There’s something not quite tongue in cheek about Grosse Pointe Blank’s approach to satirising the excesses of the 1980s; perhaps the subject matter is too close to home for me to really get it, having lived through that era as a contemporary of its main character. Nevertheless, it is an oddly enjoyable film — odd because it’s really quite hard for me to put a finger on why it was so enjoyable.
Apparently Grosse Pointe is a ‘nice’ suburban township near Detroit, Michigan. It certainly looks pretty ‘nice’ in the film. Just the kind of place you’d expect a high school reunion to take place, but hardly the location for a four-way showdown between seriously psychotic hit men, interspersed with sentimental nostalgia, and an extended existential awakening to the truth that it’s time to move on from a romanticised past and face the existentially awkward present.
We are drawn into the almost mundane life of hit man Martin Blank and see the world of that day, the later 1990s, through his eyes. John Cusack comes across as almost naively fresh-faced, youthful and … well, blank. An illusion quickly undermined by his profession as a hit man, and by his moral vacuity.