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A Deep Cut

Thornton's haunting, droll Sling Blade draws rich blood

Billy Bob Thornton's richly observed Sling Blade opens with a prologue that can only be described as its own small film, a laconically eerie sequence that, as the rest of Sling Blade unfolds, begins to take hold in the memory like a particularly dense nightmare.

As Daniel Lanois's quietly atmospheric score settles in, we find the childlike, semiretarded Karl Childers, played by writer/director Thornton, rigidly perched at the window of an asylum for the criminally insane somewhere in Arkansas, wearing a face that looks at first like a child's imitation of the mentally retarded: heavy underbite, weird half-smile, burrowing eyes. Karl stares straight ahead, paying no heed to a chatty fellow inmate (J.T. Walsh) who enjoys talking of his sex crimes. It's difficult to determine who's creepier.

In the meantime, two high school girls are preparing to interview Karl, who is scheduled for release after 25 years. The administrator hesitantly preps the girls (and, of course, the audience), so by the time Karl sits down for the interview, we don't know whether to expect alienating horror or just pure unease. Then, in a thick backwater growl that, like his expression, initially comes across as hideous mimicry, Karl recounts matter-of-factly how he killed his mother and her lover with the weapon of the movie's title. In the eyes of a young Karl, his mother was committing an unpardonable sin, so his fateful action was the ironic result of his parents' religiously fanatical, abusive upbringing: In their eyes, Karl was a punishment from God. Thornton delivers Karl's stark history in one long, uninterrupted, darkly lit take, and what's mesmerizing about it is how the character's strange, deep voice actually warms us to Karl despite the unpleasantness of the incident. It's as if time and solitude have filled his gravelly voice with honest, numbing regret.

As the prologue ends and Karl is practically pushed out the door of the asylum, Lanois's buzzing mood music turns to plaintive piano, and we see Karl wandering around a free man. We're fearful of what this incarcerated killer's impact will be on the community, but it soon becomes apparent that it's Karl who is uncomfortable rejoining society, and at the end of his first free day he returns to the asylum because it's the place he knows best. It's his home.

Eventually, Karl is set up with employment at a local fix-it shop (he's good with small motors, maybe because they sound like his speech), and a chance meeting with a friendly, curious boy named Frank (Lucas Black) leads to Karl's being taken in by Frank and his single mother, Linda (Natalie Canerday). Before long, Karl is part of a family again, and through that seemingly impenetrable gaze and sparse, monotone delivery we can sense a certain tranquillity coming to Karl, especially when he's around Frank, who treats him like a little brother or a faithful pet.

The trouble is, Karl doesn't realize he's vying for a role that has two other contenders, and the ring is starting to get crowded. First, there's Linda's boyfriend, Doyle (Dwight Yoakam), an intolerant, quick-tempered layabout who, when not spouting off after a booze-ridden tear, can sweet-talk Linda to where she simply ignores his clear distaste for her son. Then there's Linda's boss and best friend at work, Vaughan (John Ritter), a gay man who is so concerned for Linda and Frank's well-being that he takes Karl to lunch (a great deadpan scene) to make sure Karl is, well, all right, having come from an asylum and all. Karl just sits there expressionless, as he often does, every once in a while letting off a polite non sequitur in that guttural drone, usually about how he likes French-fried "taters or biscuits."

One thing becomes certain, though, over the course of the movie: What Karl sees in Doyle he doesn't like, and he may have to do something about it. While the battle over this lower-middle-class family had already been actively engaged before Karl's appearance, Karl's calm yet firm presence and obvious affinity for Frank cause everyone to rethink their motives, their actions and their lives. In true melodramatic form, Sling Blade wends its way toward inevitable tragedy, but not before it has fully fleshed out a searing, darkly humorous and achingly thoughtful story of reckoning and human charity.

Thornton, who co-wrote (with sometime collaborator Tom Epperson) two of recent memory's finer Southern-tinged dramas, One False Move and A Family Thing, has an incredible ear for the way blue-collar characters communicate, particularly in confrontational situations or uncomfortable ones. Too often Hollywood makes all of its Southern characters talk like a wacky sheriff, but Thornton's dialogue is easygoing and colorful without being archly cornpone or cartoonish -- it's the poetry of drawl. As a writer, he likes to put different eccentrics together to see what happens, but he never strains believability.

Sling Blade also moves at a Southern pace, clocking in at more than two hours. But its long, contemplative haul is ultimately refreshing. The film moseys without being poky.

Thornton draws rich, varied performances from his cast, especially himself in his one-of-a-kind portrayal of the cypherish, mythic, almost ghostly Karl. Canerday's simple, hospitable mom and country-music star Yoakam's Doyle, a smoldering, insecure lout of the first order, are also unusually fine. Sling Blade is a most impressive debut because it is an uncompromisingly told tale with a minimum of frills. By the time Thornton has brought Karl and his movie full circle to the asylum again, the idea that Karl's life is one long, sacrificial quest for inner peace and emotional justice has been studiously yet artfully made clear. The prologue is no longer a nightmare, and Sling Blade begins to achieve the resonance of a dream -- Karl's dream.

Sling Blade.
Directed by Billy Bob Thornton. With Billy Bob Thornton, Dwight Yoakam and J.T. Walsh.

Rated R.
134 minutes.

 
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