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by Jason Adams
I think it was Roger Ebert who once said about Geena Davis she seemed difficult to cast in the movies as a normal human being because she always looked more like a Valkyrie come down from Valhalla than she ever did a simple waitress. And, Roger Ebert thinking with his hormones aside, he wasn't entirely wrong. For every Thelma there was a pirate, an assassin, a gigantic vampire countess waiting in the wings. Even in a reality-based movie like The Accidental Tourist it was her proto Manic Pixie character that represented a break in the mundane -- Geena Davis sweeping in always feels like an occasion!
That's why I think some of her absolute best work came in films where the reality rose up to meet her on her larger-than-life level. Her six full feet of rosy-cheeked goddessness needed a heightened world to roam most comfortably within, something like the afterlife wackiness of Tim Burton's Beetlejuice, or as with today's subject, the deranged splatter romance of David Cronenberg's 1986 The Fly remake...
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