"The Dying Gaul" is well photographed, uses a house as location it would be interesting to know more about, and Peter Sarsgaard performs a vigorous imitation of orgasm, but the film fails in plot, characterization, and exposition. It lurches into coups de theatre worthy of Ibsen, except that Ibsen would have better prepared what may crop out in a character. Judging by the conventions of other movies about the Hollywood milieu, such as Altman's "Player," the behavior of characters is implausible, unagressive, indifferent. If Campbell Scott is to play a producer with hidden "sensitivity," the character must still show he can play a tough game, and the same for a writer pitching his script. Exposition by means of typed-out e-mail messages is tedious. Genstures of sympathy are diffused by transcendental generalities. For how to deal with dying, see instead Patrice Chereau's "Son frere."
Review of The Dying Gaul
