Source:Movieforum.com

Mike Figgis' "Hotel" is one part improvised melodrama, one part "liberal" adaptation of John Webster's "The Duchess Of Malfi", one part technical exercise positioning digital video as a replacement for celluloid, and one part self-indulgent wank job--four parts, four screens. Or just one. Or sometimes three. Depending on how much of a "Dogme 95" disciple you are, "Hotel" will either excite you as to the expanded possibilities of film narrative, or rob you of 107 minutes of your precious life.

I, for one, am not much of a "Dogme" enthusiast, beyond the conceptual level, anyway. Sure, there are times when I grow as tired of the rigid Syd Field three-act plot structure as the next guy, but I like my movies lit, in focus, and with shots that are artfully composed and clearly readable without causing motion sickness or crippling migraines. The occasional use of a tripod helps, too. That being said, I AM a fan of Mike Figgis' previous experiment "Time Code", so I approached "Hotel"s North American debut screening (projection?) with much anticipation.

Mike Figgis, mercifully, breaks more than a few of the rules from the beginning: his own musical score is obviously post-production audio, editing and opticals split the screen into various regions, the film is shot on video and not film, he assumes credit as director, and surprisingly, crafts a haphazard narrative that does contain more than a few "genre" elements -- but you have to look closely.

The earnestness of the Dogme Manifesto is often hilariously lampooned, esp. in the person of the unhinged director (Rhys Ifans), who has gathered a team of actors and technicians at the Hotel Hungaria in Venice to shoot a freeform adaptation of "The Duchess Of Malfi" (a watered-down "McMalfi", as the screenwriter labels it) on the Venice streets, with period costumes incongruously clashing with the contemporary fixtures of the city and the gawking passersby. His coproducers (David Schwimmer, Burt Reynolds) indulge his every whim, his actors (Saffron Burrows among them) are downright confused. The hotel's "cultural tour guide" (Julian Sands) is disgusted with the concept and the crew's coarse behavior. Two rival entertainment reporters (Salma Hayek, Lucy Lui), appear to film the event and immediately start a war of egos. The surrounding action is concerned with various prostitutes, businessmen, maids, and straight dramatizations of the play. When Rhys Ifans is put out of commission due to an assassination attempt, David Schwimmer must take over the production, and that's when the cannibals who live beneath the hotel show up to start picking off the guests...

Perhaps thinking of Luis Bunuel's films after having seen "Bunuel And King Solomon's Table" a day earlier, I found similiarities between "Hotel" and (far superior) surrealist fare like "The Discreet Charm Of The Bourgoise", in which the narrative breaks down into an acknowledgement of the artifice of the whole enterprise, to the point where the characters become the actors playing the characters and the story becomes a deconstruction of the act of creating the story in the first place. That, or it's just a bunch of weekend avant-gardists goofing around on a holiday in Italy for five weeks and filming the results.

Wiseacre Mike Figgis ain't telling, but I can tell you that while "Hotel" is far from a success, less engrossing than "Time Code", frequently frustrating, at times downright hard to see, it is brisk and entertaining enough to warrant a look from patient viewers, if for no other reason that everyone involved seems to be having a blast.