Wayne Wang's Smoke is one of those films that initially appears to be somewhat insignificant, which is quite fitting for a film that tries to make us see the beauty and importance of the insignificant moments that make up our lives. It's also a film about the importance of family and friends in defining who we are. Such subjects could be the recipe for an over-sentimental disaster in less capable hands, but Wang delivers a film that manages to be genuinely heartwarming while remaining relatively sentiment-free.
Centred around the tobacco shop of Auggie (Harvey Keitel), a man with a long-term obsession with photographing the same street corner at exactly the same time every day, Paul Auster's screenplay introduces us to a number of seemingly nondescript characters who all have something to contribute to the meaning of the story. There is Paul Benjamin (William Hurt) a successful writer unable to produce anything of worth since the tragic death of his wife three years before; Thomas Cole (Harold Perrineau) a young man on the run and searching for the father (Forrest Whitaker, giving a first-class performance) who abandoned him and his mother; and Auggie himself, who receives a visit from an ex-girlfriend (Stockard Channing) who claims he is the father of her junkie daughter(a truly monstrous creation from Ashley Judd). The stories intertwine, although, as with life itself, they are not all satisfactorily resolved, and the entire cast give solid performances. Even Harvey Keitel, not usually one of my favourite actors, manages to rise above his workmanlike talents to deliver a sublime performance. Wang directs without fuss, telling his story with a largely static camera, frequent long takes for a modern movie, and, it has to be said, an annoying habit of bathing the screen in a golden hue for no apparent reason. Look out for possibly the most telling scene in the entire film when Auggie is shows Paul his photograph collection it has to stand as one of the best-written scenes of the nineties.
Centred around the tobacco shop of Auggie (Harvey Keitel), a man with a long-term obsession with photographing the same street corner at exactly the same time every day, Paul Auster's screenplay introduces us to a number of seemingly nondescript characters who all have something to contribute to the meaning of the story. There is Paul Benjamin (William Hurt) a successful writer unable to produce anything of worth since the tragic death of his wife three years before; Thomas Cole (Harold Perrineau) a young man on the run and searching for the father (Forrest Whitaker, giving a first-class performance) who abandoned him and his mother; and Auggie himself, who receives a visit from an ex-girlfriend (Stockard Channing) who claims he is the father of her junkie daughter(a truly monstrous creation from Ashley Judd). The stories intertwine, although, as with life itself, they are not all satisfactorily resolved, and the entire cast give solid performances. Even Harvey Keitel, not usually one of my favourite actors, manages to rise above his workmanlike talents to deliver a sublime performance. Wang directs without fuss, telling his story with a largely static camera, frequent long takes for a modern movie, and, it has to be said, an annoying habit of bathing the screen in a golden hue for no apparent reason. Look out for possibly the most telling scene in the entire film when Auggie is shows Paul his photograph collection it has to stand as one of the best-written scenes of the nineties.