‘3,000 Miles to Graceland’

A fat pack of velvety Elvis impersonators exalt style over substance in this gory shoot-’em-up. The only way to enjoy this nonsense is to put your brain in neutral and roll with the punches.   [R]

By: Kam Williams

From left to right, David Arquette, Kurt Russell, Kevin Costner, Christian Slater and Bokeem Woodbine star as five felons who decide to rob a Las Vegas casino in 3,000 Miles to Graceland.

   During Elvis Week in Las Vegas, the city is flooded with warbling, swivel-hipped wannabes in jumpsuits and capes. Five felons have decided to turn the event into an opportunity to rob the Riviera, the casino hosting the look-a-like contest. The quintet dons The King’s trademark pompadour, pork-chop sideburns, TCB power-frame sunglasses and other accouterments to blend in with the crowd of identically bedecked strangers. Except, they pack heavy artillery instead of instruments inside their guitar cases.
   This is the premise that underpins 3,000 Miles to Graceland, a gruesome, hyper-stylized pyrotechnic tribute to murder and mayhem. The film was directed by Demian Lichtenstein, best known for making music videos for Sting, Clapton, Queen Latifah and Gloria Estefan. Unfortunately, the story here is as superficial as a typical music video, all action and implication, but no substance or satisfaction.
   The film features a coterie of top talent, led by Kevin Costner, who won his Oscar for directing Dances With Wolves. Costner appears as Murphy, the brains behind the heist. The Confederacy of Elvises also includes Kurt Russell, who recently held the title role in the tele-film Elvis, Christian Slater, David Arquette and Bokeem Woodbine.
   Arquette’s real-life wife, Courteney Cox, plays gun moll/single mom Cybil, an alluring drifter with raging hormones and a short attention span. Peripatetic comedian/actors Kevin Pollak and Jon Lovitz are also aboard. Rounding out the cast are controversial rapper Ice-T and NFL Hall of Famer Howie Long, both enjoying brief but bloody cameos.
   The movie opens in the desert at the deserted Last Chance Motel with Murphy drooling like a giraffe and wrestling Cybil’s breasts out of her bra as the strangers furiously indulge a raw impulse. This curiously unerotic sex scene, shot with a frenetic impatience, sets the tone for the rest of the film, where events occur faster than you can make sense of them, as if inside a fast-fingered video game.
   From there, the boys hop into a classic convertible and head to Vegas. Inside the Riviera, the best-laid plan goes awry, guns are drawn and all hell breaks loose. The ensuing action plays like a shoot-out between the Sam Peckinpah and the John Woo clans.
   Forget the storyline. The only way to enjoy this dizzying nonsense is to put your brain in neutral and roll with the punches. Be forewarned: The dialogue is decidedly crude.
Rated R for ceaseless bloodletting, nudity, wanton sex and liberal use of profanity.