Cinema
The Postman (15, selected cinemas)
What a bummer
Mark Steyn
Iwas going to say that, instead of doing post-apocalyptic wasteland epics like Waterworld and The Postman, Kevin Cost- ner should stick to comedies like Tin Cup. But then I remembered The Postman is actually funnier than Tin Cup. It's just that apparently no one told Kevin. This time round, it's America in 2013, and it's literally post-apocalyptic: The Postman is a story about the problems of delivering mail after the apocalypse.
On Waterworld, Costner wound up get- ting rid of the director. That'd be more dif- ficult to do here, since it's him. He's also the writer, and the producer, and he sings the title song, and, in case that's not enough Costner for you, half the support- ing roles go to his kids. The rest go to ani- mals. Indeed, the whole thing is like an overblown, money-no-object Hollywood version of Postman Pat and his black and white cat that's somehow fallen into the hands of the wrong rewrite men. Thus, the black and white cat has been bounced and Postman Key given a more exotic compan- ion. It's important to remember that Kevin likes animals, otherwise you might be star- tled by a scene in which he appears to be having a conversation about his bottom with his pet burro. That's a small furry ass — the burro, I mean, not Kevin's bottom.
Anyway, Kevin spends much of The Post- man talking out loud to his burro, at one point declaring that he's going to make a list of 'things I like about my ass'. Granted that there were no writers or directors or producers or theme-song singers around, and that virtually everyone on set was a rel- ative or livestock, you'd still think that someone would have pointed out that `Things I like about my ass' is a grand title for an autobiography but not a good line to deliver on screen. He'd have been better off singing a quick chorus of 'I'm Gonna Sit Right Down And Write My Ass A Let- ter': kisses on the bottom, they'll both be glad they got 'em. But perhaps it's a post-modern jest, because no sooner had Kevin said it than I found myself whiling away the film's forigueurs by compiling a list of things I like about my ass. I suspect my list is shorter than Kevin's. Since Dances With Wolves, the bottom has dropped out of Costner's career, and films like The Postman are pretty much the reason why. In this year's futuristic dystopia, he plays, just for a change, a drifter. After getting pressganged into a crazed warlord's army, he manages to escape and disguises himself with the aid of a dead postman's uniform and mailbag. Thereafter, he travels from one armed camp to another pretending to be a mailman and, therefore, the emissary of a reborn Federal government. At this point, alarm bells began ringing: who in their right mind would run away from the army to become a mailman? Perhaps things have changed by 2013, but right now, in 1998, the US Postal Service has a higher fatality rate than the US armed forces. Post office employees regu- larly go berserk and kill their colleagues, to the extent that the phrase 'going postal' going homicidally nuts — has passed into the language. It seems unlikely that, even in the midst of a nuclear winter, the populace would welcome a maverick mail- man as symbolising civil society's rebirth. But nothing can deter Costner from his thesis that regular postal delivery is a uni- versal mail bonding experience. Before you know it, people are writing letters and an enthusiastic band of volunteers has joined Kevin to deliver the mail. You can't help wondering, though, what all these letters are about: 'Weather v. good. Not a mush- room cloud in the sky. How's things with you?' About halfway through, I began to suspect that everyone was sending each other lists of 'Things I like about my ass'. Meanwhile, a junior mail carrier has taken a fancy to Kevin. Nothing unusual about that, except that the subordinate is played by Kevin's daughter. Wisely, Kevin steers clear, but soon he comes across a spunky wife whose man has contracted the %ad mumps' and so is no longer up to a daily delivery. Luckily, old Kevin knows his Zip code and, before you can say 'small packet', the plucky gal is grinding away on top of him. She demands that Kevin impreg- nate her, so he tosses away his French letter and throws himself into a torrid remake of The Postman Always Knocks Her Up Twice. Eventually, he and his merry band of mail- men march into battle against the crazed warlord's forces, leaving you marvelling once again at Costner's versatility: he's the first Postmaster-General who's both.
Now let's see: have I forgotten anything? Only this. There's no copyright on title, but it nevertheless sums up Costner's complete self-absorption that he should have failed to notice that there's already a film called The Postman — 11 Postino. It came out a year or so back, and it's everything that this bloated namesake isn't: human, charming, lyrical. And a hit.
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