The Caveman's Valentine

The Caveman's Valentine has everything going for it. George Dawes Green, who won the 1994 Edgar Award for the novel, has penned the screenplay. The director, Kasi Lemmon, has been a critical favorite since her 1997 directing debut, Eve's Bayou. Samuel L. Jackson, one of Hollywood's most commanding actors, plays the film's hero. With all these elements, The Caveman's Valentine should be a gripping, insightful thriller, but it runs out of momentum midway through and eventually coasts to an unconvincing conclusion.

Many years ago, Romulus Ledbetter was a musical genius, a Julliard-trained pianist and composer. When we meet him, he is a broken man, his mind apparently shattered by the pressures of marriage, fatherhood, and career. Romulus dwells in a cave in a Manhattan park, emerging each day to rage publicly against his imagined enemy, Cornelius Gould Stuyvesant. Stuyvesant lives atop the Chrysler Building and monitors Romulus' activities using a "Z-Ray", which conveniently gives each of the paranoid fantasy sequences an eerie, green glow.

In other stressful times, Romulus imagines his mind full of "moth-seraphs" -- muscular black men with tenuous wings, who become agitated when their host is panicked or seized with inspiration. During crises of conscience, Romulus is visited by visions of his ex-wife, Shelia, who counsels him when he is in danger or being misdirected. Played by Tamara Tunie, her visits are the most welcome hallucinations -- Shelia gets the best lines of the film. She shows up quite frequently after Romulus finds the frozen body of a young homeless man in a tree outside of his cave.

At first, Romulus believes this is a cruel prank directed at him by his arch nemesis, and tries to convince his estranged daughter, a New York policewoman, of Stuyvesant's guilt. Having suffered through her father's illness, Lulu waves off his input, as does the rest of the police force investigating the crime. At the urging of the victim's lover and fellow transient, Romulus takes the case, which leads him to famous photographer and art world insider, David Leppenraub.

Through a series of wildly contrived coincidences, Romulus gains entrance to Leppenraub's world, and must find his way through his paranoid visions and psychotic ravings long enough to gather evidence against the murderer. At this point, the film begins to unravel. To further the plot, characters act seemingly without reason or precedent, embracing Romulus long enough to aid him in his investigation, only to draw away in surprised revulsion when he has his inevitable breakdown.

Despite a strong and multi-layered performance by Jackson, Romulus wears out his welcome, both with his supporting players and his audience. It's a difficult task faced by Jackson and Lemmon -- to make Romulus just off balance enough to be convincing, but not so much that he becomes aggravating. The supporting players measure up well, but too often, it's hard to discern motives. As his daughter, Aunjanue Ellis must scoff at Romulus when he makes the most sense, and somehow decide to trust him when he is obviously agitated. For most of the film, it works, but after two hours of visions and ranting, you accept the flat and unlikely solution of the mystery just as an excuse to walk away.

Photo copyright: Universal Focus