what it wants. You want Costner to loosen up and be "Bull Durham"-funny; he never quite manages. You want director Demian Lichtenstein to knock off the badly dated rock video tricks; he piles them on until you expect ZZ Top to enter the narrative.

And you desperately, desperately want David Arquette to vanish before the end of the first reel -- and he does. Thank Elvis!

Lifted almost whole cloth from the Jerry Bruckheimer oeuvre -- itself a derivative genre, albeit one that offers some bang for the buck -- "Graceland" tries to pass itself off as a heist film, a comedy and a violent moral opera. But 10 minutes in, it becomes readily apparent what "Graceland" is supposed to be: It's Costner's last chance to hit somebody.

The story doesn't much matter. Costner's Murphy is an ex-con and mutton-chopped sadist who may or may not be one of Elvis' illegitimate children (here, if anything, is proof that the Presley estate isn't too fussy about licensing). He builds a crew that includes a former cellmate, Michael (Kurt Russell), dresses them all up in Kingly garb and robs the Riviera in the middle of a convention of Elvis impersonators.

All of this happens in the first 20 minutes; beyond that point, "Graceland" becomes a chase movie with no chases, a suspense-free thriller and an empty excuse for Costner to wrap his drawl around such tough-guy euphemisms as, "Everybody be cool."

Of local note: Nevada is presented as a living, breathing cliche. Think human skeletons on dusty desert roads, ancient NHP officers in 1950s-vintage cruisers and the same boring aerial establishing shots of Vegas that have been used so often they're beginning to smack of stock footage. Vegas locals are presented as greedy rubes, Metro is called "Vegas P.D." -- and when they finally do show up to the heist it's just one undercover cop in a leather jacket.

Some of the principals try to escape the wreck. Russell looks fantastic in Elvis' jumpsuit and cape, slips effortless into cool-guy mode whenever the script allows it, and generally looks like he's having a good time -- except in his scenes with Courtney Cox as Cybil, the single mother who tries to play Russell and Costner against each other and get her hands on the money.

Cox's performance hangs largely upon her hip-huggers, and whenever she gets into Russell's space you imagine the actor throwing up his hands in frustration. She can't keep up with the principals. Oddly enough, when Costner is forced to deal with her, he loosens up considerably and becomes nearly giddy. Maybe because he knew that he could leave most of her on the cutting room floor -- Costner has become notorious for re-cutting other directors' films -- if she didn't test well with preview audiences.

I love a big, brainless action movie as much as the next red-blooded alpha male, but "3000 Miles to Graceland" simply isn't an action movie. It's a two-hour fantasia on buddy movies, "Ocean's 11," Cox's thighs and unrealistic gunplay. The Elvis association is purely incidental, almost as if he was crossing the street in front of this noisy failure -- and like any true southern gentleman, he yielded.