Filmmakers such as Lars von Trier, David Fincher, Terry Gilliam, Tim Burton, and Quentin Tarantino often portray the twisted, darker side of humanity with disturbing and cinematically striking results. Clearly influenced by this brand of cinema and the psychological impact it has, director Fred Durst clearly wants to be seen and make movies in this tradition; dark voyeurism that offers intimate entrée to the broken mind. But out of his depth, possessing no fluency for, or discernible access to these kinds of similar psychological portraits, Durst’s new feature film, “The Fanatic,” is a deeply misguided and foolhardy effort. It’s also dripping with contempt and offers a perverse glimpse at what the director thinks about Hollywood and our celebrity-obsessed culture. And let’s just say he’s not a fan.
To simply recap the plot of “The Fanatic” does zero justice to the people involved, including Durst, who also co-wrote the script with Dave Bekerman, its star John Travolta, and the supporting cast led by Devon Sawa. Sure, you can say that “The Fanatic” is a “Misery”-esque thriller about a diehard, idol-worshipping fan, who subsequently stalks his favorite actor and then they become embroiled in a violent cat and mouse game. But you better believe, “The Fanatic” is much more than its own unremarkable plot. It’s a vehicle that presents what is likely the most unhinged performance of Travolta’s decades-long career, and also demonstrates Durst’s deep hatred of fans, the entire notion of fandom, and quite possibly the mentally ill.
Travolta plays Moose, a middle-aged, crazed fan of movies, particularly those of action star Hunter Dunbar (Sawa). Moose also happens to be very much disturbed and obviously suffering from various mental and social disorders. Durst subtly indicates the character’s glitches in a variety of ways— Moose rubbing the back of his ear, then sniffing his fingers when he’s nervous, lacking the social skills to hold conversations with people without yelling at them, and ordering a strawberry milkshake (with real ice cream) in a swanky bar. To add to the character’s many quirks, Moose is often dressed in cargo shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, a backpack with movie-related adornment, and a haircut that makes Forrest Gump look like Brad Pitt.
If that description makes you wonder if “The Fanatic” is a lost relic from the late-’90s Farrelly Brothers filmography, you wouldn’t be that far off base. It’s almost as if Travolta pratfell from the set of “There’s Something About Mary” and into a David Fincher thriller. Worst of all, Durst presents Moose as the “hero” of the film. That is, if there even is one, as Moose eventually becomes a maniac that will strangle with little regard.
Ultimately, this is where one of the many, many ‘Fanatic’ problems lie. It’s important to understand that even if Travolta turned in the performance of a lifetime— as a character that isn’t just an offensive, horrific version of a mentally ill person— the film that surrounds the character fails him at every turn.
Filled with absolutely atrocious dialogue, with lines (delivered with the utmost sincerity) such as “Holy Cow, Batman!” “I suppose when you find the cookie jar, it’s hard to not go back for more,” and “Moose didn’t cross the line. He fucking nuked it,” “The Fanatic” is often painful to watch with the audio on. You want to expect more from the co-writer of Limp Bizkit lyrics and presume, with optimism, that he’s grown beyond the infantile, crude and vulgar. But “The Fanatic” proves Durst is once again simply showing you who he is and how he feels about the world. (In case you’re curious, yes, two characters listen to some Limp Bizkit in the movie, discussing how amazing the band is, and you wish this was just some kind of joke, but I’m dead serious).
Anti-heroes aside—complex characters not within Durst’s vocabulary—thrillers are generally built on the idea that the audience roots for the good guy and despises the villain. This is where the tension is derived. Yet, in “The Fanatic,” it’s clear that Durst detests both the fans and the celebrities, presenting both sides as equally odious and scary. You might be able to argue that Moose is the sympathetic character, but the film shows him killing a helpless person, stalking people, breaking into their homes, and pretending to set them on fire. Oh, and Sawa’s celebrity character? He’s shown threatening fans with violence, sexually assaulting his housekeeper, and shooting someone’s hand off before stabbing them in the eye. Everyone is noxious in this movie.
So, if “The Fanatic” is a look into the mind of Fred Durst and his disgust for fan entitlement, then maybe the filmmaker should seek help. Clearly, he believes superfans are either emotionally disturbed, mentally ill, homicidal, or all of the above. Curiously, his regard for celebrities is not much more charitable, which is odd considering the genesis of the plot comes from a supposed real-life incident between Durst and a fan, leading you to believe that there might be a fair amount of self-loathing on display. The entire transaction of fame is repellent to the director—which is understandable given what he went through in the late 90s. It’s a cynical view, but fair enough. However, Durst does or says very little with it in the end beside the superficial, Hot Topic-esque nihilism of it all.
“The Fanatic” features the greatest bit of overacting ever performed by Travolta (and yes, include “Face/Off,” “Battlefield Earth,” and everything post-2015) and perhaps that’s ironically tempting. But make no mistake, “The Fanatic” is godawful. Only Durst obsessives will need to seek out this film, but of course, doing so with the full knowledge that the director would sooner eat glass than watch the movie in the same room as you. [D-]