My review:
Lieutenant Terence McDonagh (Nicolas Cage) shuffles along with a stooped gait, one lop-sided shoulder-blade jutting grotesquely sky-wards. Wearily fighting back the urge to scream from every piercing sting emanating from his chronically injured back, and bearing a facial expression thats twisted into a clammy, rat-like mask, he hides his racked lanky frame under an ill-fitting grey suit, which hangs open messily in the front so as to reveal the comically bulky revolver tucked under his belt.
Tasked with leading a team (which includes Val Kilmer, Shawn Hatosy and Michael Shannon) in discovering the culprit behind a horrific drug-related gangland slaying, McDonagh more closely resembles a brain-deteriorated zombie from a Romero film than an upstanding member of his impoverished New Orleans community. Subsisting on an endless stream of pain medication and narcotics, all he desires is to get high with his prostitute girlfriend Frankie (Eva Mendes) and close the book on the messy homicide case. If only those pesky iguanas would just stop staring at him hed be able to concentrate...
And so it goes in The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans, director Werner Herzogs off-the-wall spiritual remake of Abel Ferraras gritty 1992 cult hit - perhaps best remembered for the chill-inducing scene wherein Harvey Keitel sexually assaulted a quivering, teary-eyed pair of teenage girls with little more than cruel, coarse words and commanding menace that dares to turn its protagonists reckless, tortured journey into a blackly funny cosmic joke. The celebrated German auteur isnt remotely interested in crafting a by-the-numbers procedural, where good triumphs through determination and proper ethics. No, hed rather follow McDonaugh into the muck, tenaciously observing, without judgment, the junkie lawman undergoing his dismal daily routine; crudely shaking down intoxicated club kids for drugs, betting away his life savings on college football games much to the chagrin of his frustrated, unpaid bookie Ned (a nicely understated Brad Dourif) and terrorizing suspects and their families for vital information.
As embodied, gnarled body and crazy soul, by Cage in his best performance since 2002s Adaptation McDonagh is a truly original creation; a man whose demons have been driving him so long that he wouldnt know what to do without them. In one of the films best scenes he attempts, while blitzed on heroin, to shakedown one of his girlfriends clients for cocaine. Using his perpetual hangdog expression to its full electric elasticity, Cage browbeats the man with sullen lids, eyes bleary, only to triumph when his opponent throws up his hands in exasperation and, head shaking, exits the scene. Dont let the massive handgun fool you, McDonagh couldnt be more impotent; authoritatively, as when irately confronting an abusive john (hilarious scene-stealer Shea Whigham), and sexually - especially during a pathetic liaison with a former partner (Fairuza Balk).
Occupying a New Orleans perpetually overcast with grey clouds symbolic of both the morality of the protagonist as well as his consistently down-in-the-dregs mind-set Herzog fills The Bad Lieutenants sad world with ramshackle architecture and dirty little touches suggestive of a crime-infested wasteland, where everyones scrambling hand-over-fist to feed some sort of addiction. Only the quiet, unkempt country home of Terences recovering alcoholic father Pat (Tom Bower) offers any hope for rehabilitation, and even it has its own resident unstable force in the form of Pats perpetually drunk, sad-eyed lover Genevieve (Jennifer Coolidge, in a very strong non-comedic turn), who understands Terences plight even if she cant quite form the words to communicate it.
Bad Lieutenant seems intent on testing audiences with its druggy, meandering pace, which operates on the same shapeless, disjointed level as the title characters psyche. Herzog wants to immerse us in the movies corruption and suffocating dreariness, offering sporadic relief only through McDonaghs jolts of substance-induced energy, which walk a precariously fine line between being amusingly depraved and offensively revolting. When Cages character cuts off an elderly womans oxygen and hurls malicious insults at her and her caretaker we laugh not at his behaviour, but at the filmmaker and his stars go-for-broke fearlessness. Similarly, a climactic crack-fuelled, staccato monologue, delivered in the presence of a local crime-lord (a suitably imposing Xzibit), where the actor messily spits out an unintelligible volley of seemingly disconnected thoughts becomes a viscerally spellbinding study in the joys of complete, unfiltered performance with a capital P.
Although the film has a propensity for merrily flying off the rails in spots the price of channelling insanity, I suppose and Cages inconsistent accent draws some raised eyebrows, Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans deserves attention purely for being, hands down, this years most skilfully chaotic nutso gem. Its a sweat-stained cinematic trip that, with Herzog and Cage proudly on duty, feels dangerous and bracing. So, dont be too surprised if you feel a little numbed and dopey yourself when the film reaches its brutal conclusion. Just watch out for stray iguanas...
4 out of 5