"'Sooner or Later, We All Do..." Meet Joe Black

Who is John Bontecou?

I always give a screenplay the maddest of props for coming up with the greatest of all character names. Both first and last. Something that I myself do in every single one of my own screenplays.

We never see his face-- and we never hear his voice. We’re just told that he’s “A Big Deal” (not unlike Stone Henge), through the corporate grapevine. All the while slacking off by the proverbial watercooler. Don’t tell the boss on us, alright? In this case, said boss being Sir Anthony Hopkins’ elderly statesman, William Parish. See? Another great movie character name. I dare you to do better.

Bontecou’s a noncorporeal being. The MacGuffin is a man, and the man is John Bontecou. I love that we never see who that Bontecou guy is. I love the air of uncertain mystery that pervasively surrounds him at all times throughout this fable. John Bontecou is in many ways a spiritual cinematic successor to the likes of say, one particular man of mystery, himself, Keyser Söze. Man, I really miss 90's movies.

Meet Joe Black (1998) holds a real special place inside of my cold, dead, cynical heart. I find it honestly so refreshingly pleasant to sit down and watch a movie that genuinely takes its time, because it’s never in any rush to get anywhere. Which is rather fitting, considering the story’s rather macabre subject matter.

It’s also a beautiful story about love, loss, hope and dreams, that’s all wrapped up in this utterly sweeping epically romantic bow. Shot by Emmanuel Lubezki, because of course it was. It’s also exactly three hours long. Not two hours and fifty-nine minutes, nor is it three hours and two minutes long. It’s exactly three hours. On the dot. No more, and no less. I don’t know why I do, but I love that.

Fun-Filled-Phil-Factoid For You: This is one of those movies that when it came out on VHS had to be split into two separate tapes boxed together into the sleeve, just to be able to be shown the whole picture on home video.

There’s something so fascinating about a movie like this, because they don’t get made anymore. They simply-- just-- don’t. I’ll easily take a long, perfectly-paced 180-minute modern classic epic, over two 90-minute utterly garbage-- epileptic-seizure-inducing, contemporary pieces of junk, any day of the week. And twice on Sunday.

While it may clock in at exactly three hours, you never once feel that. Ever. This film has pitch-perfect pacing. What the word “masterclass” is used for. It’s a lot of whispered conversations in big fancy rooms, with ample amounts of forlorn, heart-aching looks. It’s sweet and cute and dramatic. And actually very, very funny.

Watching Death take the form of humanity’s most perfect physical specimen of a man, in Brad Pitt—to then not understand social cues, let alone any and all form or forum for that matter of social decorum-- is pure comedy gold. All before falling in love. Once, to peanut butter licked off a spoon (that’s me with powdered parmesan cheese). And the other-- to Claire Forlani. Also, I’m pretty sure this is the backdoor film that started the whole “Brad Pitt’s always eating in his movies” conspiracy bit. And what a good bit of cinematic conspiracy it is.

Is Meet Joe Black (1998) oftentimes most infamously and rather notably known and unfairly derided for being a three-hour-on-the-dot movie-- where bleach-blonde perfect physical specimen of a man, Brad Pitt-- gets hit by two different cars— count ‘em Utah, two-- before instantly and rather unceremoniously dying while crossing the street? Right after trying to score Claire Forlani’s digits? Yes, that's the go-to scene. A scene that for some reason people love to ironically lampoon and lambast, as if director Martin Brest just told the best “Why Did the Heartthrob Cross the Road Joke”. He didn’t. It’s so much more than that one GIF-able moment.

On a personal level, I find romance films in particular rather hard to watch. Chiefly due to the fact that I’m dead inside-- and most likely going to end up alone. But that’s neither here nor there. So where is it? Well…

So many romantic films feel false and ring hollow just by the very nature of basic three-act story structure. Watching a film play out beat-for-beat, knowing exactly where it’s going, doesn’t exactly restart the long-rusted, cobwebbed, heart-shaped cogs inside of my barely functional morose corpus. Almost without fail, whenever characters outwardly express their love for one another on screen, I always first think in expletives, before speaking aloud in colourfully creative four-letter words all strung together in the most, well… writerly (if that’s even a word) of fashionable senses. Until that is, that you get scheduled on the morning's docket an impromptu makeshift meeting with the one and only, commandingly impressive and important, Joseph Black.

On an immediate surface level at complete face value, I think we can all agree that both Brad Pitt and Claire Forlani are objectively speaking… two of the most physically beautiful… *checks notes* Adonis…seize? Adoni? Adirondak? Whatever. The most… motion-picture… picture-perfect-people-- to have ever graced the shores of this floating rock ‘round The Sun. Let alone, star in a film together.

But on an even deeper level than that, is the chemistry. Oh, boy that chemistry. Is it too hyperbolic of me to say that Pitt and Forlani have maybe the greatest onscreen romantic chemistry of any movie within the last thirty years or so? Dare, I be so bold? Well, fortune favours. Yeah, that’s the hill I’ll die on. The two lovers don’t even have to say a word. They just have to look at each other and smile their perfect teeth. Or caress one another’s cheek and lovingly part back the other’s hair, in even symmetrical rhythm. They have so much charismatic charm together, I can barely breathe. Their charisma-- gives me asthma.

Of course, I’d be utterly remiss if I neglected to mention that the first thing that ever turned me onto the film, long before I’d ever even gazed mine most unworthy of oculars at two of the most perfect human beings to have ever been put into existence-- was the music. Thomas Newman was—is-- and always will be-- my #1 Favourite Film Composer of All Time.

Every single film score is an absolute banger, but MJB may just be the utter apex of his flawless musical opus. Watch the scene where Pitt and Forlani walk away from each other giving nothing but bittersweet and forlorn looks of heart-aching longing to Newman’s “Walkaway”. I dare you, nay, I double-dare you to not melt into an utterly gross, ugly-crying puddle of your own feelings. Scratch that. I triple dog-dare you. That’s right. You can’t.

"Whisper of a Thrill" in particular is the one song that makes me the most malleable of putty in Newman's hands. That has to be my favourite song out of all the thousands that he’s done. Which is saying a lot. In fact, stop what you’re doing right now. I’m totally serious. Listen to that song, and then come back. I’ll wait.

If there were ever a way to experience 5 minutes and 43 seconds of utterly flawless, faultless, pure perfection-- that song would be it. “Whisper of A Thrill” is 100% no word of a lie, also the very sound of my phone alarm that wakes me up each and every single morning into fresh, new-day cognizance.

Find yourself someone who looks at you the way Claire Forlani looks at Brad Pitt…

…and Brad Pitt looks at Claire Forlani.

Hold onto them-- and never let them go.

Meet Joe Black (1998) is the kind of romantic film from the halcyon days of long-gone, bygone Hollywood yore, that makes me want to believe in love again.