SNOW FALLING ON CEDARS

R : Released December 1999

starring Ethan Hawke, Youki Kudoh, James Cromwell, and Max Von Sydow

written by Ron Bass and Scott Hicks - directed by Scott Hicks

C-

Director Scott Hicks rose to prominence in 1996 with his film SHINE, a touching but thickheaded biography of Australian pianist David Helfgott. The film, which garnered multiple Academy Award nominations and a win for rising star Geoffrey Rush, was an unabashed tearjerker. It still ranks on my personal list as one of the most overrated films of the decade.

Three years later, Hicks is back, and the proof is in the pudding in SNOW FALLING ON CEDARS, a gargantuan sinkhole of a film as muddy and confused as any in modern memory. Adapted from the bestselling book and starring Ethan Hawke, the film is disastrously directed by Hicks, with fatal results.

The failure of the film is depressing, because the story, a juicy tale of the Pacific Northwest, is quite an interesting one. Set after World War II in a small coastal town in Washington state, SNOW FALLING ON CEDARS features a mysterious murder, a forgotten romance, a courtroom potboiler, and the historical drama of Asian-American immigration. A newspaper reporter (Hawke) returns to his hometown to cover the murder trial of Miamoto, an Asian-American war hero who married Hawke's childhood love, Hatsuo (Youki Kudoh). Miamoto is accused of killing a fellow fisherman, and is defended by none other than Max Von Sydow. Hawke has evidence that will clear Miamoto, but holds back, unclear of whether he wants to clear the husband of the woman he still loves.

It's a tangled web to weave; in the hands of an accomplished director, perhaps Levinson or Jewison, the story arcs would encricle one another in captivating ways. Hicks, however, is simply not up to the task. The film is a mess, trying to follow the complicated story while adding unnecessary flashbacks and sophomoric tricks, including multilayered sound effects that make the dialogue completely incoherent. The cinematography is beautiful, but dozens of shots of -- you guessed it -- snow falling on cedars gets tedious when you're trying to generate dramatic tension. Hicks has obviously been inspired by the Ansel Adams calendar; if he wants to make a travelogue, he should make one, and leave the serious filmmaking to the professionals.

The performances aren't too bad, but Hicks again seems unable to use his assembled talent to the film's advantage. Hawke makes a credible pining loner, but his dialogue and on-screen time are severely limited, to everyone's detriment. Max Von Sydow is wasted as a doddering lawyer; by the time he gets to grandstand in his closing argument, the picture has already lost the audience's attention. Excellent work from thoroughbreds (Cromwell) and newcomers (Kudoh) alike are thwarted by shots of those damn evergreen trees in the snow.

Fans of this book should prepare for the worst; SNOW FALLING ON CEDARS will disappoint most audience members, but readers of the source material may be especially angered. (I have not read the book, but I know the passion of its many adherents.) The sadness, of course, is the realization that there is a potentially wonderful tale underneath this miasma. Hicks should take care before he takes on such an audacious and difficult project again.