Into Temptation: Minneapolis Malaprop

Having recently attended a screening of Into Temptation, a new film starring Jeremy Sisto and Kristen Chenowith, sporting a world premiere in Minneapolis due to the fact that it was filmed here, I began to realize why more major films aren’t made here. You see, when filmmakers make movies in major cities like New York, LA, Chicago, Miami, etc, the inhabitants don’t flock to multiplexes ONLY because the movie was filmed there. Why? Because they fucking live there, that’s why. Needless to say, Into Temptation has been playing at the Lagoon cinema in Minneapolis to a packed house. My first attempt (after neglecting to see a preview screening) was in vain: Sold Out. Irritated, but not angry, I realized these poor, foolish Minnesotans would flock to something like this as a novelty, and not, of course, because they have any idea who is starring in it, directed it, or what the plot is about. On my next attempt, I made it in and was instantly irritated by the ungainly amount of senior citizens, apparently proud and awestruck that a motion picture was filmed here. Between wide-hipped muscle spasm maneuvers, painful and awkward jostling to the seats in the middle of the rows, confusion, lost spouses, old men shouting out their wives’ names in the dim lighting and the incessant dirge of rattling pill bottles, I could do little but clutch my fists at my sides and practice controlled breathing. I felt as if I had been sentenced to watch this film with a bloated gaggle of plucked, speckled, noisy birds that had wandered accidentally and distressfully into a pit of quick sand. Mixed in with this busload of nursing home attendees was a worse species: the aged yuppy. Flocking in at an alarming rate several minutes before the screening was to begin (which was not on time, anyway) were a bunch of suits and their bejeweled wives. One such cluster, unfortunately, sat in front of me. Their only reason for attendance? “Oh, you know I just had to see Judy’s house in the movie. And Nancy and Edna’s lake house are featured. Can you imagine?” and gobble gobble gobble from there. Meanwhile, during the film’s narrative, an excited chirping noise was emitted from one such idolatrous denizen as she pointed at the screen exaltingly, “Look! It’s Kay’s house.” Growling in the back of my throat, I was treated to the husband’s response, “Okay, we saw the house. Can we go now?” Apparently deciding they would be unable to live down a socialite’s shame of leaving mid-feature, they unfortunately remained. The daft suit, apparently irritated to remain the rest of the running time, perhaps missing his favorite mind-numbing sportscast or cartoon or game show, repeatedly leaned over to ask just what in the world was going on.

As for the movie itself, Sisto stars as a Catholic priest, who happens to be a friendly joe, kind of ho-hum, until one day in the confessional, a prostitute confesses a sin she didn’t commit yet--her upcoming planned suicide on her birthday. Though it’s not made extremely clear why he decided to spend the entire narrative chasing after a woman he doesn’t know (though the very first and last scenes try to paste in some sort of futile connection, but one that wanted me to send the director to film school) it becomes clear early on that he’s most likely just horny and/or bored. My cold heart was warmed at the short sequence where a young gay Catholic confesses his unavoidable sexuality, to which Sisto tells him that it’s okay and there’s nothing wrong with him. Yes, finally some Catholics are in the 21st century---but religion’s still a bane to many an existence and it doesn’t excuse the rest of the taped together plot.

Now, maybe it’s because I’m from here. Maybe it’s because I know there’s not usually a prostitute on EVERY street corner, and maybe it’s because I know that Sex World in downtown Minneapolis is anything but what’s described in the film as a “red light” district. Is there prostitution in Minneapolis? Of course. But it’s not relegated to Washington and Hennepin downtown. And then there’s the friendly, rosary handling bum, the Robert Frost quoting pimp, and the uber observant taxi driver popping up absurdly in the nick of time, which leads me to believe this film is one of those catty “God guides us all” narratives where we’re all hammily quirky and connected. While Sisto is an engaging screen presence, his character’s motivations are muddled and dull. Chenowith doesn’t fare much better. Looking like the shorter and tanner twin of Cameron Diaz, she gets too many angelic comparisons for one narrative to support, and not enough screen time to really develop an interest in her that’s more than passing. While the film had me groaning in exasperation, others seemed to moderately enjoy it. Perhaps lost in my own nihilism, I wasn’t aware I was living in a metropolis of priests and prostitutes, graciously fighting the good fight around me. Though the film contains moments that are sometimes touching, or perhaps interesting, we never get the sense that out hero priest is in any real danger of crossing any moral boundaries, or shall we say, be led “into temptation”---he’s just doing that very Minnesotan thing involving covering your morbid curiosity with idealistic excuses. But I figured out why the World Premiere was here. It wasn’t for the plethora of local talent, the local director or the pretty skyline----No, the world premiere was here because of Judy and Kay’s house.