The Game; Poppy Seed Kaiser Rolls
I am extremely fragile right now.
The Game (1997)
Director: David Fincher
Had I seen this before: Yes
A bit of whiplash from the last round, as we transition from a teenage girl who craves nothing more than birthday acknowledgment to a sad middle-aged man who nearly grimaces at the slightest reference to the occasion. What do you get the man who has everything except the tiniest hint of joy in his life? And why did I go in so hard on how large the houses are in Sixteen Candles when this monstrosity was waiting right there to shame them with 54,256 square feet and seventeen fireplaces? That’s seventeen more fireplaces than I have!
I had not seen The Game in at least twenty years, and remembered liking it but expected to find it sillier this go-round. And, look, it isn’t not silly and there are certainly a number a logistical nits to be picked were one so inclined. But overall I was delighted to find that the joys of this thriller, particularly in the performance of Michael Douglas, still outweigh the sometimes-hefty suspension of disbelief it requires of me. Should you take this with a grain of salt because I am just an eternally Fincher-pilled 90s teen at heart? Yes, but I can also offer you a medium-strong endorsement from the current 15-year-old, who enjoyed it as a whole and was surprised to be particularly attracted to Michael Douglas in his turtleneck-and-blazer combo, and to discover that the stereotype of “yellow lighting = Mexico” was not just pulled out of thin air. Which is a long way of saying, I’m not going to fully spoil this one just in case anyone wants to go for a spin on this slightly creaky but still sturdy enough ride from the depths of the late 90s.
By far the most shocking moment in my revisit happened immediately, as I realized that I was watching the opening credits for….Succession? Which means I couldn’t help but think that the thematic point would have been made clearer if Demi Adejuyigbe had been there, wondering if a young Nicholas Van Orton was going to win a kiss from Daddy. Regardless, the cold abundance of Nicky’s childhood is pretty well-established through home video footage of an opulent party and a clearly distant, inaccessible father. We then cut to a now-grown, slightly worn down Nick Van Orton (Michael Douglas), splashing water on his face on the morning of his 48th birthday.
Ah, but what a stark and lonely birthday it is, as he dons his expensive business attire and tippy taps down the echoing stairs of his lavish home inside the Museum of Generational Wealth. He takes a tidy little breakfast at the counter, paper in hand, tie slung over his shoulder, thanking his faithful live-in help Ilsa on his way out the door. He Master-of-the-Universes his way through the work day, spewing a lot of finance jargon in serious tones, stink-eyeing his lessers who deign to note the specialness of the day. This flow is interrupted only by a lunch date with his chaotic younger brother Conrad (Sean Penn), who gives him an strange yet intriguing present: an “experience” with Consumer Recreation Services that he describes vaguely as profound and life-changing. “It’ll make your life fun,” he promises. It’s a game!
Nick seems unconvinced and slightly irritated by the ambiguity of the offer. But on his drive home we flash back to see that 48 is the age his father was when little Nicky saw him swan dive off the roof of their palace. Which means Nick’s mental state is more unstable than usual and perhaps a bit more open to suggestion. When he unexpectedly finds himself in front of the CRS offices the next day, he decides to take the leap.
For me, the best thing about the movie is the way it slowly—and then all at once—chips away at the absolute control Nick is used to exerting on the world around him. Thus far we have seen him be polite yet dismissive to his perceived inferiors. Doors open for him. Plates appear and are cleared. The scent of a home with fourteen staff bedrooms wafts off of him, and the world rushes to accommodate his every step. The first time this is ever challenged—presumably in his entire life—is when he arrives at the front desk of CRS with his little gift card in hand as is given a curt “one moment” finger from the receptionist, who is finishing a phone call. It’s a small beat, but the way Douglas’s face briefly registers incredulity at this interaction is perfect: the first crack in the smooth façade of his existence.
He is lead by CRS employee Jim Feingold (all-star character actor James Rebhorn, who gets a couple of the film’s funniest moments in a fairly small role) through an hours-long battery of physical and psychological tests, which I recommend that you, the viewer, accept as being unimaginably accurate, down to the most infinitesimal detail. I promise it will just be easier that way. “We’ve never had an unsatisfied customer,” Feingold assures him. “I think you mean dissatisfied,” Nick retorts, grumpy after hours of being poked and prodded. Feingold takes him in for the briefest moment before inhaling in recognition and genially replying, “That’s right, you’re a left-brained word fetishist.” Incredible stuff from Rebhorn.
The next night Nick returns to his mansion only to be confronted with what was truly one of the creepiest things I had ever seen in a movie at the time: a full-sized wooden clown, dressed in the same robe and slippers Nick’s father was wearing when he died, and positioned in the same spot on the circular driveway. Now. Here is where Nicholas Van Orton and I differ: I simply would not bring the suicide-father-clown into my giant home. But our boy Nicky is just build different. He hauls that thing into what looks to be the coziest of his 56 rooms—we’ll call it the den—and sets it on a chair. He then pulls a key out of the clown’s mouth, the nightly news playing in the background has a Max Headroom-style glitch and beings speaking directly to him, and we’re off to the races.
From that point on, according to the current featured plot description on IMdB, “all kinds of weird and bad things start to happen to him.” Well said, Anonymous. But are they weird in an intriguing, immersive game sort of way or bad in a terrifying, dangerous plot sort of way? What is real and what is being manipulated by CRS? Who can he trust and who is on the seemingly infinite payroll? Why would Sean Penn do this to him? Why would David Fincher look at the role of Nick’s doomed, silent father and choose to cast Charles Martinet, most famous as the voice of Mario, thereby cursing me with the intrusive thought “It’s-a me! The haunting final image of your father!”? I will warn you now: one of these questions is never answered to my satisfaction.
Watching Michael Douglas shift believably from a man who calls all the shots to a freaked out little boy who trots nervously to catch up with someone more confidently taking charge to a calmly determined individual with nothing left to lose is, to my mind, worth the price of admission here. If you accept The Game on its level, and can power your way through some of the trickier levels of absurdity, I doubt the credits will roll on a unsatisfied dissatisfied customer.
How does the cake look: There are two: a solitary chocolate cupcake with a candle and an enormous angular multi-tiered rich person cake. Would absolutely go to town on both.
Did the birthday boy/girl/person get what they wanted: Trick question, Nicky has no idea what he wants.
Better or worse than a flooded house: Gotta say worse on this one, or at least harder to get your arms around.
Kaiser Rolls from King Arthur Baking
On the night of his sad solitary birthday, Ilsa presents Nick with a silver cloche containing the most perfect little hamburger and fries plate (along with previously noted chocolate cupcake). I assume that poppy seed kaiser rolls are readily available at the upscale market where the Van Orton household sources its groceries, but some of us slobs shop at HEB and are forced to bake our own.
Up next: TFW it’s your birthday party but all the attendees are Tennessee Williams characters :(