It's easy to see why Samuel L. Jackson wanted to be in this movie. He gets to play a homeless, delusional musician who also is highly sensitive and intelligent. The role allows him to immerse himself in a difficult character and even chew a little scenery (but not too much). Actors love this stuff.
Jackson is more than up to the challenge, too, which is hardly a surprise. As Romulus Ledbetter, a brilliant classical composer whose schizophrenia has left him estranged from his family and living in a Central Park cave, Jackson is fierce and fearless, two qualities that have always served him well as a performer. Romulus has "moth seraphs" buzzing around in his head, and he believes that an evil robber baron is watching his every move and trying to destroy him. He also has memories of life with his wife and daughter, and moments of lucidity that reveal what he once was and could have been.
SAmuel L. Jackson, right, plays a paranoid homeless man who enlists the aid of his daughter (Aunjanue Ellis) to help solve a murder in "The Caveman's Valentine."
One morning, Romulus discovers the frozen body of a young man in a tree outside his cave. Convinced that this was a homicide, he enlists the aid of his daughter (Aunjanue Ellis), who is now a police officer. She offers a little help, but has a hard time taking him seriously, since virtually every reasonable thing he says is followed up by more incoherent raving. Eventually, Romulus decides to play detective on his own and ends up at the upstate home of a photographer (Colm Feore) for whom the dead man worked as a model.
As he begins to uncover the truth, Romulus finds his own life in danger, and his paranoia suddenly becomes fully justified. But will anyone believe a man whose enemies have always been in his own mind?
That central question is certainly intriguing, and the movie is at its best when this is the focus. George Dawes Green's script (based on his 1994 novel) weaves Romulus' hallucinations into the story in such a way that even the audience is left wondering how much of it is supposed to be real and how much is the disease manifesting itself. Director Kasi Lemmons ("Eve's Bayou") has a lush, lyrical style that takes viewers inside Romulus' tortured mind and shows the scary beauty of the world his illness has created. Lemmons' images of sinewy angels and rays of light emanating from skyscrapers don't exactly make schizophrenia look appealing, but they do give some idea of why Romulus seems reluctant to let go of it and get treatment.
Despite its unique premise and catchy visuals, "The Caveman's Valentine" starts to buckle under the weight of its own implausibility, and finally becomes just another convoluted whodunit. The "real" story of the murder turns out to be less believable than Romulus' delusions, yet it is presented as perfectly logical, the result of Sherlock Holmes-style deductive reasoning. There are any number of directions Green could have gone with the story why he chose the most absurd possible one is a mystery in itself.
Rating: ** 1/2
(R)
Jackson's intense performance anchors the film and, at times, actually makes it work. Everything he says, no matter how insane, is presented with such total conviction, it practically has the force of gospel behind it. This is more than just actorly showing off, however. Jackson gives Romulus a very real dignity, constantly offering glimpses of his sharp intellect, musical talent and the sadness and longing he feels over the loss of his family. There is even a surprising self-awareness to the character, in brief moments when Romulus is able to step outside of his illness and understand how others see him.
Long before "The Caveman's Valentine" comes to its contrived conclusion, it's obvious that, without its lead, this would have been a pointless and extremely frustrating movie. Jackson's performance is really the only reason to see it, and probably the only reason it even got made. In this case, that may be reason enough.
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