Cameron Diaz Has Sex With a Car, Saves a Film

What do we mean when we say a film is bad?

We rarely tell our friends with emphatic gestures and forceful emotional that we simply, “didn’t enjoy” a film, because such phrasing suggests the fault lies with us. No, we tell people, “Oh, that film is so bad!” as if there’s some objective formula that determines badness.

What usually follows is a categorised list of faults that support our thesis, the most popular being, “The acting was so over the top!” or, “That moment was so ridiculous!” This style of reviewing misses the fundamental point: the films we like actually contain these faults as well. We often complain about continuity problems in films we dislike as if they added to the disappointment, yet rarely mention continuity problems in the films we love.

This may not seem like much of a transgression, but if we want to identify why some films don’t work, we need to be on our toes. Observe:

“I loved There’s Something About Mary! The scene where Cameron Diaz uses sperm as a hair gel was brilliant!”

“I hated The Counselor! The scene where Cameron Diaz has sex with a car was ridiculous!”

There are, of course, many key differences between these scenes that involve tone, execution and so forth. One is gut-bustingly hilarious and will be forever remembered as a classic comedy moment. The other is There’s Something About Mary.

Thanks to early disparaging reviews out of the US, the afore-mentioned scene from The Counselor is already firming up to become an immortal part of cinematic lore. The Saturday Night Live sketch must only be a few weeks away.

It’s not hard to see why people are jumping on this sequence. It’s an attention-grabber in a film filled with attention-losing moments, and most of the puns write themselves. (I’m already too afraid to Google “Car-I’m-On Diaz” for fears that someone has beaten me to it.)

In this case, the reviews have been largely correct: The Counselor really doesn’t work. But in citing the car sequence, it’s provoked the wrong argument. That scene is not why The Counselor fails.

Unlike many films of its ilk, it is not hamstrung by a litany of studio notes, test screenings and requests to make the characters more “relatable”. Or, if these things did occur, they’re not remotely detectable in the final product.

No, The Counselor’s weirdness is more deeply rooted than that. It’s the first original screenplay by Cormac McCarthy, whose novels have been adapted into films such as All the Pretty Horses, No Country For Old Men and The Road.

McCarthy’s idea of a screenplay is markedly different from his idea of a novel. Its long, soliloquy-filled scenes where actors describe danger rather than face it; it’s oddly uncinematic, and doubly so when you consider his books don’t fall into this trap.

Director Ridley Scott makes the unexpected choice to stay out of McCarthy’s way, and simply points the camera at the dialogue-delivery systems, which include Michael Fassbender, Cameron Diaz, Javier Bardem, Penelope Cruz, and Brad Pitt. Far too many scenes begin with two actors settling themselves onto a couch with a drink in hand to talk about the things we’d much rather watch them doing.

This isn’t a bad thing in itself. There’s a long history of talky films that have been exceptionally dramatic, from Twelve Angry Men to A Lion In Winter; but those films were dramatic because people were talking, not despite it. The Counselor’s dialogue may occasionally sparkle, but only the flowery nature of McCarthy’s prose. There’s not a moment of actual drama in these scenes.

So, back to Cameron Diaz and the car: Why has it captured and then confounded our imaginations so?

Its inclusion in the film is baffling. It does not advance the story at all, and is so inconsequential, it is actually told in flashback. Fassbender sits back with a drink as Bardem tries to articulate how dumbfounded he was by this act. Even the film’s most visual moment is marred by unnecessary dialogue.

A few shots of splayed legs and passionate windscreen thrusting give us the general idea, and Bardem’s character fills in the rest. The scene is designed to shock, designed to be discussed, and to emphasis this we’re shown two characters discussing it. Bardem and Fassbender give us the template we are to follow when we tell our co-workers about it on Monday morning.

If there is an objective idea of what constitutes a “bad” scene, it would be one that is of no consequence: a sequence that has so little impact on the plot and characters, its exclusion would not affect the film’s story in a significant manner.

Remember True Romance, written by Quentin Tarantino and directed by Tony Scott? What’s the first scene you think of? Chances are it’s the cracking moment when Christopher Walken’s character confronts Dennis Hopper’s. It’s snappy, dramatic, dangerous, quotable, and memorable. The car scene in The Counselor is none of those things, but shares with it one key thing: they’re both entirely superfluous.

But lose the Walken/Hopper scene and you diminish a great film. Lose The Counselor’s one objectively bad scene, and you damn it to obscurity. Because years from now, we may not remember name of the film, but you can bet we’ll still be talking about the film in which Cameron Diaz has sex with a car.

Follow Lee on Twitter: @leezachariah

For more movies:

In 'Lovelace' Porn Sucks And Hollywood Blows

'Patrick' And 'Mystery Road' Might Disprove Your Argument

'Machete Kills' Is The Blunt Edge Of Schlock-Wave Cinema