Ego and Gummo

James Cameron; Harmony Korine

Recall that ribald Catcher in the Rye moment when, during a millionaire alumnus's bombastic speech about thinking of Jesus when he shifts automobile gears, a Pencey Academy student in the audience, Edgar Marsalla, cut one. "Old Marsalla. He damned near blew the roof off!" said a happy Holden.

Where was Edgar Marsalla when we needed him at the Oscars? I'm talking about those seconds of reverent silence demanded by James "King of the World" Cameron for the 1500 Titanic dead. Oh, for a loud and gassy one, as the tuxedo'd audience was held captive to the Titanic director's vulgarity and egotism.

How serious was the Terminator II man about honoring those who died with the Titanic? Cameron broke the quiet himself by screaming out, "Yep, this sure is 'A Night To Remember!' "

He had used up "Who says bigger isn't better?", which he yelped at the Golden Globes. He stooped lower at the Oscars when, winning for Best Director, he failed to mention the other candidates in the category, at least three of whom -- Atom Egoyan, Gus Van Sant, Curtis Hanson -- are not only superior directors but classier human beings.

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And no oscars for Gummo.

The New York Times' Janet Maslin and the Chicago Reader's ever-vanguard film critic Jonathan Rosenbaum have nothing in common aesthetically except they both felt that Harmony Korine's movie was the most abominable film of 1997. The Globe's Betsy Sherman, though she embraces weird films, intensely disliked this one when it played at the Harvard Film Archive in January. Gary Susman, writing for the Phoenix, was mixed-to-negative -- probably the movie's most appreciative Boston review.

But Gummo has attracted a host of on-record filmmaker fans, including Errol Morris, Werner Herzog, and Gus Van Sant. And the stubborn Harvard Film Archive, resisting the hostile press, has reprised Gummo for a major April run (3-7, 10, 12, and 18). "Back by Popular Demand," says the HFA program.

May I declare myself, with one PC qualifier, a definite Gummo booster? I don't object to all the dead cats (none was killed during the making), but I do wonder at the use of a mentally retarded girl who shaves off her eyebrows before the camera. Wasn't she manipulated to do so? Otherwise, all the chaos and nihilism and craziness about the tornado-wrecked white-trash hole of Xenia, Ohio, is enthralling stuff to watch. And 23-year-old screenwriter/filmmaker Harmony Korine, creating mythic Xenia in broken-down neighborhoods of his home town of Nashville, is some kind of scummy visionary.

What other young filmmaker has ever made such a tall tale in which the most potent influence is Werner Herzog's Even Dwarfs Started Small?

In an earlier article, I praised the unbelievable scene in which a roomful of bare-chested lowlifes wrestle a chair, kick and beat that chair to death. A companion scene: two muscular skinheads in a kitchen take barefisted turns punching each other in the head and chest. What coarse excitement! But I like best watching Gummo's almost-teen protagonists riding into town on their tiny tiny bikes. Backed by buzzing soundtrack guitars, the scene is photographed in the most sensual, mock-heroic way, Sergio Leone filming The Wild One.

The older teen, actor Nick Sutton, was found by Korine on an episode of Sally Jessy Raphael called "My Child Died from Sniffing Paint." The younger, Jacob Reynolds, who looks like a 100-year-old elf, was spotted in a Dunkin' Donuts ad. Linda Manz, the girl narrator in the legendary Days of Heaven (1978), appears as a tap-dancing, malfunctioning mom. Finally, there's the arresting Chloe Sevigny (Kids, Trees Lounge) as a Jean Harlow-blonde neighborhood chick, with Betty Page black tape across her nipples.

I like Harmony Korine's take on his movie: "I felt it's definitely important if young people see it, because it's a new kind of film with a new kind of syntax. Younger people have a different kind of sensibility, and I think they'll understand it. But if someone said that I was the voice of my generation, I couldn't agree with that. I'm just the voice of Harmony."

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I keep getting letters from Madhu Videotec Pvt. Ltd. of Bombay asking me to fulfill my pledge, when I was in New Delhi, to introduce its flourishing "Bollywood" film and television company to my American readers. So . . .

Madhu specializes in mega-mythological soap operas. Its newest TV project, Om Navah Shivay, juxtaposes Lord Shiva with gods, demons, pretty women. "A special-effects marvel to behold," say the ads.

Another popular series, Mr. Yogi, is about an Americanized young Indian who, seeking a bride, dates 12 attractive women in 12 days, each from a different zodiac sign. The ads promise: "A hilarious journey through the funny side of society."

"Before purchasing the goods," explained Madhu executive G. Samir, "we preview all tapes. We normally buy what you can sit with all the family together. Clean movies is where we are going."

Is there kissing in Madhu Videotec films? "Kissing is a natural thing," chirped in Samir's assistant. "But we show no more than that."