Ray Pride

What a mouth the man has on him.

That's a first reaction, watching Eminem on screen in "8 Mile." Not to the notoriously uncouth raps of Marshall Mathers, not the measured enunciation in his performance as Jimmy Smith, Jr., or "Rabbit," a character whose life neatly parallels his own rise through rap out of the blasted, begrimed detritus of Detroit, 1995.

I'm actually talking about his mouth. Curtis Hanson ("L.A. Confidential," "Wonder Boys") does many things just right in his reinvigoration of the essential contours of the rags-to-raps story line (such as not pushing the plot to encompass a hyperbolic raps-to-riches tale). Along with hiring confident, assured performers to surround the novice star, such as Kim Basinger as his hapless mother and Mekhi Phifer as Future, the rap M.C. who believes in him, Hanson put Eminem through a six-week day-to-night rehearsal period. It shows in the eloquence of the stares and glares and bursts of pique and fits of temper on screen. Measured and modulated, Rabbit's moments are never thrown away, but seldom over-scaled. The performance doesn't seem derivative; there's none of Elvis Presley's callow diffidence, little of James Dean's well of self-pity, for instance. Instead, we get the eloquent inexpressiveness of the kid with talent who must find a way to decipher the scrawls on his fists, the backs of sacks and cardboards, the inside of his skull. Thoughts flicker, eyes burn: this is screen acting.

The layered look of the wet, chilly dead city is another inspired stroke, as lit and framed by Mexican director of photography Rodrigo Prieto ("Amores Perros," "Frida"). A hallmark of the 58-year-old Hanson's work in the past decade has been this kind of straightforward, unassuming craft, artistic ego subsumed into the passion of performance, of a story cleanly told. It's all here in "8 Mile," which is a million miles above pro forma rock biopics like "Purple Rain."

But Eminem. The dead, solid scowl. The body language, confined and leashed, of a slight slim man who vibrates with ambition. Where is his performance most eloquent? That mouth.

Beneath close-cropped hair, hooded, blue-green eyes, a suitable but unexceptional nose, there's a full--but not Jagger-full--bottom lip, a thin wave of upper lip holding in check its potential for beauty's arrogance.

Watch this compact man on screen. The performance is succinct, gestures precise. The eyes hold anger. The mouth is moist, quietly tremulous. This is where the acting begins. His romantic foil is the tiny, fierce Brittany Murphy, with enormous eyes, lips rich with full-blown delirium. Your eyes ping and pong: Eminem and Murphy are both adepts of the glance, two forms of fury, their eyes and mouths a match. They say casting's ninety percent of the director's job. Hanson is a quiet master of examining the actor's face, never finding it wanting, only wanting its full naturalistic range to flower. The plot of "8 Mile" is familiar, but Hanson (with screenwriter Scott Silver) brings it up to a brisk 100 percent, naturalism keeping the stakes from melodrama and operatic gesture. We don't learn Rabbit's innermost hopes, thoughts and fears, but they are indicated, intense cryptic scrawls on skin, on Eminem's lips.

"8 Mile" opens Friday.

(2002-11-06)

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