Lonely Hearts Review
By Joe Lozito
"Lonely" Has Heart In The Right Place
After the success of David Fincher's thrillingly-detailed serial killer procedural,
"Zodiac", there may be a new breed of ultra-realistic non-fiction adaptations - but "Lonely Hearts" isn't one of them. To be fair, "Hearts" was made a full year before Mr. Fincher's film and is only now getting a wide release, but it partakes firmly in the tradition of embellishment for the sake of dramatic license. And it does it well. "Lonely Hearts" tells the true story of Raymond Fernandez and Martha Beck who went on a murderous rampage during the late 1940s, targeting single women who advertised in "Personals" columns, earning them the nickname "The Lonely Hearts Killers". The film is written and directed by Todd Robinson who, through some once-in-a-lifetime cosmic alignment is the grandson of Elmer Robinson, the Nassau County Detective who helped bring the killers to justice. To call the project a labor of love would be an understatement. Mr. Robinson, the director, helps add an aching personal note to the life of Detective Robinson which elevates the film above the average cops-and-killers period piece.
Mr. Robinson's decision to cast John Travolta as his grandfather is the film's masterstroke. You'd have to go back to 1998's Clinton-era presidential parody, "Primary Colors", to find the actor in better form. "Hearts" may, hopefully, mark a return for the actor to the darker, more introspective roles he's excelled at since he strutted down the sidewalk as Tony Manero thirty (yes, thirty!) years ago. The actor's over-the-top histrionics, which began around "Face/Off" and reached a nadir in the infamous "Battlefield Earth" are entirely absent from his performance here, which is one of little dialogue and much pain. Mr. Travolta is given a lot to work with in his partner Charles Hildebrandt. Played as though Tony Soprano had gone straight by James Gandolfini, Hildebrandt's bluster is a perfect counterbalance to Travolta's haunted, hunched Robinson.
The film suffers early on as it jumps between the detectives and the killers. When the film begins, with its tongue darkly in its cheek, Ray (Jared Leto) is already a sociopathic lothario, stringing women along via a series of typewritten letters, telling them exactly what they need to hear, then concocting a tale of "leaving his wallet at the airport" and engaging in a complex scheme to empty their bank accounts. One of Ray's marks turns out to be Martha Beck, a deeply troubled ex-nurse who becomes Ray's partner in crime and helps convert him from a mere thief to a murderous psychotic. In a fit of authenticity-defying casting, Salma Hayak takes the role of Beck, who in reality was overweight, and plays her as a sultry vixen in the femme fatale tradition. Mr. Leto, sporting bald patches and an era-perfect moustache, and Ms. Hayak have such scenery-chewing fun together that their scenes appear to be taken from another movie. But as the detectives bear down on them and the stakes rise, "Hearts" congeals thrillingly.
In the age of "CSI" it's refreshing to see detectives who have to pry up floorboards and look through the mail for clues. As the years pass and more bodies surface, Robinson's obsession leaves him estranged from his son and blind to the affections of his colleague Rene, the always-reliable Laura Dern. Since I'm from Long Island, where much of the story is based, I, like Mr. Robinson, may be adding a personal note to the story. Regardless, "Lonely Hearts" is a simple, stylish piece of filmmaking, featuring a fine return-to-form for Mr. Travolta.
