Make no mistake from any snarkiness deployed throughout the course of this recap. I freakin' love this movie.
Ah, 1999. The closest thing to an apex of American society as our generation will ever know. Pervasive Y2K anxiety separated the normal from the loony by sending the latter to dwell beneath the earth while simultaneously ridding the supermarket shelves of Spam, Hormel Meat-Like Product, and other objectionable canned non-perishables intended for consumption exclusively by the subterranean Y2K alarmist demographic who took to their bomb shelters the first time a light bulb blew. Quality fare of the Fatboy Slim variety stormed the pop charts, while a young dreamer named Lou Bega fostered dreams of superstardom, bagging groceries in a Pasadena Food Lion -- ringing up can after can of Spam and Hormel Meat-Like Product for the burgeoning race of Earth's mutant mole people -- all the while honing the skills that would cement him evermore as The First Tangible Signal Of Earth's Demise In The Impending Millennium, regaling customers with his off-the-cuff song stylings, "A little bit of Spam in my life. A little bit of Hormel Meat-Like Product in my life. A little bit ofwhat's this? A record contract? For me? Hey, thanks!" And I, four seconds out of college and mistakenly believing that I still had any chance of remaining cool here in the mid-to-late July of my years, went to see Go at a Manhattan movie theater. For only eight dollars! Sniff. Come come, glorified pre-century rave mentality. Back when ripping off the cinematic structure of Quentin Tarantino wasn't yet a crime punishable by death-by-Hollywood-banishment. Back when being known as "that guy from Party of Five" or "that chick from Dawson's Creek" wasn't exactly the industry poison that such an epithet might be interpreted as today. Sure, Fichtner's sex appeal might have been a bit more of a niche market than it was to become at its height (if, indeed, the height has been reached), but I suspect he knew that would change very soon, and for the better. In a way, I think we all knew.
The opening credits roll over shots of E-induced euphoria (not the entertainment network, you chastened post-2K downers; besides, that "E" would have had an exclamation point after itduh) at some serious kind of rave thing going on. Cut from this shaking of fresh teen booty (you can rewind it all you wantI know I did. Mere description just won't transport you quite the way watching it will) to inside of what looks like a diner, where a ragged-looking, ratty-haired Katie Holmes talks at a healthy clip to another person we'll ambiguously nickname -- for the sake of not giving anything away -- "The Back Of Timothy Olyphant's Head." She half-smiles, "You know what I like best about Christmas? The surprises. I mean, it's like you get this box, and you're sure you know what's inside of it. Y'know, you shake it, you weigh it, you're totally convinced you have it pegged. No doubt in your mind. But then you open it up and it's totally different." Is that what it's like, Katie? Is that just exactly what it's like? Sing us another verse from Bing Crosby's instant holiday classic "Have Yourself a Metaphor Little Christmas," won't you? Instead, Katie thanks the screenwriting gods that the mutant mole people didn't take even a meager ration of plot exposition underground with them and their Spam and their Hormel Meat-Like Product, seeing as they have no need for future exposition (because of the end of the world and all), and also because it spoils as quickly as this rapidly ripening dialogue, so what good could it be to them way down there? And she expositions thusly: "I mean, it's kind of like you and me here, you know? I'm not saying it's anything it's not, it'sc'mon, this time yesterday, who woulda thunk it?"
Go
Cut to an establishing shot of a supermarket called the "It's This Time Yesterday And No One Is Thinking It Emporium." Actually, it's called "Sons," and it appears there was a second half of that word which has since fallen from the faade. It's "Ram" meets "Shackle." It's ramshackle. Check. A close-up on about forty cans of frozen orange juice concentrate cuts to Sarah "Turns Out My Hereafter Wasn't So Sweet After All" Polley, playing the check-out girl and grimacing at her sorry, minimum-wage lot in life. And trying to cement her plain blonde image in our collective pop-culture consciousness in a vain attempt to convince us that there was a time in Hollywood history when she achieved a level of fame that was not in a perpetual dead heat with the likes of Leelee Sobieski. We believe you, Sarah. Sure, in 2001 "Atom Egoyan" doesn't sound like much more than the antagonist in a poorly dubbed addition to the King Kong oeuvre, but he was on your speed dial once, and that's okay.
Without looking at the woman whose groceries she's ringing up, Sarah tiredly asks, "Paper or plastic?" No answer. She asks again. And again. And again. She finally barks it right in the face of the woman, and said woman responds "both" without looking up from the cash she's counting while holding a baby in her arms. Apparently, Baby Holder considers this lip to be the highest form of hubris, for she stares at Polley after a few more barbed exchanges and takes her down: "Don't think you're something you're not. I used to have your job." Sarah shoots back, "Look how far it got you." An intertitle screen reading "Ronna" appears, because the director has momentarily forgotten, I guess, that this is not a silent movie. At least it doesn't read "The Ronna Situation." Because otherwise that would have been a bit of a Pulp Fiction rip-off right there.
"Deck the Halls" kicks up on a supermarket muzak system as Polly Olly Oxen Peeved makes her way to the coveted Employees Only section of the store. She walks right past Katie and Desmond "Simon from Go" Askew, Katie warning him at the sight of her, "Don't." He asks, "Why not?" and it's double coupon day for the Exposition Fairy, who floats down and reminds us, "Because she's been on for fourteen hours." Simon approaches Ronna, madly in the process of retrieving items from her locker and punching out, but before he gets around to asking whatever Katie warned him not to ask, Ronna snaps, "No." He reminds her, "Christmas is a time for giving!" She snarkily apologizes for not being in a "holly jolly mood," dumping out the contents of her embroidered stocking and discovering only a black lump of awkward exposition inside, continuing on, "I'm getting evicted tomorrow." Simon does himself no favors in currying favor, failing to crack up his audience of everyone but me in telling her that she'd be "ho-ho-homeless." Hee. That Simon. As she prepares to ditch the supermarket entirely, he offers to switch shifts with her so he can go with his "mates" to Las Vegas. She takes the money. "I'll throw in an extra twenty for a blow job." She gives him the finger.
Go
Back inside The It's This Time Yesterday And No One Is Thinking It Emporium, a woman with a shopping cart reaches for a bottle of orange juice, which is ripped away from her from behind the aisle in one of my favorite shots in cinematic history. Seriously. It's the "Rosebud" shot at the end of Citizen Kane, except it's the "Attack Of The Killer Concentrate" shot and it's in the first four minutes of Go. Behind the scenes of the refrigerator aisle, Sarah, Katie, and New Boy play a spirited round of something called "Dead Celebrities" -- because the "Royale With Cheese" conversation has already been had, and someone else is already the foot fuckin' master -- where the name of the dead celebrity is a challenge for the opponent, who must in turn name a dead celebrity whose first name begins with the same letter as the dead celebrity's last name. Omar Sharif. Steve McQueen. Michael Landon. Lee Marvin. Sarah, taking fake drags off a cigarette she has no intention of ever learning how to smoke, tries to use "Malcolm X," which is a perfectly good answer, and is told she can't use him. Which is bullshit, because it's an automatic stumper. She loses the round and ends up back at the checkout line, which is where the plot is all going down anyway. Let's go see!
Yay! It's my TV boyfriend Scott "Bailey" Wolf and his movie boyfriend (er, spoiler?) Jay Mohr, talking fast either because he's a low-level drug dealer playing a smarmy role or he's late for the open casting call for Action. Run, Jay! This show could be your big break. More O.J. concentrate, as Bailey (or, for the purposes of this film, "Gailey") smiles apologetically at Sarah while Jay ACTS UP into a cell phone, "What do you mean he's snowed in?" Gailey asks if "the British guy" still works there (he means Simon! Simon from Go!) , and upon finding out he's taken off for Vegas, Jay decides that Ronna appears strung out enough to know people on the inside. He tells her that they're going to this party -- Gailey produces a card from his pocket with a cartoon Santa reading "Mary X-mas Super Fest" -- and tells her that they're having a pre-party and promised twenty hits of some kind of drug something. Sarah takes a number and tells them she'll see what she can do. Sigh. Hi, Bailey.
Sarah counts cash in the passenger seat of New Boy's car, Katie warning from the back, "You know Simon's in Vegas." Sarah responds that she's going to go directly to "Todd," and New Boy clarifies, "Todd Gaines?" That's Simon (from Go's) dealer, and New Boy tells her that it's "an evolutionary leap," and to go directly to his dealer would be "moving up the drug food chain without permission." Sarah tells them both to "chill the fuck out" (as if some WB-sanctioned permutation of that line weren't already hurled in Katie's direction on a fairly consistent basis), and that they'll go back to overpaying Simon when he gets back to town. The Debased Drum Samples Of Debased Teens Who Just Say Yes ring through the Los Angeles night.