MONSTER'S BALL eventually becomes a pretty good film. I say eventually because it takes nearly an hour for the film to get to the point where the characters rise above clichés and their lives become compelling. That is when the two main characters finally meet and their romance -- such as it is -- begins. It is a strange romance and often strains credibility. Billy Bob Thornton is an executioner at an unspecified Southern prison, who, by chance, meets and begins a relationship with Hallie Berry as the wife of one of his executions. The added twist is that he is white and raised in an extremely racist atmosphere and she is black, That is complication enough to carry any film, but director Marc Foster and screenwriters Milo Addica and Will Rokos provide the film with a lot of other baggage, most of which is stacked high at the front end of the film.
It is not that the first 45 minutes of the story aren't important, only that it is all so badly handled. The opening sequences all seem trite, awkwardly staged, simplistic and just plain poorly written, especially when compared to most of the rest of the film. Yes, these scenes set up the subsequent story, but they come off as embarrassingly unrealistic and melodramatic. The characters are introduced as clichés (especially Peter Boyle as Thornton's racist father) and one key scene, a suicide, is laughable in its ineptitude.
Nothing in these scenes could not have been handled much better as flashbacks or explained in poignant monologues. Indeed, letting the audience learn about the two main characters slowly and haphazardly as the characters themselves learn about each other would have made more sense and been much more effective,
But what does eventually develop is a touching story about two people who have haunted pasts and have literally seen their futures die before their eyes. They meet at a place where neither have much to look forward to and little to lose. They subsequently build a romance and a shaky future based on fear, pity, guilt and dependency. But, the film suggests, that may be enough on which to build actual love. Maybe.
Berry's Oscar-winning performance is certainly well done, but Thornton surpasses her with quietly somber work that relies on a fraction of the hysterics. Together, they have chemistry. Together they overcome a poorly written script and sloppy direction.
One can quibble about the lame beginning and other matters (Thornton's change from bigot to liberal is a stretch and there is an extended, unnecessary and extremely tacky sex scene that flirts with being little more than gratuitous soft-core porn), but get past that and you get a story of depth and insight and human compassion. You just have to be patient. Very patient.
It is not that the first 45 minutes of the story aren't important, only that it is all so badly handled. The opening sequences all seem trite, awkwardly staged, simplistic and just plain poorly written, especially when compared to most of the rest of the film. Yes, these scenes set up the subsequent story, but they come off as embarrassingly unrealistic and melodramatic. The characters are introduced as clichés (especially Peter Boyle as Thornton's racist father) and one key scene, a suicide, is laughable in its ineptitude.
Nothing in these scenes could not have been handled much better as flashbacks or explained in poignant monologues. Indeed, letting the audience learn about the two main characters slowly and haphazardly as the characters themselves learn about each other would have made more sense and been much more effective,
But what does eventually develop is a touching story about two people who have haunted pasts and have literally seen their futures die before their eyes. They meet at a place where neither have much to look forward to and little to lose. They subsequently build a romance and a shaky future based on fear, pity, guilt and dependency. But, the film suggests, that may be enough on which to build actual love. Maybe.
Berry's Oscar-winning performance is certainly well done, but Thornton surpasses her with quietly somber work that relies on a fraction of the hysterics. Together, they have chemistry. Together they overcome a poorly written script and sloppy direction.
One can quibble about the lame beginning and other matters (Thornton's change from bigot to liberal is a stretch and there is an extended, unnecessary and extremely tacky sex scene that flirts with being little more than gratuitous soft-core porn), but get past that and you get a story of depth and insight and human compassion. You just have to be patient. Very patient.