Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call, New Orleans

It took Werner Herzog many years to finally make a Hollywood picture with Rescue Dawn, a surprisingly straightforward adaptation of an earlier documentary of his. Therefore, it was something of a shock when he decided to make a reimagining of Abel Ferrara’s 1992 cult classic, Bad Lieutenant. But like any other Herzog fan, I have grown accustomed to expecting the unexpected. The only things you know you’ll get from his films are echoes of his overtly nihilistic worldview and preoccupation with madness and unreason. After watching his version of Bad Lieutenant, I can safely say I was in no way disappointed.

I haven’t seen the original and so am entirely unqualified to talk about similarities and differences from it; but I can say that Nicolas Cage’s Terence McDonagh is a drug-addict cop, and that’s about where the similarities most likely end. Where the original was centred on the rape of a nun, the case in Herzog’s is the murder of a family of Senegalese immigrants. Just from that detail, it is clear how Herzog’s fiercely atheistic views of the world and chaos don’t allow a Ferrara-style examination of evil and his film is preoccupied with something wholly different.

McDonagh’s problems with chronic back pain, which stemmed from a strangely heroic act in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, are the root of his drug problem, though it is clear that he was unhinged beforehand. As the movie progresses and he rapidly loses his mind, his troubles continue to mount up. Gambling debts and the travails of his druggie prostitute girlfriend Frankie, a wooden but stunning Eva Mendes  (is she anything else?), are as important to him as the case itself. In a meandering, inimitable and episodic way, the movie builds towards its conclusion, making light of the noir crime genre.

Werner Herzog

It is punctuated by surreal scenes of alligators, iguanas and various other reptiles, which highlight McDonagh’s weakening grasp on reality. These are darkly comic, as are many of the other exchanges, and remind the viewer of the humour that lay at the heart of much of the Surrealists early 20^th century work. Cage himself revels in the role, unleashing a trademark performance, which none of his peers could hope to emulate. Or his fellow actors in this film can match. Let’s now hope that his Wicker Man/National Treasure days are over and this and Kick Ass represent a return to form.

Although not quite a classic, the film’s oddity and genuine comedy make it well worth seeing. You just can’t help feeling a bit sad about the quality of some of the acting, though. That said, the trippy scenes are a very welcome addition to the noir genre and no other living filmmaker could have made the film; for that I urge you to seek it out.


Bring on The Cave of Forgotten Dreams.