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Copy editors are the administrative secretaries of journalism: For low pay and less acclaim, we spend our days making other people look good. As Dolly Parton sang in 9 to 5, " They use your brain and they never give you credit/I swear this job will drive you crazy if you let it." In Parton's 1980 movie, that meant getting even with the boss by tying him up, primarily as an opportunity for slapstick and S&M jokes. In the '90s, when downsizing, heavy work loads and other forms of corporate cruelty have led to the need for terms such as "going postal," the notion of work driving one mad takes on a chilling seriousness. With her horror parody Office Killer, photographer Cindy Sherman takes a stab at directing, and the result is a macabre and funny look at the '90s workplace, where e-mail, home offices and part-time employment have changed the tenor--often for the worse, despite the hype. Sherman's résumé as a social critic and artist obsessed with gender roles, horror films and prosthetic limbs injects her directorial debut with potential. Despite a few missteps, this sharp, stylized film fulfills her fans' twisted expectations. At Constant Consumer magazine, all the trademarks of the unbearable job are in place: bullying, self-aggrandizing bosses, ladder-climbing coworkers, 14-hour work days, inadequate compensation. Grammar goddess Dorine (Carol Kane) may be the most competent person in the office, but she keeps her mousy head bent over her desk while clock-watching Kim (Molly Ringwald) sleeps her way up the ranks and power-hungry Norah (Jeanne Tripplehorn) schemes toward the boardroom. When Norah hands out notices that the magazine is "restructuring positions" in the editorial department, it spells catastrophe for a lifer like Dorine. Armed with a laptop computer and e-mail, Dorine is sent to work at home--where she is terrorized by horrible memories and a cranky, bedridden mother. In flashbacks to her abusive childhood, it becomes obvious why Dorine buries herself in her work and never complains about long hours. Soon Dorine's troubled past and her bleak job outlook collide, fostering a desire for revenge. When the accidental death of a slimy supervisor thrills her, Dorine learns a new skill she can escape into: murder. She creates a dream office in her basement and peoples it with her victims. No doubt utilizing her extensive collection of prosthetic limbs, Sherman crafts clever, gory details that play off the realities of work-a-day cubicle life: With office supplies she probably lifted from work, Dorine maintains the decomposing bodies, dressing their wounds in packing tape and Windex. After a blow to the head fails to do Norah in, she awakens in the basement, horrified by the scene. "What is this place?" she wails. "We're home now, Nah," Dorine answers. "We're working at home, and it's all because of you." With beautiful cinematography reminiscent of her photographs, Sherman creates a claustrophobic mood. Meanwhile, Dorine's 1960s childhood is pure John Waters camp. Sherman's own style comes out in portrait-like head shots and dramatic shadows cast by unusual light sources, such as the flash of a copy machine. Sherman's failing is, in some ways, her enthusiasm for her subject. To make sure we get the point, she gives us extraneous voice-overs and obvious performances: Perpetual teen Ringwald still thinks eye-rolling is acting, and Sukowa takes the phrase "over-the-top" to new heights. If it weren't for Kane's wonderfully tenacious mouse Dorine, the film would fall flat. The film is best viewed as a wry comment on the realities facing today's work force. Others warn that the new paradigm holds catastrophic results, but no one else has dared imagine the outcome so provocatively. |
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