“The Fanatic” will be remembered, first and foremost, for John Travolta’s crazed and out-of-its-bloody-mind performance as deranged celeb stalker Moose. Directed by Fred Durst, the film is a watchable 88-minute jaunt into already-tackled cinematic territory (think “The King of Comedy,” “Misery” and “The Fan”).
Durst ostensibly took inspiration from an experience he had with a wack-job admirer and whatever Durst’s film lacks in freshness it, somewhat, compensates in sheer unadulterated trashiness. Travolta’s Moose is a socially awkward hermit living in Los Angeles whose unhealthy passion for actor Hunter Dunbar (Devon Sawa) exceeds normal levels.
The movie ends up moving in rather familiar steps. Moose ends up finding Dunbar’s home address, using the info to stalk the private residence. Travolta, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a wig, is bat-shit intense in the film, so much so that you do end up wondering if even Nic Cage would have advised Travolta to turn it down a notch or two with his performance. It’s fascinating to watch Travolta go all-out for this role. The actor clearly has an affinity for Moose and seems to relish in playing this psychopath— that, in fact, prevents parody from invading every frame.
However, this investment in performance is both a blessing and a curse for Travolta as he does have to deal with some of the screenplay’s cliches — the script was co-written by Durst and collaborator Dave Bekerman. Moose’s arc is that of every stalker, there’s the self-denial that he’s even stalking despite the fact that he breaks and enters into Dunbar’s residence as if it’s a perfectly normal thing. When the famous actor finally arrives home after a long day’s work, Moose stays there, lurking behind closets and pantries to watch his favorite actor “in action.”
However, this all begs me to ask the question, were Durst and Travolta in on the joke or did they actually take this movie seriously when making it? The schlocky midnight camp cannot be denied, but excluding its ridiculous climax, many scenes do feel like they were shot with a straight face, although a few others come out with a wink or slyly humorous nod.
Of course, my recommending “The Fanatic” is a tricky proposition — the best thing I can say about the film is that it’s never boring. It goes from scene to scene with such reckless, don’t-give-a-damn gonzo-ness that your eyes can’t help but stay glued to the screen. Despite Durst’s best intentions to take full directorial control of his film, Travolta takes over with a performance filled with tics and ticking time-bomb aggression. It’s quite the acting effort, turning the trashy B-movie sensibilities into a total and utter freak show.