a desperate foolishness
by Douglas Messerli
Glenn Ficarra and John Requa's
comic-drama, I Love You Phillip Morris,
is hardly a great film, but in its mix of Catch
Me If You Can and Dog Day Afternoon
(with perhaps a little of Raising Arizona
tossed in) it's a kind of delightful mulligan stew about gay love.
After Russell pays for others to beat a screaming inmate next to their
cell ("That is the most romantic thing anyone ever did for me. I love you
so much," gushes Morris) and Morris arranges to have romantic music played
late at night so the two can dance, authorities separate the couple, sending
Russell to another prison. The breakup is devastating as Morris rushes into the
prison yard—where he has previously been terrified to enter—to scream out his love
for Russell, Russell responding with film's title: "I love you Phillip
Morris."
It is only here that movie really begins, with Russell conning his way
through system after system, becoming a lawyer so that he can free his lover,
accomplishing small check frauds and false bodily injury claims, and, finally,
finagling a job as a CFO for a large corporation, where he embezzles millions
of dollars just to support Morris in a life style he "deserves."
Indeed there is a sense throughout the film of Morris' belief in entitlement,
perhaps because he has been previously so closeted, but also out of a righteous
sense that the two deserve to live their lives in joyful celebration of their
love. And to be fair, his cons make his company millions of dollars as well; he
simply takes half of what he illegally raises by investing temporary payments
into short-term accounts. His theft is petty when compared, one imagines, to
the real CFOs and Wall Street business sharks. Yet time and again, Russell is
caught and returned to prison. Through various clever ploys he escapes time
after time (in real life Russell was described as the Houdini of prisoners),
using the telephone with his skillful ability to convince unwitting authorities
along with several attempts at suicide, costumes, and other manipulations of
the system to free himself and return to Morris.
When Russell is arrested after his business fraud, however, Morris is
furious with the lies and deceit of his friend:
From the moment we met,
you did nothing but lie. Our whole
relationship just lies.
I'm such an asshole. You took advantage
of me, just like all the
others. You were supposed to protect me.
But you did nothing but
make a fool out of me. And you expect
me to love you? How can I
love you. I don't even know who you
are. You know what's sad?
I don't even think you know who you
are. So how am I supposed
to love someone that don't even exist,
you tell me.
The two, however, remain in
love, Morris ultimately returned to prison as an accomplice with Russell. While
recognizing the truth of Morris' comments, Russell plots yet one more large con
so that he free himself and work to free Morris. Losing vast amounts of weight
and forging prison hospital records, he is declared to have AIDS and, as he
grows more and more ill (largely acted), he is sent to hospice to die. Morris
hears of his near death, and by telephone reaffirms his love, his recognition
that all the crazy things Russell has done have been, at heart, for him and
their relationship. They are, as they agree, fools for love.
The final irony is that the man who does not exist dies—so Morris is
told. But when Russell shows up as a lawyer to visit Morris in prison, his
lover punches him in the face. Russell again pleas:
Wait, listen. I just came
here to tell you one thing, and that's it.
You don't have to take me
back. I just want to say one thing. I know
you think that we were
nothing but a lie, but underneath all those
lies, there was always
something that was real. I thought about what
you said to me. You said you
don't know who I am, but I know now. I
know who I am. I'm not a
lawyer, I'm not a CFO, I'm not a cop,
I'm not an escape artist.
Those Steven Russells are dead. Now all
that's important is the man
that loves you. And if you could see that,
believe it, I promise I'll
never be anything else ever again.
Morris' response: "How do I
know you're not bullshitting me again?" is answered with the inevitable:
"You don't."
In fact, Russell does try as a lawyer to free his friend once again, but
in the process is recognized. This time he is returned to prison for 140 years,
and the real Steven Jay Russell remains in prison, in complete isolation,
today.
Morris was released. But in the last scene Russell is still dreaming of
his friend, imagining himself running from the guards in a final race toward
love.
What began as a comedy has ended in a kind of tragedy. For the man who
sought so much out of his life has ended up with absolutely nothing. Whether or
not he "deserves" better, the American system of justice will not
forgive such a desperate foolishness.
Los Angeles, January 7, 2011
Reprinted from World Cinema Review (January 2012).
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