Alicia Silverstone clueless in 'Excess Baggage'

By Dini S. Djalal

JAKARTA (JP): Thank God for little girls. Or so Hollywood thinks.

Every year, a new roster of rosy-cheeked nymphets slither their way into Tinseltown's floodlights, squeezing sighs out of slick studio execs lounging in their casting couches.

Liv Tyler, Kate Winslet, Winona Ryder, Uma Thurman; what do they have in common? They all got top billing before they turned 20.

It can deny the accusation (or complement, depending on your politics), but Hollywood is Nabakov writ large, a place where beautiful young Lolitas stay beautiful and young as long as they can employ personal trainers and beauticians. It's a place where being beautiful and young is often all you need to be.

It's not easy. Growing up is hard enough for your average braces-wearing teenager. But growing up in front of millions and a community of body-fascist narcissists (Hollywood) -- that's a trial even celebrity guru Deepak Chopra finds a challenge. For when these little girls pout on magazine covers, the layman (and laywoman), consumed by a lethal mix of studious fascination and merciless envy, stops and ponders: Has she been eating too many donuts lately?

In the case of Alicia Silverstone, apparently so. Four years ago, when Silverstone was Sweet Sixteen and the goddess of MTV (after starring in a series of Aerosmith videos), she was, as many teenagers are, a svelte saucy sprite. When her big-screen breakthrough Clueless grossed $100 million worldwide in 1996, few could overshadow Silverstone's luster. She was, according to Warhol's 15 minutes of fame, the most gorgeous and popular girl on the planet.

Yet sequel-mad Hollywood, ever formulaic rather than enterprising, wanted Silverstone to repeat her onscreen magic, again and again.

Batman and Robin director Joel Schumacher dressed her in latex to play Batgirl for a fee of $1.5 million. Columbia Pictures, confident that Silverstone knows how to make a movie as well as star in one, gave Silverstone an unprecedented $7 million production deal for two films.

Not bad for a teenager whose films often went straight to video (Hideaway, The Babysitter).

By the very definition of being a teenager, however, Silverstone was growing. More to the point, her weight was growing. Not exponentially, but enough to keep gossip columnists busy. And it was during the media's microscopic inspection into her eating habits that Silverstone produced and starred in Excess Baggage.

Silverstone seems to take the jabs at her weight-gain in stride; Excess Baggage shows her poking at her stomach and eagerly devouring a Twinkie.

But her thin layers of baby-fat, highlighted by the second- skin clothes she's chosen to wear, is not the film's biggest distraction. The real excess here is not Silverstone's indulgence for chocolates but for uninspired dialog and acting.

To be fair, Excess Baggage is not a particularly bad film; it's just an uninteresting one.

Perhaps Indonesia's current economic crisis intensified my indifference -- a story of a billionaire's daughter (Silverstone as Emily) plotting her own kidnapping to get her father's attention seems frivolous when Indonesians are now struggling to make ends meet. Sure, recession-hit audiences still need their entertainment, but this illustration of wealth and privilege may just heighten middle class resentment toward the dwindling of their hard-earned affluence.

And the film is indulgent, from Silverstone's choice of director (Marco Brambilla of Demolition Man) to costar (Benicio Del Toro from The Usual Suspects).

Brambilla is not a particularly innovative director. His staging of Del Toro's car-heist is funky enough, but the ensuing car chases are droll for any of us who have sat through too many years of Starsky and Hutch.

Brambilla's pacing is conventional, his camerawork is film- school-friendly but not groundbreaking, and his understanding of his actors, save for Del Toro and Christopher Walken (who plays Emily's -- surprise surprise -- sinister Uncle Ray who tries to rescue her) is lacking.

In particular, Brambilla handles Silverstone like he does a wet sock. He keeps her at arms' distance and looks at her unfalteringly, or at least that's how she appears before his camera. Those who used to say it was impossible to make the luminous Silverstone look bad are probably now swallowing their words.

Del Toro is better, or at least better at his job. Del Toro is the best thing about the film, despite his inaudible Brooklynese slurs. Del Toro plays Vincent the car thief, who inadvertently gets pinned as Emily's kidnapper. He's a shy slug in con-man's clothes, a Saint Bernard masquerading as a Doberman. And he remains enigmatic as Silverstone's predictable love interest -- it's her that can't seem to match his charisma. The result? Onscreen chemistry as electric as a dying bulb.

Christopher Walken is also good, but then he's playing himself.

Walken shares the screen with other stock indie players -- Nick Torturro (brother of John, star of Barton Fink), jazz-singer Harry Connick Jr. (who should go back to his day-job) and Sally Kirkland.

They all try to spice up the bland script with the requisite indie quirks and mannerisms, but they can't save the sinking ship.

Who could have propped up the film, but didn't, is Silverstone. Save for Kirkland the buxom waitress, Silverstone is practically the only woman onscreen, so audiences don't have the luxury of comparison. Other actresses would have made Silverstone look more lame than she already does.

It's surprising to see Silverstone so boring. In Clueless, Silverstone had screenwriter Amy Heckerling's wisecracks confidently sussed around her rubber lips. In Excess Baggage, she whinges her lame retorts.

Silverstone's big broad smile also disappears here -- intentionally.

Silverstone once said that she doesn't want to repeat her cheery Clueless role, explaining her darker personality in Excess Baggage. But she doesn't make the transformation whole enough, weakening the film and her presence.

But whereas Silverstone once played Clueless with knowing street-smarts (Cher was self-confidence personified), in Excess Baggage, as she lets this sampling of cinematic fluff fall apart around her, Silverstone is just plain clueless.