Beaks here...

Clark Gregg's adaptation of Chuck Palahniuk's CHOKE premiered at the Sundance Film Festival back in January to decidedly mixed reactions, but the presence of Sam Rockwell is enough to draw my interest (even though I've been through with Palahniuk's one-note nihilism for years). Let's see what reader "JediMoonShyne" thought of this pitch-black comedy.

'Choke'
Clark Gregg, 2008

California born Sam Rockwell is one of those actors whose free-spirited nature is always refreshing to witness, so much so that one almost wishes him to do more with a career that has included very few leading roles. With debutant director Clark Gregg's 'Choke', Rockwell plays sex-addicted protagonist Victor Mancini in what is the first adaptation of absurdist writer Chuck Palahniuk's work since 'Fight Club'. Despite the fact that both films are cynical products of the same man's twisted imagination, 'Choke' and 'Fight Club' are essentially completely different - especially comedically. While the latter employs a darker and altogether more rewarding breed of humour 'Choke' isn't without its funny moments. Most of which are provided by an in-form Rockwell as the egregious Victor, whose disillusionment and general hate towards all things normal is quite infectious. Victor splits his time between caring for his ailing mother (Anjelica Huston) attending sex-addict meetings for fun and conning willingly heroic diners out of a few dollars every month. In fact Victor's only objective in life besides satisfying his sexual appetite is to keep his mother alive and cared for, if only to finally discover his true birth origins.

Director Clark Gregg (you know who he is, even if that name doesn't ring a bell) handles the screenplay here also, and perhaps this is where the problems stem from. The film seems more concerned with delivering an almost constant stream of crass and guffaw-inspiring jokes that get old pretty quickly, overshadowing and undermining what should be an intriguing spiritual tale. I saw 'Choke' at an open-air festival screening in central Rome, a venue that quickly filled with the smoke of all those people who can't wait to ruin others' lungs. So it was in quite a dizzy state that I struck up a conversation with one particularly satisfied punter not long after the film had finished. He delightedly informed me that my discontent was definitely down to a certain lack of knowledge of Palahniuk and his work - or what the writer is "trying to say". Maybe that's the case, I don't know. Either way 'Choke' didn't work for me on a comedic or dramatic level, and for long periods was held together by some quite incredible work from our scruffy lead. While the Victor character isn't a far throw from Rockwell's ballpark his performance here is, on first glance the best thing I've seen from him. We can only hope that this encourages a few more leading roles to be sent his way in the future.

5/10

Please credit JediMoonShyne if you use this, thanks!

And here's a thoughtful write-up from Fatboy Roberts...

It ain’t Fight Club.

I’ll get it out of the way up front. This isn’t that movie. It’s not as
good as that movie, it’s not as alive as that movie, it’s not as
vibrant, as thoughtful, as mean-spirited and sneeringly smirky as that
movie. It’s not as fun. That’s not to say Choke sucks. As a matter of
fact, having read the book, the word I’d use to describe Clark Gregg’s
adaptation of Choke is a word I’d never think to use about Chuck
Palahniuk’s most messy novel: Poignant.

Choke is the story of Victor Mancini, (Sam Rockwell) a guy who works at
a Ren-Faire type of establishment, wearing revolutionary war era clothes
and pitchforking hay from one spot to another. Victor is a sex addict
who chokes on purpose at restaurants to collect get well money from the
rich people who administer heimlichs to him. He scams these people to
pay the 3000 bucks a month room and board for his demented mother Ida,
(Anjelica Huston) who doesn’t even recognize him when he comes to visit
at a Catholic Nursing Home. Her condition is deteriorating so much that
the only possible cure involves violating his sexual sobriety with Dr.
Paige Marshall (Kelly MacDonald.) To make things worse, his mother
reveals that his lineage is not what it seems, and Victor needs to find
out who his real father is before Ida shuffles off this mortal coil.

The novel by Palahniuk is messy, in most senses of the word. It’s
unruly, it meanders, it’s as untucked, greasy and sloppy as Rockwell
himself looks in the film. I remember it being largely concerned with
shit. It felt dirtier than some of his other work because of how
sprawling, unfocused, and emotionally thin it was. There were thematic
avenues Chuck was trying to drive down, and it read like drunk driving,
pinging off curbs and flipping off pedestrians before finally running
out of gas. I remember thinking Choke was the point that editors stopped
really trying to cut down what he was writing, being more concerned with
getting the stuff on the shelf to mint money with.

Clark Gregg as a screenwriter does what Jim Uhls did to Fight Club:
Pared it down significantly and trimmed out a lot of the elements that
didn’t quite work. The movie still diverges pretty frequently, but it
does so quickly, and neatly. That’s not to say the film castrates the
smirking nastiness of Palahniuk’s work. Rather, it recontextualizes it
by making the characters at the center feel a lot more human. Where
Fight Club was about identity, superficiality, and the stupid allure of
nihilism, Choke is essentially about a boy and his mother. Granted, it’s
a fucked up kid with a batshit insane mother, but the issues at the
center of their broken relationship are--underneath all the
church-boning, jerking-off, vomiting and anal beads—relatable.

Most of that comes from Sam Rockwell and Anjelica Huston. Huston bounces
from gleefully manic to sadly confused in a way that reminded me of
Ellen Burstyn in Requiem For a Dream. This movie isn’t anywhere near
that heavy, nor is Huston’s portrayal that weighty, but it reminded me
just enough of Burstyn to surprise me. She strikes no false notes, even
if they’re mostly minor-key. Rockwell sells the weary self-doubt and
self-loathing almost as well as Huston sells her performance. Even when
he’s being flatly despicable to his masturbation addicted best friend
Denny (Brad William Henke,) Rockwell doesn’t lose that relatability.
He’s jealous, he’s pissed, he’s tired, but you never hate him for
lashing out, and you hope to God The Father he gets it figured.

A better example of how good he is in the movie comes during a sequence
where he goes online to find a woman who can only O-Face while acting
out a rape fantasy. We’re watching a man who is struggling against his
lineage by looking to fulfill rape dreams online. The revelation of his
possible father is sorta silly, and never worked in the novel, and only
barely works in the film, which is a credit to Gregg’s adaptation, as is
his axing of a lot of the support group scenes, which only serve to
invite comparison to Fight Club’s opening. While the atmosphere of the
movie, the pacing, and Gregg’s directing build to a point where this
ridiculous sequence not only makes sense, but is almost gleefully
anticipated, it’s Rockwell’s transformation of a character that is
mostly shitty (literally) on the page, to a fully formed,
multidimensional character that makes what could be a potentially
disturbing scene into probably one of the biggest laughs in the film.

The supporting characters are most notable for their ability to stay out
of the way. Henke’s Denny is sorta slow and sitcommy, but he comes
through more often than not. Joel Grey has a few nice moments as the
head of the support groups both Victor and Denny attend. Kelly MacDonald
is still doing that “if I talk really slow I can keep a hold on my
American accent” thing that she did in No Country For Old Men, but she’s
cute. Bijou Phillips as a milkmaid at the Ren Faire manages to keep her
top on, which is pretty amazing in and of itself, and I think she got
her snaggles fixed finally, leaving Patricia Arquette as the only
actress left in Hollywood still rocking the sexy snaggletooth. I’m not
counting Kirsten Dunst because last I checked Skeletor crossed with a
basketball doesn’t equal pretty. Clark Gregg himself, as a manager of
the Ren Faire, is probably the most solid supporting actor, securing at
least one really big laugh every time he appears.

Gregg’s biggest accomplishment with this film is not just making the
book palatable and relatable, but making it feel effortlessly amiable.
It’s got an easygoing nature about it that is absolutely necessary to
set up the emotionality he’s going for. Again, he hasn’t really watered
down the book too much – there’s more thrusts in this film than anything
Atom Egoyan’s ever directed, for example. Or Paul Verhoeven, for that
matter. Almost as many as Gregory Dark. There’s a lot of titties.
Beautiful, supple. Also old. And I think goat, as well, I’m not sure.
The big twist (it’s Palahniuk, after all) is preserved and works better
than the book did it, although the climax still sorta just runs out of
gas at the end, and the movie just essentially stops. My personal missed
opportunity criticism: After Victor is arrested under suspicion of rape,
Not having the detective played by Isiah Whitlock Jr, who played Senator
Clay Davis on HBO’s brilliant “The Wire,” deliver a deliciously drawn
out “Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit” after Victor finally passes his guilt onto a
Police interrogation room floor.

Choke is a minor-key triumph that improves on Palahniuk’s film and
brings a depth to the work I didn’t think could have existed on the
page. It’s not exciting, pulse-pounding, exhilaration captured on
celluloid like Fincher’s Fight Club was, but it’s a solid, low-key,
funny and oddly touching film that’s definitely worth seeing, if only
for the strength in the performances and the interplay between Sam
Rockwell and Anjelica Huston.

Fatboy Roberts

www.cortandfatboy.com

www.myspace.com/fatboyroberts

P.S. thanks again for the love from Alexandra DuPont regarding “Geek
Remixed,” it’s much appreciated. Glad everybody seems to dig it.