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'Safe’ (R)

By Desson Howe
Washington Post Staff Writer
August 04, 1995

"SAFE" IS ABOUT the emotional turmoil of a woman suffering from the collective chemical poisons of the 20th century—and if anyone was born to make this movie, it's Todd Haynes. The director of "Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story," a 45-minute work of genius featuring Barbie dolls portraying the torment of America's anorexic pop siren, Haynes has an insider's view of modern distress, emotional sickness and irony.

But his vision, in both films, is far from campy. You'll never legally see the 1988 "Superstar," by the way, because Mattel and the Carpenter family successfully stopped its release. But you can catch "Safe," in which Haynes takes that Roy Lichtenstein world of postmodern angst and makes it tremendously affecting and eerily compassionate.

In "Safe," San Fernando valley housewife Carol (Julianne Moore) finds herself in a steadily stifling nightmare. Used to a life of comfort, security and regular hair appointments, she hasn't been feeling herself lately. She's listless, depressed and sick. Her attention starts to wander. She has trouble breathing. But she's alone in her suffering. Her husband (Xander Berkeley) finds it difficult to maintain sympathy for this mysterious ailment. And her doctor (whose medical training is practically useless in this area) can find nothing wrong.

In a scene that's every bit as gripping as a "Lethal Weapon" car chase, Moore suffers a relentless coughing fit while driving, after a cloud of automotive exhaust billows through the car window. She coughs repeatedly, each round of hacking becoming louder and more alarming. Desperately, she veers into a multi-level parking lot, taking its hairpin curves with increasing speed.

Moore survives the incident. But she soon discovers the cause of her malady is just about everything. Her system has become overloaded with fumes, toxins, fragrances and other pollutants—whether it's from traffic, her shampoo, her husband's cologne or the new sofa she recently ordered. The sickness shows no sign of abatement. Her relationship with her husband and son completely breaks down.

Alerted by a commercial ("Are you allergic to the 20th century?"), Moore finds a network of similar sufferers, otherwise normal people—many of whom wear perpetual face masks—whose lives have taken a turn for the worse. She becomes aware of a healing center in Albuquerque, led by a New-Age-ish, AIDS-surviving guru (Peter Dunning), where victims can live in insulated conditions.

Haynes delineates Moore's ultimate fate, a powerful, spiritually inward affair, with subtle force.

Helping to build the tension are Ed Tomney's quasi-"Twin Peaks" score; the almost hypnotically restrained performances; and Haynes's visual compositions, in which Moore seems helplessly engulfed in her surroundings, whether it's her designer living room or the welcoming New Mexico openness.

Moore makes the essential contribution, however. She turns her potentially gonzo-neurotic archetype into a tender being, whose anguish and plight become charged with moral importance. Instead of playing mere spiraling victim, she infuses her persona with extraordinary grace, so that her struggle is shared by all of us.

SAFE (R) — Contains material that is psychologically and emotionally dire.

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