A Hologram for the King
“A Hologram for the King”, begins with one of the greatest hits in Tom Hanks acting history. Set to the Talking Heads’ “Once in a Lifetime,” he plays a business man whose life has become a joke. As he sing-talks the opening lyrics à la William Shatner (“How did I get here?”), the film cuts between shots of his house, car and wife going up in purple smoke, and a close-up of him riding a roller coaster, staring blankly at the camera.
Although he’s acted in numerous mainstream films, this off-beat performance brings you back to watching Tom Hanks wander around Steven Spielberg’s “The Terminal,” or stand at a crossroads in Robert Zemeckis’ “Cast Away.” And as David Eggers’ novel proves through Tom Tykwer’s adaptation, it’s entertaining just to look back at him.
Here is a reasonably-sized star vehicle that finds purpose by presenting an existential crisis. The opening sequence is the dream Alan Clay has on a plane while flying to Saudi Arabia where he hopes to make enough money selling hologram contracts to pay for his daughter’s college tuition; this is after years spent killing the Schwinn company by outsourcing American jobs.
The king wants to build 1.5 million people by 2025 city in middle of desert which means now Hanks’ character must try sell one such contract there instead, but what could be more fitting a former empathy failure peddling machine impersonal business toward enterprise might as well be mirage for king who never shows up anyway? Every morning Alan drives an hour from city to project headquarters only have receptionist tell him king not in office yet. As strange stresses continue piling up around his small tech team stored Wi-Fi less tent AC less than food lessness, any more and this would start seeming like farcical forever: Business trip farce travel trip.
The cycle that the king’s indifference to Alan puts him in can teach us a great deal about ourselves and our partial responsibility for fighting against the forces of nature that threaten us. Each day, Clay misses his shuttle to the king’s headquarters because he wakes up too late, requiring him to call on his driver/impromptu cultural guide Yousef (Alexander Black). Midway through the film, Alan breaks the cycle when he chooses not to listen to the receptionist’s order not to go past the lobby.
He makes it upstairs and people know his name as if they were expecting him to sneak up there all along; actions against his bump yield similar results. Tykwer’s weirdness makes these minor changes seem huge feats of storytelling and performance.
So it is disappointing when “A Hologram for the King” trades this anti-fatalism for one epiphany after another that you can get wholesale. As it morphs from an interesting circle into a flat journey for Alan to find himself anew, the story drags at metaphorical checkpoints like when Yousef drives Alan down a different path or later when Alan comes face to face with a wolf about to attack some sheep. It becomes another mid life crisis abroad tale at such a slow drip that its charm starts evaporating early on.
After many car rides and wide open shots of desert, Tykwer injects a highly visual romance into act three. One imagines that besides touching upon this story of time passing (“Run Lola Run,” “Cloud Atlas”), he wanted to see a man and woman swimming underwater, in bright blue water that directly contrasts endless sand. But even as poetic defiance towards a nation that publicizes executions more than displays of affection between opposite sex, Tykwer doesn’t match earlier exhilaration of Alan’s isolationism.
The people closest to whom Alan gets are sporadically intriguing, with two performances that make clear effort to expand beyond script devices. Yousef (Black) has a naturally progressive camaraderie with Hanks, which Black treats with friendliness and occasional animation (a la Christopher Abbott’s Fahim Ahmadzai in “Whiskey Tango Foxtrot,” more white-washed casting).
Sarita Choudhury has an expanding part in Alan’s life as his doctor, and brings a sincere delicacy to it. But the king’s new city remains the most distinct character of the film, saying as much about its Godot-like presence when shown as abandoned, skeleton like skyscrapers with people living inside them.
Hanks is a great everyman, which means here he can be a wonderful outsider for us to have realizations or failures through. To his credit, Hanks also finds empathy for a recession-era villain; every time Tywker randomly cuts back to the disturbing silences of Alan’s past life (standing in front of hundreds of workers, about to make a horrific announcement), our heart sinks with him. He makes us laugh in some scenes (when his chairs break three times); in many others he simply welcomes us to feel small with him.
Alan is one of Hanks’ less-flashy roles, but it largely confirms why we’ve made him such a central figure in American film acting.
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