‘X-Men’s’ Ratner: The happiest hack

At least someone is having fun
I walked out of “After the Sunset” in its theatrical run. Because I was bored. So I forced myself to watch it again for this article. All the way to the end. And you know what? For a dopey, sneering heist movie starring Pierce Brosnan at his haughtiest, Woody Harrelson just this side of being one toke over the line and Salma Hayek as Charo; a film that plays like an excuse for the director to hang out in St. Lucia with his pals, working hard and playing harder; it’s not nearly as boring as the original Rat Pack version of “Ocean’s Eleven.”

Time — in this case a couple of years — hasn’t been kind to it or anything. There are just a lot of movies out there that have been way worse in the interim. And that DVD “making of” featurette? It shows everyone on set having a blast. It defies you to hate its leader. Ratner comes off as the happiest unshaven schlub you’d ever want to have play a homoerotic set-prank on you (he does it to a shocked Brosnan, climbing into bed with the erstwhile Bond). He’s even thrilled while Naomi Campbell makes a set visit. That’s an unflappable kind of affable.

“Red Dragon” showed Ratner settling in to his station as a director of presumed tentpole event films, someone who gets it in on time and on budget and who can deliver a bland meal for mainstream appetites. The least of the Hannibal Lecter films, it succeeds in cartooning the cannibal into cuddly status and turning an entire set-full of Actorly Actors (Edward Norton, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Emily Watson, Ralph Fiennes) into “Rushmore’s” Max Fischer Players. You know it’s bad, but it brings out a weird sort of affection in you that you can’t shake.  The love to hate thing again.

So when I go off to see “X-Men: The Last Stand” tonight, I’ll keep Ratner’s 2005 Christmas card in mind. Defamer, God bless them every one, posted it last December. On it Ratner was dressed as Wolverine, flanked by Halle Berry and the rest of the Mutants. It was the public move of man who’s got his and gleefully rolls around in it like a pig in mud. He makes the movies lots of folks line up for and that’s enough. He’s almost spiritual in his achievement of having lost all fear: of the press, of film critics, snarky bloggers on vicious gossip Web sites, everyone. Well, maybe not of Lindsay Lohan.

Dave White is the author of “Exile In Guyville,” writes about film for Movies.com and blogs at www.imdavewhite.com

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