The Postman always zings twice

Sorry for, even by the standards of this blog, such a strained title.

In Adaptation, Charlie Kaufman (the character, not the actual film's writer) asks Robert McKee (the character, not the actual screenplay guru) what to do about a script. McKee confides you can get away with a lot as long as you've got a socko finish.

How true. As my friend Tom says, when it comes to selling a script, the first ten pages are the most important, but when it comes to loving a film, the last ten minutes are the most important.

Let's set the Wayback machine to late 1997. James L. Brooks has a hit with As Good As It Gets. Pierce Brosnan scores in Tomorrow Never Dies. Oddly-named dark horse Good Will Hunting is breaking out.

But the two films attracting the most attention are the reliable (yes, reliable, even Waterworld ended up making money) Kevin Costner's The Postman and James Cameron's out-of-control Titanic. Both films are three-hour epics, both hope to cash in big and both hope to win Oscars.

I saw them within a week of each other. Titanic had a tiresome framing device, bad dialogue, and a dopey love story at its center. The Postman had stunning scenery, a certain amount of wit, and a touching story.

But Titanic ended up being as huge as huge can be, and winning a carload of Oscars. The Postman became synonymous with flop. There are a number of reasons, but, if nothing else, these films demonstrate the importance of the big ending. The first two hours of Titanic doesn't do much for me, but I'll admit the shipwreck sequence is spectacular. Meanwhile, The Postman, which is moving along well, has serious, clunky plot problems in its final act.

I recently watched The Postman for the first time since it came out, and my feelings were the same, but I was able to pinpoint its problems more clearly.

We start in a post-apocalyptic world (a favorite setting of filmmakers). Kevin Costner is an itinerant, scraping along from one small community to the next. He's forcibly conscripted into General Bethlehem's "army," and after some brutal boot camp scenes, escapes. He finds an old post office truck, steals a uniform and bag and, when he gets to next community, convinces them the United States is being restored and he's its representative.

He brings happiness wherever he goes, but is a threat to Bethlehem. So he's hunted and has to hide (along with beautiful Olivia Williams, best-known today as Bruce Willis's wife in The Sixth Sense--a film truly made by its last ten minutes). When he reemerges, others have set up a working, if primitive, postal system.

Up to this point, the film works pretty well. There's some question about the logistics--where everyone is and how much ground they cover. Things start to falter a bit when Bethlehem decides to attack and Costner fights back. Neither's plan is clear, and the plot stalls a bit. When a number of carriers get killed, Costner decides to shut it all down and give up. (This is classic screenwriting--have the protagonist at the lowest point before the main reversal.)

As Costner retreats, he stops at Bridge City (run by Tom Petty). This is where the film falls apart. It's unclear when he decides to go back and fight, and, I assume because Costner loved the visual, his character takes a long ride in a cable car for no good reason. The film rallies a bit when Costner ends the war by fighting Bethlehem mano a mano--a bit simple, perhaps, but at least we understand why he's doing it.

It's too bad the film falls apart in the final act, since I bet with a little reediting (they must have the footage) they could have at least pasted over the problems and made it more satisfying.

I'm still not sure why The Postman failed so miserably. A friend back then offered an explanation that might make sense. See, even before emails and blogs, I'd always written a lot of letters, and appreciated the postal service. My friend said to most people, postal workers were either disgruntled mass murderers or Newmanesque, three-hour-lunch-break-taking layabouts. Having one be the lead of an epic is ridiculous. I tried to explain that in a world where no one knows what's happening (anymore--adults can remember how things used to be) and there's no contact between communities, a postman would, in fact, represent hope and even excitement. My friend said it'd be easier to make a savior out of a CPA.

Over the years, Titanic hasn't worn well. Perhaps it was too big a hit, and too celebrated, and now that we're used to the stunning sets and effects, the dopiness is coming to the fore. But no one, so far as I know, is trying to rehabilitate The Postman. Maybe it's time.