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Fight Club


The name of the movie is "Fight Club." It's got bareknuckle fights in it. They're violent. They're bloody. Please don't watch it and then whine about how violent and bloody it is. Sex and violence are two of the things people go to movies for. They aren't getting enough in their own lives. That's certainly the case with the anonymous narrator of "Fight Club," a cynical, white- collar insomniac fantasist played by Edward Norton, who finds everything he is not in Brad Pitt. Pitt plays Tyler Durden, the completely confident inventor of the macho basement slugfest called Fight Club and the author of a personal code that has the appeal of a cult. But his strange nocturnal existence as a movie projectionist and banquet waiter is one hint that Tyler is not all he seems to be. "Fight Club" delivers a sucker punch to the audience and then pulls the rug out from under it. It is sensational. It is also grimly funny. The mordant script by Jim Uhls, a crystalliza tion of the Chuck Palahniuk novel, may be too good. Norton delivers so many unadulterated, trenchant observations that the narration almost becomes overloaded. The closest we come to learning the narrator's name is the tags he wears to the various meetings he obsessively attends to cure his insomnia. The names change from meeting to meeting, for those with afflictions ranging from brain parasites to testicular cancer. Norton's testicular cancer has to do with a lack of -- what's the polite word? -- fortitude as he wearily goes about his job as an automobile recall investigator and hopes the plane that's carrying him from place to place will blow up. His cynical view of the world is the next thing to self-loathing. When the dazzling Tyler shows up in the airplane seat next to his, he has found something better than a soul mate; he has found an alter ego. Pitt is the epitome of sleazy chic, right down to trousers worn at the pubic-hair line, but the pieces don't quite fit together. The hyper-intense look of the film derives from the narrator's skewed point of view, and it is a tour de force of art direction: the peeling- apart house where Tyler lives, the cityscape in the explosive last scene, the seedy lowlife bar where Tyler and his new buddy hatch Fight Club and the inky basements where the face-pummeling bouts occur. Don't sell this film short, especially its power on a visceral level. The fights range from Norton's first hesitant, then enthusiastic blow to Pitt's face outside the bar to elaborately staged bouts slugged out in the gritty darkness of borrowed basements. The most amazing one of all may be Norton's solo, self-inflicted beating before the astonished eyes of his boss. He's not the only one who's astonished. So are we. .. Courtesy: Bob Graham, The San Francisco Chronicle
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Directed by: 
David Fincher
Running Time: 
Edward Norton, Brad Pitt, Helena Bonham Carter, Meat Loaf, Jared Leto, Zach Grenier
Screenplay by: 
Screenplay by Jim Uhls, based on the novel by Chuck Palahniuk

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