We drove to Chicago without the accompanimentrnof Bob Wills—c2ncf withoutrnthe accompaniment of whatever footballrngame my rabid-fan husband was justrnitching to find on the radio. “Why listenrnto football?” I asked. “The game’s gonerndownhill since the days of the great Packerrncoach Vinnie Lombardo.” My husband:rn”Winnie Lombardo?” Me: “ErniernTubbs?” Not for nothing have I becomernThat Crank.rnJanet Scott Barlow writes fromrnCincinnati, Ohio. Her website, “OutrnHere: Commentary From MiddlernAmerica on Politics and Culture,”rncan be accessed at www.Out-Here.org.rnSeeing IsrnNot Believingrnby George McCartneyrnThe LimeyrnProduced by Artisan EntertainmentrnDirected by Steven SoderberghrnScreenplay by hem DobbsrnReleased by Artisan EntertainmentrnThe InsiderrnProduced by Touchstone PicturesrnDirected by Michael MannrnScreenplay by Eric Roth from arnVanity Fair article by Marie BrennerrnReleased by Buena Vista PicturesrnPokemon: The First MoviernProduced by 4 Kids Entertainmentrnand ShogakukanrnDirected by Michael Haigneyrnand Kunohiko YuyamarnScreenplay by Norman J. Grossfeld andrnTakeshi Shud (English version)rnReleased by Warner Bros.rnI f it is to succeed, a narrative film,rnwhether fact or fiction, must persuadernus to beliee in its events as they unreelrnbefore our ejes. Of the three movies beingrnreviewed this month, Pokemonrncomes closest to achieving this holy grailrnof storytelling. The other two, The Limeyrnand The Insider, mock our will to believernat every turn.rnThe Limey is misconceived from framernone. Let’s begin with director StevenrnSoderbergh’s choice of 60-year-old TerencernStamp to play the title character.rnStamp is David Wilson, a British careerrncriminal come to Los Angeles to revengernhis daughter’s murder. He’s supposed tornbe a tough, relentless Cockne’ vithrnstreet-trained reflexes, a man who inspiresrnfear in all he meets. There’s justrnone small problem. Although athleticrnin his youth, Stamp has never lookedrnespecially menacing. Today, he seemsrnweathered, even frail. Worse, he walksrnwith a sidling gait left over from his transsexualrnrole in The Adventures ofPriscilla,rnQueen of the Desert. So when the scriptrncalls for him to recover instantly from arnbeating at the hands of five beef’ drugrndealers, hunt them down, and permanentlyrndispatch them, the viewer’srncredulit)’ is strained. It snaps altogetherrnwhen he tangles with a former footballerrnturned security guard and throws thernbruiser over a four-foot railing to hisrndeath. Even if you wanted to continuernsuspending your disbelief, if s virtuallvrnimpossible when someone remarks thatrnthe thug weighed 400 pounds. (SureK’rnthis is Hollywood exaggeration. Thernman doesn’t look an ounce over 500.)rnEven Stamp’s Cockney lingo is unconvincing.rnHe’s given East End argotrnby the yard, but he speaks it with a halting,rnover-pronovinced manner as thoughrnhe has just finished a Berlitz course inrnunderclass dialect and feels compelled tornexplain its odd locutions as he goes.rn”He’s me new China,” he says of an L.A.rnassociate. Cet it? China is plate andrnplate rhymes with mate, so it’s his way ofrncalling the fellow his friend. Maybe subtitlesrnwould have done the trick.rnSoderbergh tries to give the proceedingsrnsome desperately needed excitementrnby shuffling his montage back andrnforth in fime. In a much discussed gimmick,rnhe even includes footage from arn1967 film. Poor Cow, showing Stamp as arnyoung man. Some critics have hailedrnthis as innovative. I suppose it’s meant torninvest Stamp’s character with additionalrnpoignancy by reminding us that the poorrnfellow is now well beyond middle age.rnWell, es, if we don’t we check out earK,rnwe do get older. So what?rnAs W’ilson’s sleazy prey, Peter Fondarnfares better. He’s a corrupt rock-and-rollrnrecord producer (pardon the redundancy)rnwho made heaps in the 60’s and nowrnkeeps adolescent nymphets on his arm tornremind him of the old days. His currentrncutie, Stacy (Nicky Katt), looks barely outrnof grade school. She plays nearly all herrnscenes laving herself luxuriouslv in eitherrnher sugar daddy’s swimming pool or hisrnbathtub. Alert the symbol police! Morernwanton rebirth iconography.rnIn perhaps the film’s best moment,rnStacy deflates Fonda b’ talking aboutrnhim as though he were an artifact of history.rnWhen he complains he’s not arnthing, she coolly defends herself “Well,rnyou’re certainly not a person. You’re notrnspecific enough.” Ouch! Remarks likernthis understandably send Fonda fleeingrnto the nearest mirror to primp his hair,rnclothes, and teeth. O youth and beauty!rnSoderbergh has tried to create a sweetand-rnsour elegj- to the 60’s presided overrnb ho of the period’s faded icons. Toornbad he didn’t get a script worthv of evenrnthis threadbare intention.rnThe script for Michael Mann’s The Insiderrnhas indisputably good intentions,rnand that’s its major problem.rnNearly two hours into this 15 5-minuternmelodrama, we hit pay dirt only to discoverrnit’s fool’s gold. After much handwringing,rnwhistie-blower Jeffre’ Wigandrn(Russell Crowe) rats out his formerrnemployer. Brown and Williamson, inrna 60 Minutes interviev’ with Mike Wallacern(Christopher Plummer). PlavingrnWigand as a man choking on his ownrnbarely suppressed rage, Crowe stumblesrnbullishly to the point. While at Brownrnand Williamson, he had argued againstrn”impact boosting,” a practice that increasesrna cigarette’s nicotine payload byrnadding ammonia to its tobacco. (Forrnpure poetry, nothing beats corporaternspeak.) In other words, he continues,rntobacco companies are in the “nicotinerndeliver)’ business.” Hearing this, Wallacernleans in for the kill. Translating Wigand’srnwords into sound-bite eloquence,rnhe asks him a lawyerlv leading questionrnin the form of a statement. “Put it in yourrnmouth,” he intones, “light it up; you’rerngoing to get your fix?” Wigand takes thernbait and repeats Wallace’s words: “You’rerngoing to get your fix.”rnIn a film that trumpets journalisticrnvirtue at ever)- turn, Plummer’s uncannilyrnaccurate portrayal of Wallace slylyrngies the game away. His pouched evesrnFEBRUARY 2000/45rnrnrn