Funny You Should Ask(70)

Film Fans


     RISICO REVIEW

[excerpt]



By Helen Price


It’s the movie everyone has been talking about. Not for good reasons. And it’s the movie everyone wanted to see—but again, not for good reasons.

Everyone wanted to know if Gabe Parker’s rapid decline, alcoholism, and weight gain had been captured on camera.

If that’s the only reason you’re planning to see this movie, I’m sorry to say, you’ll be disappointed.

The movie is good. It’s not great—not the way The Hildebrand Rarity was great—but it’s not bad either. It’s not the train wreck that everyone was expecting and (let’s be honest) hoping for.

If the altercation between Parker and director Ryan Ulrich hadn’t been recorded and then leaked online, then we, as a culture, would probably proclaim this film to be a fairly solid but unimpressive Bond film.

Instead, it’s a memorandum of two things.

The first, of course, is Parker as Bond. Could he maintain the magic he’d initially brought to the franchise despite the obvious disagreements on set spilling outward?

Yes and no. Watching it with a critical eye, it’s easy to see the rift, the dissonance between what the actor is willing to bring and what the director wants.

As for the ravages of Parker’s alcoholism, whoever did the costumes and makeup deserves an Oscar. You would have never known that the Gabe Parker we saw months later, heavy and bearded, taking a walk on the grounds of his rehab facility, is the same Parker in the movie.

And then there’s the fact that Risico is the first film released since Oliver Matthias’s stunning admission that, contrary to what Ulrich and the Bond producers originally claimed, Parker was not their first choice. As we all know now, Matthias was offered the part, only to have it rescinded when he told the Bond team that he was gay and did not want to remain in the closet.

It’s hard to watch Ulrich’s Bond trilogy now without thinking of that. Without imagining what it would have been like if Matthias had actually gotten a chance to play Bond.

At least we all now know the context for Parker’s once-cryptic, volatile parting shot, which was seen in the viral video from the set. Where he turned to Ulrich and practically spat, “You got the actor you deserved.”





Chapter

22


There’s a glass of water on the bedside table.

Embarrassment is a hot, prickly wash over my entire body as I remember what happened.

Gabe standing in front of me, his hand in my hair, eyes focused on mine.

“I could make you happy,” he’d said.

I had wanted him to kiss me. To pull me into his arms, kiss me, and take me to bed.

Instead, just as I tilted my head back, eyes fluttering shut, preparing for his lips to meet mine, he’d withdrawn his hand and stepped back.

“You’ve been drinking,” he’d said.

“It’s okay,” I’d whispered.

It was, of course, the absolute wrong thing to say. Because even though I hadn’t been drunk, I definitely had been drinking. The whisky on my breath probably hadn’t been the greatest turn-on for a recovering alcoholic.

Gabe had kindly, gently, shown me to my room and closed the door on his way out.

I’d fallen asleep, manifesting weird, vivid dreams born of unresolved sexual tension.

Those feelings are still burning inside of me now. I feel itchy with need.

I’m also thirsty. I gulp down the water, but it’s not enough so I drink from the faucet in my private bathroom, wash my face and get dressed. My skin feels tight, like lust is a wild animal pacing beneath it.

I’m divorced. And so is Gabe.

I want him. He wants me.

I wonder what would happen if I just took off my clothes and crawled into bed with him.

Then I hear muffled whistling and realize that Gabe is already up.

Surely, he’ll want to pick up where we left off last night.

Where we left off ten years ago.

I hesitate—my instincts going Jekyll and Hyde on me. Wanting him, but also wanting to run. Because I know now what I’d tried to ignore last night. That this isn’t just about one weekend. This isn’t about closure or unfinished business.

This isn’t the end of something. It’s the beginning.

And it terrifies me.

When I emerge from the guest room, I find Gabe fully dressed, drinking a cup of coffee and looking not like a man who wants to spend the entire day in bed, but rather like a man who has things to do.

I’m relieved and disappointed.

“Good morning,” he says.

“Good morning.”

“How’s your head?” he asks.

I put a hand to it as if I’m checking if it’s still there.

“It’s fine,” I say.

My heart on the other hand…

He comes toward me.

“I’ve got plans for us today,” he says.

I’m fairly certain, from his tone, that they aren’t the same plans I was making in my room. In fact, it seems possible that I completely blew it last night.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I had a little too much to drink.”

“I know,” he says.

Gabe cups my elbow, thumb rubbing on the inside of my arm. Heat licks through me, this endless fire that never really went out, but previously had almost always been under control—this smoldering ember that I did my best to ignore.