Once dubbed by Details magazine as “the meanest man in Hollywood,” writer-director Neil LaBute has indeed made some of the most caustic, cruel and wickedly funny films in contemporary cinema. His work as a playwright was no less vicious – his plays have provoked anger from critics and audiences alike, prompting one audience members to call for blood and the Mormon Church – of which he has been a member – to disfellowship him for his negative characterizations of the faithful. But the most frequent – and disavowed – criticism of LaBute has been to label him a misogynist. Time and again, LaBute had to defend himself against the charge, particularly with “In the Company of Men” (1997), an acid bath of a film about two corporate lackeys (Aaron Eckhart and Matt Malloy) who scheme to bed, then dump a blind woman (Stacy Edwards) from their office. Though the film launched his career as a director, it brought with it heaps of critical scorn. His later films – “Nurse Betty” (2000) and “Possession” (2002) in particular – did stem the tide: the same critics claimed that he had gone soft. For an iconoclast like LaBute, such criticism only reinforced his belief in his work, as he continued to defy, outrage and shed light on the seamy underbelly of human nature.
Born in Detroit, MI and raised near Spokane, WA, LaBute was reared in a home dominated by his intimidating father, a long-haul truck driver whose lengthy absences were shadowed by the imminence of his return. A quiet kid, LaBute participated in church and Bible study despite his parents’ lack of spirituality. But LaBute’s chief religion was watching foreign films on public television, an activity his stay-at-home mom encouraged, ultimately fueling his dramatic desires. In high school, where he was president of his class, LaBute starred in several school productions, including “You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown,” “Arsenic and Old Lace” and the old high school staple, “Our Town.” He then received a scholarship to attend Brigham Young University in Utah, a staunchly conservative school that somehow allowed LaBute’s subversive nature to thrive. Though he eventually joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, his work openly defied church strictures that commanded of its members to avoid everything from attending R-rated movies to having impure thoughts – let alone expressing them in vitriolic dialogue. LaBute was both the scourge and the darling of BYU’s theater department, a rebel who caused both fear and admiration among the faculty.
He went on to earn his bachelor’s in 1985, married college sweetheart Lisa Gore, then got a master’s from the University of Kansas and another in dramatic writing from New York University. While in New York, he staged his first play, “Filthy Talk for Troubled Times,” a biting and often vulgar set of monologues that inflamed an audience member enough to stand up and shout, “Kill the playwright!” Meanwhile, he tried to find work as a sketch writer – his penchant for quickly written short plays put the idea into his head –but one phone call to a gruff Lorne Michaels at “Saturday Night Live” quickly dispelled the notion. After moving to Fort Wayne, IN, LaBute began writing in earnest, though the plays he churned out were stored away as he supported himself teaching dramatic writing and working at a psychiatric hospital. It was while working at St. Francis College, however, that LaBute took his first steps towards making his first feature, “In the Company of Men.” With $25,000 donated from two former students who cobbled together insurance money from a car accident, LaBute took his first steps as a film director.
LaBute shot “In the Company of Men” in 11 days with a crew of volunteers from all walks of life from around Fort Wayne. The film made its festival debut at the 1997 Sundance Film Festival where it provoked strong reactions, including several walkouts by audience members. LaBute was surprised to hear women complimenting him on making such a feminist movie – his depiction of men behaving badly revealed the unseemly side of masculinity that, if directed by a woman, the film might have been construed as male bashing. “In the Company of Men” won him the Filmmakers Trophy at Sundance, then made the festival rounds – Cannes, Edinburgh, Montreal – earning LaBute several more awards, including the 1997 award for Directorial Debut from the New York Film Critics Circle. The film itself took in close to $3 million in domestic box office – more than enough to recoup production costs and the $250,000 Sony Pictures Classics ponied up for post-production. It also generated the same strong reactions from audiences and critics, prompting one viewer to sock a Manhattan publicist after a screening. If there was one thing LaBute was afraid of, however, it was an indifference towards his film.
His next film, “Your Friends and Neighbors” (1998), one-upped the vitriol and shallowness of character that was on display in “In the Company of Men,” telling the story of six ruthless characters who engage each other in sexual power games. Jerry and Terri (Ben Stiller and Catherine Keener) are married, but Jerry begins an affair with Mary (Amy Brenneman), who is unsatisfied in her marriage to Barry (Aaron Eckhart). The affair sets off a chain of consequences affecting everyone, including Terri, who falls for a woman, Cheri (Nastassja Kinski). Meanwhile, Cary (a superb Jason Patric) engages in meaningless and sometimes violent relations with numerous women. The usual outrage from audiences and critics followed, particularly in regards to Patric’s character recounting his best sexual experience – the gang rape of a fellow high school student. “Your Friends & Neighbors” made the festival circuit rounds, but netted few awards. It did double the box office take of “In the Company of Men,” however – close to $5 million all told – and was widely considered to be a comeback vehicle for Jason Patric. No violent reactions from audience members were reported, but LaBute again was happy for the strong emotional response -- either good and ill – that he received.
LaBute ran afoul of the Mormon church after staging his acclaimed 1999 play, “Bash: Latter-Day Plays,” a set of three one-acts – the first two monologues – in the mold of old Greek confessionals that depicted Mormon characters talking about everything from infanticide to the brutal murder of a homosexual man. The play prompted the church to disfellowship LaBute – though not excommunication, he was forced to forego receiving the sacrament. The only way for LaBute to get back into their good graces was to stop writing bad things – an impossibility that led LabBute’s split from the church a few years later. His next film, “Nurse Betty” (2000), though not typical LaBute territory – mainly because he didn’t write it – nonetheless tread into the dark alleys of celebrity obsession and murder. The film, which starred Renee Zellweger as a delusional waitress who travels cross-country to meet Dr. David Ravell (Greg Kinnear), a soap opera character whom she thinks is real, earned the most box office dollars for a LaBute movie to date – close to $25 million – and generated critical accusations that the director had gone soft.
LaBute’s next film, “Possession” (2002), a sweeping semi-period romance about two modern-day academics (Gwyneth Paltrow and Aaron Eckhart) who retrace the love affair of two Victorian poets (Jeremy Northam and Jennifer Ehle) while discovering their own burgeoning, if halting, romantic feelings, seemed to confirm calls that the writer-director had lost his edge. Adapted from A.S. Byatt’s novel, LaBute’s “Possession” showed a side of the director that fans had never before seen and perhaps never want to again. He returned to form with “The Mercy Seat” (2002), a stage drama focusing on a man who tries to use the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center as an excuse to disappear from his family and run away with his boss and mistress. Staged just a year after the actual real-life horrific events, “The Mercy Seat” emerged at a time when most plays were commemorating the people who were killed – not the killers. LaBute, on the other hand, took a shovel to the head of decorum and bashed it senseless, creating a stunning and frequently funny look at abject selfishness in the face of national tragedy. “The Mercy Seat” opened to mixed reviews and was considered to be a lesser LaBute work.
His next film, “The Shape of Things” (2003), a caustic male-female relationship comedy that was adapted from his 2001 play, followed a nebbish college student (Paul Rudd) who is reshaped into a good-looking, confident guy by an art major (Rachel Weisz). His best friend (Frederick Weller), however, doesn’t like the new changes, while his fiancée (Gretchen Mol) discovers feelings for his friend she never knew she had. “The Shape of Things” didn’t outrage so much as disappoint – few people cared enough to see it in theaters (it took in less than $1 million) and critics were less than enthusiastic.
After publishing a collection of 20 short stories called Seconds of Pleasure, which depicted men and women in various romantic entanglements, LaBute turned to the stage again with “Fat Pig” (2004), a harsh and humiliating look at love, honesty and sacrifice in relationships. First staged at New York’s Lucille Lortel Theatre, “Fat Pig” followed the affair of an overweight librarian and a technology company employee too embarrassed by his new love’s girth to show her off to friends and family.
LaBute created a few more head-scratchers with his next film, “The Wicker Man” (2006), a remake of the 1973 British horror film about a Scottish police officer who goes to a remote island to find a missing girl, only to discover the inhabitants engaged in strange and secretive rituals.