New U.S. Release

The Tenants

By RONNIE SCHEIB

The relationship between scribes Dylan McDermott and Snoop Dogg degenerates into violence in an adaptation of Bernard Malamud's 'The Tenants.'

A Millennium Films presentation of a Tau Production S.A. de C.V. production in association with Randall Emmett/George Furla Films for Equity Pictures Medienfonds GmbH & Co. KG III. Produced by Christ Bongirne, Heidi Jo Markel, Lati Grobman, Holly Wiersma, Randall Emmett, George Furla. Executive producers, Elisa Salinas, Dal Walton, John McAdams, Dylan McDermott, Josef Lautenschlager, Andreas Theismeyer, Gerd Koechlin, Manfred Heid. Co-producer, Ted Chung.
Directed by Danny Green. Screenplay, David Diamond, based on the novel by Bernard Malamud.
 
With: Dylan McDermott, Snoop Dogg, Rose Byrne, Seymour Cassel, Niki J. Crawford, Aldis Hodge.

 

Glum filmization of Bernard Malamud's 1972 novel about race relations between two writers --- one white, one black -- in an abandoned Brooklyn tenement, keeps grimly glued to its one-note premise, relieved by nary a glimmer of humor, surprise or personality. First-time helmer Danny Green veers between "Shining"-type evocations of hermetic madness (complete with axe) and bald, '70s-specific agitprop. But the obsessive aspect is tediously sealed off (hirsute writer at typewriter), while the socio-political context is perfunctory (black men alternately dancing and glowering). Pic, preeming at Gotham's Empire 25 Cinema, is likely to face imminent eviction.

Harry Lesser (Dylan McDermott) holes up in his rent-controlled apartment, the last holdout in a decaying tenement building which its owner (Seymour Cassel) cannot sell until Harry voluntarily moves out. A creature of habit, Lesser feels driven to finish his novel in the place he started it.

One day he discovers Willie Spearmint (Snoop Dogg), a fellow scribe, squatting in a room down the hall. Soon a precarious apprenticeship develops between published writer Harry and self-taught Willie, one fraught with mutual distrust and continually teetering between respect and contempt. Tensions escalate, particularly when Irene Bell (Rose Byrne), who styles herself as "Willie's white girl," enters the picture.

Unfortunately, the stylization just about sums up Byrne's Irene, scripter David Diamond having gifted her with vague 'tude rather than personality, and with Aussie thesp Byrne failing to fill in the blanks.

In contrast, Niki Crawford as a sexy black temptress infuses consciousness and individuality into a minor part.

Still, the filmmakers have not fleshed out the main characters beyond McDermott as an ivory tower-dwelling introvert and Dogg as an angry black man.

Sporting a full beard, McDermott, tries to burrow into his character neurotic isolation. Ultimately, though, his sullen self-absorption becomes just plain boring.

Snoop Dogg fares better, his semi-inarticulate frustration suggesting layers of emotion that never quite reach the surface. Together, McDermott and Snoop Dogg's scenes, if not particularly mesmerizing, resonate with emotion, charting a progression that feels almost like a story. Yet the madness that finally locks them into violent one-upmanship seems artificial, with helmer Green's vision too genteelly literary to indulge in effectively freewheeling horror.

Any credibility the characters manage to build instantly disappears, however, once they leave the deserted building for the city outside which, inexplicably, looks almost equally depopulated. The outside scenes come across as even more emptily abstract and theoretical than the characters' unseen typewritten manuscripts.

Tech credits are staidly professional.

Camera (color), David W. Dubois; editor, Michael J. Duthie; music, Leigh Gorman; production designer, Simon Dobbin; costume designer, Peggy Schnitzer; sound (Dolby), Sean Skinner; sound supervisors, Sean McCormack, Kari Asgar; casting, Barbara Fiorentino, Rebecca Mangieri. Reviewed at Magno One Review, New York, Jan. 24, 2005. Running time: 97 MIN.