Crash . Austin Chronicle . 06-20-97

Crash

DIRECTED BY: Rolf Clemens

REVIEWED: 06-20-97

James Spader, Holly Hunter, Elias Koteas, Deborah Kara Unger, Rosanna Arquette. (NC-17, 100 min.)

A sublimely horrific descent into our love of cars, sex, and self, filtered through the transgressive subconscious of Canadian auteur David Cronenberg, Crash is also the first date movie for the auto-asphyxia set. Based on J.G. Ballard's 1973 novel, Cronenberg's futuristic yet timeless vision of Ballard's premise is wonderfully realized. As in all his previous films, Cronenberg is dealing here with men and machines, or, more specifically, the consequences of man's day-to-day interaction with a common technology -- in this case, the automobile. Ballard's notion of how cars and, inevitably, car crashes have become part of the cultural iconography is perfect fodder for Cronenberg's acutely clinical sensibilities. Spader plays James Ballard (according to the author, the character is largely autobiographical), a television producer who spends his free time having sexual encounters with women other than his wife, Catherine (Unger). That's fine with her; she does the same and, later on, they get together to replay the extramarital coitus for each other. When Ballard is involved in a head-on automobile accident with Dr. Helen Remington (Hunter) and her husband -- who is killed -- he discovers a powerful new form of erotic release in the tortured shriek of metal on metal on flesh. Dr. Remington is likewise sexually affected by the resulting auto-trauma, and the two begin to seek out others with similarly aggravated tastes. They find a kindred spirit in Vaughan (Koteas), a scientist, of sorts, who is obsessed with the sensuality of car crashes and their survivors. A walking road map of scar tissue, Vaughan hosts spectacular reenactments of notable auto smash-ups and introduces the pair to a fringe subculture of deep-down trauma hounds, the walking wounded, and Volvo's worst nightmare. Much has been made of the film's jarring and disturbing tone; Crash has been banned in Britain, and television magnate Ted Turner has repeatedly attacked the film in public (oddly, Turner's production company help to fund Crash in its early stages). Certainly, Cronenberg holds nothing back -- Crash is rife with images of automotive destruction, death, and all manner of sexual coupling. But at its heart, Crash is essentially a love story: Man plus machine plus woman equals fulfillment, and hearts broken by steering columns are no less romantically engaging than those broken by more traditional means. While it's clearly not for everyone (and note that the movie is rated NC-17 here in the U.S.), Crash remains an amazing piece of work, from its spare, gritty set design to Howard Shore's powerfully evocative score, not to mention some unforgettable performances -- particularly Spader's. My only regret? We no longer have any local drive-in theatres and their invariably steamy back seats from which to view this amazing spectacle.

--Marc Savlov

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