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…
... 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:
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:
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:
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:
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!
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