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Playing God Movie Review, 16 October 1997
by Roger Ebert
Lead actors' performance top-notch in "Playing God"
"Playing God" opens with the hero deep in trouble. Eugene Sands (David
Duchovny) is a former surgeon, now a druggie, who's in a scuzzy bar looking to score synthetic heroin. Shabby as he looks, he attracts the eye of a dazzling woman across the room -- but then shots ring out and a man is gravely
wounded.
Sands argues, not unreasonably, that someone should call 911. But there are reasons why the police should not be involved in this shooting, and soon
the de-frocked doc is re-enacting one of those classic movie situations where he barks orders and prepares for instant surgery.
A master of improvisation (few battlefield surgeons must be this creative), he fashions a breathing apparatus out of a plastic pop bottle and some tubing
from the club soda siphon, cuts a hole in the guy's chest, plugs the tube into his lung, and restores vital signs. Of course, the beautiful woman, named
Claire (Angelina Jolie), has the right stuff and could become an expert ER nurse.
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It is a tribute of some sort to Duchovny, the "X-Files" star, that I was almost able to believe this was possible. He's a convincing actor. Among those his
character convinces in the movie is Raymond Blossom (Timothy Hutton), a shady millionaire, who invites Sands to his home and gives him $10,000 for
saving his colleague's life. Also at Blossom's home is inevitably, Claire, a not-uncommon type in the movies: Living with a rich and dangerous man, she
makes eyes at every poor schmuck who drifts into range.
In a flashback, we learn the sad story of ex-Dr. Sands. Up for 28 hours straight and exhausted, he once tried balancing uppers and downers and did it
so well that he came to a complete halt, losing a patient in the process. His license was lifted, and now he's a man without a career or future, until
Blossom offers Sands a retainer to come on staff as the house specialist in gunshot wounds.
"Playing God," directed by Andy Wilson, a former cameraman, tells a preposterous story in a way that almost makes it credible. It's based on three
sound performances. Duchovny finds a delicate balance between action hero and moping antihero. Angelina Jolie (Jon Voight's daughter) finds a certain
warmth in a kind of role that is usually hard and aggressive; she seems too nice to be Blossom's girlfriend, and maybe she is.
And the surprise in the movie is Timothy Hutton, as the villain. I sense the curtain rising on the next act of his career. Having outgrown the sensitive-boy
roles that established him ("Ordinary People," "Made in Heaven"), he returns to his dark side, to notes he struck in such films as "The Falcon and the
Snowman" and "Q&A." He shows here what sets the interesting villains apart from the ordinary ones.
Too many movie villains are simply evil. They sneer, they threaten, they hurt, but they do not much involve us, except as plot devices. The best villains
are intriguing. They have a seductive quality, as when Blossom tells the doctor, "Eugene, you should embrace your criminal self." We can believe that
beautiful women would be attracted to them. Thin, chain-smoking, with a fashionable two-day beard, Hutton creates a character instead of simply filling
a space.
"Playing God" is David Duchovny's first starring role, unless you count the "Red Shoe Diaries" episodes on cable. It seems crafted to match his new
stardom on "The X-Files," and it does: He has the psychic weight to be a leading man and an action hero, even though his earlier TV and film roles
might not have revealed it. And he also has a certain detachment, a way of standing above the action that stars like Eastwood and Mitchum have.
This may not be a great movie, but for both Duchovny and Hutton, it's a turning point.
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