February 23, 2001 | Action, attitude, Elvis Presley iconography and a hunka-hunka blazing guns figure prominently in 3000 Miles to Graceland, the kind of boisterously flashy and trashy crime drama best described as the cinematic equivalent of junk food: Loaded with synthetic additives, deficient in nutritional benefits, but uniquely and undeniably satisfying if you have an appetite for such stuff.
Try to imagine yourself channel-surfing between Ocean’s 11, Reservoir Dogs and Honeymoon in Vegas, and you’ll be ready for the slapdash story about thieves who pose as Elvis impersonators while robbing one of the glitziest places on the Las Vegas strip, the Riviera Hotel and Casino. Considering the amount of gunplay and wanton slaughter that results when the robbery goes terribly wrong, one can only assume that the Riviera managers who O.K.’d the location shooting – er, I mean, filming – aren’t the most image-conscious of business people. But the violence doesn’t end even after the Elvises have left the building. One thing leads to another, one thief shoots nearly all of the others, and Graceland quickly detours into another stretch of familiar territory while evolving into a long-distance chase movie.
The entertainment value of this dubious enterprise is super-sized by the audaciously offbeat casting of Kevin Costner as Murphy, the baddest of the bad news Elvises. With his mean-stud swagger, brushed-back coiffure, scimitar-shaped sideburns and a wardrobe that reeks of white trash sartorial splendor, Costner certainly looks the part of a sneaky-snakey ex-convict with grand plans and a short fuse. Better still, he plays the part with full-tilt conviction, striking the perfect balance of animal-like cunning and hound-dog charm when he isn’t casually gunning down innocent bystanders, SWAT team sharpshooters and all-too-trusting partners in crime. Costner hasn’t seemed this dangerous on screen since A Perfect World, and hasn’t so clearly enjoyed himself since Tin Cup. Indeed, his bad-to-the-bone antics in this film, along with his self-effacing supporting performance in Thirteen Days, indicate he may be trying to re-invent himself as a character actor. Which, all things considered, could be a great career move.
Kurt Russell, the nominal star of the piece, is largely overshadowed by the more flamboyant Costner. Still, Russell makes a reasonably engaging impression as Michael, Murphy’s former cellmate, who manages to escape with his life – and the $3.2 million swiped from the Riviera – after the thieves fall out.
Michael is the closest thing to a hero on view in Graceland, a fact underscored when, during the robbery, he is the only ersatz Elvis who doesn’t shoot anyone. Later, he reinforces his standing as a good guy, or the least bad of the bad guys, when he doesn’t open fire – or turn violent, or even yell very loudly – after he’s repeatedly betrayed by Cybil (Courteney Cox), a slatternly single mother who swipes the stolen loot. While she attempts to launder the dirty money, Michael has the opportunity to bond with Cybil’s young son, Jesse (David Kaye), whose penchant for pickpocketing suggests he’s learned a lot from mom. Eventually, the three characters form a dysfunctional family unit, if only as a common defense during the inevitable showdown with the vengeful Murphy.
Russell, you may recall, played Elvis Presley to good effect in a 1979 TV biopic directed by John Carpenter. It’s nice to see that, after all these years, Russell can still make all the right moves when he pretends to be The King. Cox is surprisingly effective as a sexy small-time grifter, and newcomer Kaye more than holds his own in scenes opposite experienced grown-ups. Other supporting players of note include Kevin Pollak and Thomas Haden Church as cops in hot pursuit of the robbers, ex-footballer Howie Long as a helicopter pilot who apparently prefers Paul Simon to Elvis Presley, and Christian Slater, David Arquette and Bokeem Woodbine as Elvis impersonators who discover that crime really doesn’t pay.
Music video veteran Demian Lichtenstein directs with all the empty but insistent stylishness you might expect from someone with his resume, using all manner of attention-grabbing visual stratagems – slo-mo, fast-forward, flash cutting, whatever – to goose along the formulaic caper plot he concocted with co-screenwriter Richard Recco. Lichtenstein sets the show-offy tone during the opening-credits sequence, cutting between shots of a cherry-red Cadillac convertible zooming through the desert and massive close-ups of a grudge match between computer-generated scorpions. For the closing credits, he gives us – well, a music video. And, truth to tell, a pretty nifty one, complete with Russell in Elvis mufti, lip-synching an appropriate Presley golden oldie. Thank you very much, thank you very much.
