I’m blogging under the influence of Michael Rogin, but I can’t help but wonder if Grosse Point Blank’s strange marriage of 80’s romance comedy and 90’s spy thriller is intended to teach us to stop worrying and love, if not the bomb, then the idea of privatized political murder. The movie’s dominant theme is, after all, a certain kind of anti-nostalgia–nicely played by Cusack’s inability to tell whether he’s threatened by the past or being attacked by an assassin–in which the point is not so much that you <em>like</em> the past as that you can’t get away from it, so you might as well have some punch and pretend you didn’t hate it. And out of this move, the desire to become a better person seems to drain away: Cusack gives up analysis when he discovers that shooting people can be both fun and virtuous, while Minnie Driver closes the film out by vowing to accept rather than forgive. And she apparently goes off with him, after his his ability to shoot lots of people has convinced her father, for the first time, that he’s an alright guy. Other subtexts intrude, too: Cusack loathes himself, but as much as he might be troubled by being a lone gunman, there’s nothing quite as bad as joining a union, apparently. Far, far better thing to smash Dan Ackroyd with a TV.