"Repetition works, David. Repetition works, David."

The first time I saw Natural Born Killers, it was 1994, and it was one of the few occasions in my movie memory that I believed that cinema was unlimited in the ways it could communicate, and in ways it could affect an audience. I was shocked, yes, and more than a little bit shook up, but furthermore I was elated. Elated in the same way as when I'd seen any other work by a director who was not only in complete control of the medium, but had the passion and the sheer creativity to make his vision work.

Whole movies have been made using one single technique featured in this film. The Super-8, digital video, and hand-held cameras are in vogue for the Dogma '95 disciples. There are references (intentional or otherwise) made to the favored styles of Quentin Tarantino, Wim Wenders, Jim Jarmusch, Spike Lee, David Lynch, Sam Peckinpah, Martin Scorsese, Robert Aldrich, as well as Stone himself (in a sly, self-directed zinger, the script calls for Mickey to make a disparaging remark about modern films while the Stone-written Scarface plays on TV). There are no ordinary, straight-ahead shots unless their ordinariness is meant to call attention to itself. Stone employs slow motion, TV cameras, distorting effects, time-lapse photography, a seemingly endless assortment of filters, animation, expressionism, projected images, reverse video, and a whole host of other shooting styles. In addition to the visuals, Stone expertly uses music and sound effects to create the desired mood. The soundtrack is the very definition of eclectic: Nine Inch Nails, Bob Dylan, Peter Gabriel with Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Leonard Cohen, Dr. Dre, Patsy Cline, Rage Against the Machine and L7, as well as ambiance electronica and classical. No parts of this multimedia collage are gratuitous, as they all have a distinct and crucial role in the overall experience. Individual scenes have their purpose, but the cumulative result -- scenes upon scenes; shock after humor, surrealism before straight realism, nostalgia following state-of-the-art effects -- keeping the audience expectations off balance and in a daze, is evidence of a virtuoso filmmaker. This is a symphony, and a damn good one. It's also a satire ahead of its time, like Network and Primary Colors, which is a rare commodity indeed. Pre-Columbine, pre-Y2K, pre-Backstreet Boys, pre-Spice Girls, it brilliantly lampoons not only the media (a tired target), but also the gullible sectors of society; the people who know nothing except what is fed to them by television.

The performances are all of a piece; as over-the-top as some get, none stick out as unnecessary. The Tommy Lee Jones and Tom Sizemore characters are clearly not intended to be complimentary pictures of the law and correctional institutions. Jones is the cartoon version of a prison warden, his choked and furious delivery providing the biggest laughs of all. Sizemore can do salt-of-the-earth or slimeball with the best of them; here he does the latter, with a touch of complacency and arrogance. He's like Dean Martin to Lee Jones' Jerry Lewis. Robert Downey Jr.'s Wayne Gayle was so accurate a portrait of schlock TV that schlock TV had to reinvent itself all over again into Jerry Springer and Dateline NBC. It's not the classic Downey manic performance (that's in Two Girls and a Guy), but it's close. The best parts of the film are Woody Harrelson and Juliette Lewis, in the leads as mass murderer superstars Mickey and Mallory Knox. Harrelson dumped his nice-guy Cheers image in one fell swoop, and has been taken seriously as an actor ever since. Harrelson knows that we can read psychosis in his eyes, but his tone is laid-back enough that we know also that he can hide it at will. His good looks are an immeasurable asset; after all these years, America would still not be prepared for a pretty-boy killer. The luminescent Juliette Lewis, who is often dismissed as annoying and repetitive in most of her movie roles, does work here that make ordinary actresses seem hesitant and uncertain. In one part of the film she's a frightened thirteen year-old, throughout she is a rabid dog, a seductress, a vamp, a teenie-bopper, and by the end she is a concentration camp survivor and a battle-hardened veteran. In all scenes, Juliette Lewis and Mallory Knox are inseparable -- she is never "lost" in the role, and we never say, "Oh, that's just Juliette Lewis doing her psycho-killer bit." It's one of the finest performances of the decade.

People who have seen Natural Born Killers can be divided up into two categories: those who believe the negative ought to be burned, and that Stone should be in prison, and those who believe it's a classic, a phenomenon, a masterpiece of the medium. Even if I did not personally favor Stone's bloody pop epic, I would certainly acknowledge that very few films inspire such passionate responses. Most of Lynch films are received this way, as are Tarantino's, Lars Von Trier's (particularly Dancer in the Dark), Harmony Korine's, and Spike Lee's. This is one of the essential attributes of a cult film. They may be poorly constructed, badly acted, written, or shot (Killers is none of these), but they have a certain fire that almost all mainstream films lack, and they cannot be ignored or dismissed.

If this review looks familiar, that's because I posted it to Epinions a long time ago. Unfortunately for users looking for my review of Natural Born Killers, Epinions stuck the piece in an "Archived Reviews" section, never to be looked at again. So, I deleted the old version and re-posted it. Enjoy!