Movie Review: "You've Got Mail", and the Infinite-Tom-Hanks Conspiracy Theory

                Sometimes I miss the 90’s. Not in a waxy, nostalgic way, although that was the period I grew up from a grubby child into a grubby adult. I miss that era in a “the world was marginally less screwed back then” way. It’s nice to look back and think at one point, the most racist person in U.S. politics was probably Newt Gingrich (remember him? No? Good, be glad) and for a brief period, reflect that people actually cared about “Crazy Bones.” What a strange and magical time.

                But there are some things from the 90’s that are very rightly forgotten. Time has rolled over these pockets of evil, steamrolling them into the grease-soaked tapestry of American history. Depressing headlines like the Unabomber, scandals like the Clinton affair which seem quaint to us now, have all faded. But the 90’s serves as a cage for a darker power, an insidious evil that history can never truly erase: Tom Hanks romantic comedies.

                “What?” you might say. “But I loved those!” Sure you did. And that’s fine. But you don’t understand, man. You don’t get it yet. You haven’t seen these movies like I’ve seen them, okay? Let me bring you into my world. Let me show you the face of pure evil.

I didn’t have much cable growing up, so when I discovered Tom Hanks romances were a big deal, I was curious. I’d seen Castaway of course, and Forrest Gump, but that’s about it. Recently went back and watched You’ve Got Mail, to find out what I’d been missing living under a rock all these years. 

What I found was pure nightmare fuel.

             Let’s revisit this movie together. Let’s explore the terrifying, cosmic implications of a world where screenwriters have decided your reality, where Tom Hanks is the only romantic partner you can be with due to cruel fate and lazy screenwriters. Let’s dive into those oily folds under Tom’s weird chin and see what we can uncover.

                Here’s the trailer.

              

                Cute, right? Pure, mid-90’s, “New York is so cool and trendy I hope nothing bad happens to us lol” chuckle-a-minute romance. The email plot is adorably dated, and “Joe and Kathleen” seem like fun, quirky people. Maybe a bit too quirky. You can see the bare bones of the “manic pixie dream girl” archetype in Meg Ryan’s Kathleen, a book shop owner whose nail-biting illicit romance with someone on the new-fangled Internet is bound to cause havoc. And even in this trailer, something in Tom Hanks’ monosyllabic “Joe” seems a bit off. He’s clearly a fun-loving guy, and very quippy. There’s a frame of him riding in a go-cart, playing with some kids you assume might be his:

            

“Oh, Tom Hanks, you scoundrel, you’ve done it again,” you smile as “Mr. Postman” plays jauntily in the background. “There you go, winning audiences’ hearts and minds again, with child-like glee and a twinkle in your—”

                “But he can’t possibly be the Rooftop Killer,” protests Meg Ryan to Steve Zahn, mid-trailer.

                … W-wait, what?

                Let’s dig into the movie. Already a kernel of subliminal unease has nestled deep in your belly, but you ignore it, bury it; you’re just here to have a good time, get a couple laughs. And at first, it seems like that’s all you’re going to get. The opening setup between Hanks and Ryan is a boring montage; their email relationship is shown, and their real-life bookstore rivalry set up. By now you’re probably asking “What the hell is a bookstore?” Well, sonny, long ago there were these physical book shops, and they sold real books, and somehow they made actual money and were profitable. Those days are long behind us now, but the skeletons of titans like Barnes and Noble and Borders Books (I know, too soon) still litter our nation, rotting and festering. And in this world, Tom Hanks runs a very successful “bookstore chain” called Foxbooks, with his best friend, Dave Chappelle—

               

                Really? Dave Chapelle? In what timeline does a great comedian and the living hunk of beef-flank known as Tom Hanks become friends? Let’s just put that aside for now. Trust me, we’ll be coming back to Dave Chapelle in a BIG way. He’s the linchpin here. He ties it all together.

                For now let’s watch and have a sensible chuckle as Meg Ryan and Hanks bounce off each other. Oh look, they’re both with significant others they hate! Okay, that’s a bit sad, but kind of funny. Oh look, Tom Hanks has a couple of little kids as his “aunt” and “uncle” because his ancient grandpa banged a twenty-year-old! That’s… Wow, how zany, how crazy is that? It’s definitely not creepy at all. Nope. Not even a single bit.

               

                Okay, it’s a little creepy. And note how Hanks—excuse me, Joe Fox—starts off his very first meeting with Kathleen by lying to her. “It’s just Joe,” he protests as his little “uncle” tries to give the game away by spelling F-O-X over and over. The pattern of deception will continue for the rest of the film.

                Things progress in usual rom-com fashion: Joe and Kathleen continue bonding through the titular emails, baring their souls to each other, “on-line!” Scandalous, right? Not really. This concept wasn’t novel in 1998 when the movie was released. We’re always one “information superhighway” away from the movie collapsing under its own dated weight. But the implications of their bonding—both of them are in a relationship when their “friendship” starts moving really fast—are both morally dubious and saucy enough to hold our interest.

                But then things start to get weird.

                Joe and Kathleen go to a book…event… thingy, where they see each other and Kathleen realizes he’s a Big Corporate Jerk (TM.) Here’s a chance for Hanks/Joe to redeem himself: He could apologize for his earlier lie, and begin his redemption arc. But no, he shits all over Kathleen’s bookstore, insults her as a person and for liking Pride and Prejudice, and stands idle as his own girlfriend flirts with Kathleen’s hipster boyfriend. He later breaks up with her after spending five minutes in an elevator with her, presumably the first time he's ever actually listened to her speak. We begin to understand Joe has issues relating to others. What we don’t realize yet is that Joe is Satan himself, incarnate.

                We will learn, though. By God, we will learn.

                What you need to know is this: 90’s Hollywood was just a slightly less coked-out version of 80’s Hollywood. Even though the whole “corporations are evil” thing was well-established, in 90’s movies, rich people could do no wrong. The wealthy were at the top of filmmaking society, and it would have been rude to lambast them. Also, in the words of Ronald Wright, everyone else considered themselves “temporarily embarrassed millionaires.” Fact two: Tom Hanks was a golden boy back then. He was right up with Robin Williams and Jim Carrey, in the “zany endearing funny guy” category. The combination of these—Tom Hanks the golden boy, and his wealthy-white-male-character in a 90’s movie—becomes basically unstoppable. He’s a narrative Super Saiyan. He rolls over other characters like an M1 Abrams rolls over sand-castles at the beach.

                Joe goes on to mentor Kathleen in the art of the put-down via AOL, not realizing he’s empowering his enemy. How Shakespearian! This is where Dave Chapelle comes in. Oh Dave, you beautiful bastard, thanks for being in this movie. You are the only thing saving my sanity from Tom Hanks.

Chapelle’s scenes are a breath of fresh air, because he acts as Joe’s moral compass. Observe him trying to get Joe to have basic humanity:

             

                “You don’t feel bad putting her on welfare?” No, Dave. No he doesn’t. Because he’s Tom Hanks. And he's an uncaring monster.

                Now, a few things seem off about this scene, and I’m not talking about the cam-rip quality either. Why is Chapelle friends with Hanks’ character anyway? Presumably, they work together—there’s a line later about Chapelle running the Foxbooks outlet “like a well-oiled machine.” But we never see how they met. They don’t seem to interact much outside the gym and at work: they never get shots at a bar, or play golf, or whatever it is rich people do with their friends. In fact, we never see Chapelle talk to anyone but Hanks, throughout the movie.

                He also doesn’t touch anything.

                Or appear in scenes without Hanks.

                Wait a minute.

               

                Oh my God. OH MY GOD! It’s all starting to come together! Joe’s abusive behavior, his dead-eyed stare. His conspicuous lack of any real friends other than Chapelle. Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve stumbled across the first enormous clue to the Hellraiser puzzle-box that is You’ve Got Mail: Chapelle does not exist. He’s Tyler Durden, he’s Harvey the Rabbit. He’s Joe’s imaginary friend.

                Once you realize this, everything else starts to fall into place. At no point in the movie does Chapelle interact with anyone other than Hanks/Joe. No one ever interacts with him either, not even to say hi. Which is very suspicious, as he’s the manager of a huge bookstore and there are several scenes in which he’s in that bookstore. Finally, in the gym scene, people turn their heads to stare at Joe. “Of course they do,” you say, your voice shaking as your mind begins to unravel, “it’s because he’s pissed at Kathleen. He’s being loud and abrasive. Typical Hanks stuff.”

                Wrong. They’re staring at him because he’s talking to himself. Wake up, sheeple!

                The rabbit-hole goes even deeper as we watch, helpless to look away, helpless to stop the emotional carnage. Joe learns that Kathleen is his online paramour, via contrived plot events. Okay, here’s his chance: time for him to open up to her IRL, yeah? Maybe apologize for ruining her bookstore’s business and give her a loan or something to foster good old capitalist competition?

                Absolutely not. He agrees to meet with her and then proceeds to dupe her and torment her psychologically, turning her existence into a horrible farce as her business dissolves, her friends disappear from all future scenes and the sweaty-faced goblin known as Tom Hanks capers around the ruins of her life, cackling.

                You have to see this shit to believe it (and bear with me, because Blogspot doesn't play nice with "timed" YouTube URLs.) Specifically, check out this scene in the diner, the first time they’ve met after Joe’s discovered they’re secretly Internet pals, and after he’s roundly mocked her for planning to meet an anonymous “friend” with a rose and a copy of her favorite book. She drives him to the next table, goes to get out her hand mirror to touch-up, and…

                Oh no. No, NO.

                ... AHHHH!

               ....... AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!

                Dude, what the fuck?? As the movie progresses, Hanks progresses further and further away from being a goofy rich playboy and more into looking like a psychopathic stalker. Here he is forcing his way into her apartment after she specifically asks him to leave:

                Joe Fox? More like Joe Bates.

                Dude, no! No, dude!! Consent is a THING, Tom Hanks! No means NO! Also, you’re always sweaty! Always! No woman would even want to even be NEAR you in temperatures over thirty degrees Fahrenheit, which I have to assume is your normal body temperature because you’re a terrifying cold-hearted lizard person!

                Here he is knocking on the window of a café she’s in, ostensibly because he followed her there:

                "HELLO, CLARICE."

                And here he is lurking in the depths of the creepy bachelor boat he’s living in, gloating over his laptop like a high-tech Buffalo Bill:

                "These machines let me monitor her heartbeat as she sleeps."

                Really, this series of clips summarizes everything you need to know about “Joe Fox” in this movie, but then you guys wouldn’t get to watch my sanity unravel from viewing this turd in action, would you? Listen: Joe is a dead-faced, calculating creeper who continually harasses Kathleen for the rest of the runtime. Here he is totally fucking with her after Kathleen, now single because of the wedges Joe has driven into her life, has dared to ask if he’s married or not:

                "Ha ha, watch me destroy her self-esteem until she wants to be with me! Isn't this fun?"

                Is it all coming together now? Is it starting to click for you? IS IT??

               

                Okay, so maybe I’m over-analyzing this. Maybe I’m reading too deeply into what is really a sweet, well-intentioned film about a rich book mogul slowly convincing (read: coercing) a woman into being his girlfriend. The fact that he plays psychological mind-games on her is weird and unforgivable, but maybe there's a deleted scene where she slaps him for it, or at least gives him a taste of his own medicine. Maybe. Oh, and for the whole movie, I’m supposed to accept that Meg Ryan's character is somehow dumb enough not to realize until the final scene that this gas-lighting, boat-dwelling lunatic is messing with her, playing her like a damn fiddle. It’s maddening to watch: you feel like you’re going crazy. “How did people miss this?” you scream to the uncaring skies, tearing at your hair. “Tom Hanks can’t even act! He just walks around being Tom Hanks!” Your mind reels, rejecting the reality of the film.

                Because doing the alternative—deeming Joe’s behavior acceptable—just doesn’t sit right. I get it, this was a different time, these things were seen as romantic, even if you can practically hear Joe sharpening his skinning-knives in the background. SHHK, SHHK. But I like to think we’ve moved past that and can leave this movie safely in the past, where it be… wait, what's that? There are MORE movies like this? How many more? And how many of them star Meg Ryan?!

               

                This… this goes far deeper than I imagined. It’s like a Tom Hanks multiverse, where no matter what she does, Meg Ryan is never safe from the sweaty palms of Joe Fox. The mind games and the forced romances unfold again and again, across infinite timelines, an endless fractal-construct of cherubic Tom Hanks faces slowly spiraling through time and space. What was wrong with the nineties? My God, what did we unleash back then?

                Tune in next week, as I over-analyze Joe Vs. the Volcano!

               

"Alt-History Sunday Sneak Peek"

This is the intro to an unfinished short story about temporal terrorism, set in the Bush years for maximum chuckles. I'm still working on the ending.

I also have a new novel in the works--haven't sold my first one yet, of course, but stay tuned!

-Paul

 

                On September 11, 2001, federal agents arrested a group of terrorists whose hijacking plan would have brought down the Twin Towers. This operation was conducted with little fanfare, the perpetrators were locked away, and few newspapers even bothered with a front page splash about the plot. The CIA and FBI had done their jobs and the threat of Al-Queda was contained; as far as the media was concerned, there wasn’t really much to report.

                On September 12, radical eco-terrorists from the future set off a device in the middle of Times Square. This device directly linked New York City with a period in the late Cretaceous, sixty-seven million years in the past. This “temporal link” erased whole entire neighborhoods, including portions of the Bronx and Queens and much of upper Manhattan. The fabric of space-time was permanently shredded in the region, and the rips spread quickly, replacing parts of upstate New York and nearby New Jersey with vast swathes of jungle. Carnage, confusion and panic were widespread, and the National Guard was mobilized. By the time that President Bush declared a national state of emergency, several thousand people had died: many were shunted into the past when the Link was activated, and countless were injured by prehistoric creatures. Many of these were carnivores, suddenly and violently introduced to an environment they did not understand. They reacted aggressively, seeing the intrusion of human beings and skyscrapers as an assault on their territories.

                The photograph summarizing the madness, taken by war correspondent Steve McCurry, shows an Allosaurus rearing its head over Central Park. Its taloned foot presses down on a police cruiser, and NYPD officers are firing their sidearms at the animal. The serrated teeth of its massive jaws are bearing down on the officers, all of whom would lose their lives that day trying to secure the nearby boroughs.

                It goes without saying that the Link defined a generation, changed the face of the earth, so on and so forth. The terrorist’s ultimatum—an immediate end to carbon emissions, under threat of further devices being detonated—were ignored, and Operation Home Front was begun to exterminate the dinosaurs and find the people responsible. Over the next decade, hundreds would be arrested on suspicion of harboring temporal fugitives, and the fledgling President would be impeached after he authorized the use of nerve gas on “contested” (read: rioting) areas of New York City. The damage to time’s fabric continued to unfold, spreading from state to state, churning out regions and animals from bygone eras into America’s terrified streets.

                Some fortified their homes. Many simply packed their things and ran.

                Jim Conway’s family drove right into that shit.