Film Review: Madness haunts Cronenberg’s Hollywood story
Director David Cronenberg (“The Fly,” “A History of Violence”) takes on Hollywood in his strange new “Maps to the Stars.” More than his other recent work (“Cosmopolis,” “A Suitable Treatment”), “Maps to the Stars” has a few elements that hark back to his horror films of the ’80s and ’90s. But for the most part it seems another branch in his career trajectory.
This is doubtless partly because the screenplay is by Bruce Wagner, who explored the same turf in several novels and in his 1998 directorial debut, “I’m Losing You” (which Cronenberg produced). And Wagner’s identity comes through more strongly than Cronenberg’s here.
The film has an ensemble structure, switching point-of-view among several characters, with no clear protagonist. The first character we meet is Agatha (Mia Wasikowska), as she arrives in town on the bus, fresh from Florida. She gives the impression of a naive hayseed who has made this Hajj to worship at the Tinseltown altar of glamour and celebrity.
But, as we quickly find out, she actually grew up in Los Angeles and, after a long exile, is returning, in hopes of reconnecting with her estranged family. Like the limo driver (Robert Pattinson) she becomes friends with, we wonder how she got the burn scars that cover the left side of her face.
Through the kindness of Carrie Fisher (playing herself), Agatha gets a job as personal assistant to aging, self-involved actress Havana Segrand (Julianne Moore, really cutting loose). Havana is frantic to get the lead in a remake of an old black-and-white film; she is uniquely qualified because her mother (Sarah Gadon), who died decades ago in a fire, starred in the first version. (We see one brief clip of the original; the scene appears to be cloned off of Robert Rossen’s 1964 “Lilith,” which in reality starred Warren Beatty and Jean Seberg.)
Of course, Havana has a “therapist” (John Cusack) — he also hawks his ideas on TV — but he has problems of his own. His snotty 13-year-old son (Evan Bird) is a movie star — a cross between Macaulay Culkin and Justin Bieber — and fresh out of rehab. (Drew Barrymore is name-checked.)
Most of these folks are visited by ghosts, who guilt-trip them mercilessly. The ghosts are presented without spooky embellishment, looking like just more characters entering the frame. It’s unclear if they’re real — there is a ton of mental illness within this crowd — but they’re no less effective at tormenting the living.
We get some insight into the mysterious back story from revelations near the end, which have the form of classical tragedy, but neither the clarity nor logic. The plot seems arbitrary rather than inevitable, and the more we know, the further things wander from believability.
That would be all right if the direction it wandered in were more interesting. Along the way, Cronenberg includes a few scenes of sudden violence. The music accompanying them is very reminiscent of Angelo Badalamenti’s scores for David Lynch, particularly “Twin Peaks” and “Mulholland Dr.” It gives them a certain scary disorientation, but also reminds us how much better Lynch handles similar scenes.
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ANDY KLEIN is the film critic for Marquee. He can also be heard on “FilmWeek” on KPCC-FM (89.3).