There's always a risk calling your film something like 'Perfect Sense'; because, sooner or later, someone's going to point at the Emperor's New Clothes and go: "Perfect mince, more like!" Especially in Glasgow.
Let's just say there's nothing perfect about this film; it's unintentionally funny; it utterly fails to make anything of its central location; it is embarrassingly pretentious; and it is horrendously scripted and acted. Except for a few small scenes, Ewan McGregor relies on his goofy smile to earn him audience sympathy, while Eva Green's one-note, we've-seen-it-all- before performance is just the wrong side of arrogance, like she feels she's superior to everyone else in the cast. I don't, for one minute, actually believe she's an epidemiologist.
The central conceit of the film is, of course, absolutely ridiculous -- an inexplicable epidemic is gradually depriving humanity of its senses, starting with smell and taste, then going straight for hearing and sight. (What happened to touch, one wonders?) This isn't, in itself, a problem, except that any suspension of disbelief is undermined by the film choosing to push this medical nonsense to the fore, rather than hide it behind some believable characterisation, recognisable plot or even some energetic hand-waving. Instead, we're left with a snail's-paced, condescending, sledge-hammer meditation on how we've all lost touch with each other. Or something like that.
The worst thing about this film isn't all the talent and money that went into its production; it's the question of what has gone wrong with David Mackenzie? Young Adam and Hallam Foe were startling and innovative cinematic works. Now it would seem he's had a narrative lobotomy. And whoever told him it would a good idea to strap his camera to a bicycle really should be shot. They invented steady cam for a reason.
Let's just say there's nothing perfect about this film; it's unintentionally funny; it utterly fails to make anything of its central location; it is embarrassingly pretentious; and it is horrendously scripted and acted. Except for a few small scenes, Ewan McGregor relies on his goofy smile to earn him audience sympathy, while Eva Green's one-note, we've-seen-it-all- before performance is just the wrong side of arrogance, like she feels she's superior to everyone else in the cast. I don't, for one minute, actually believe she's an epidemiologist.
The central conceit of the film is, of course, absolutely ridiculous -- an inexplicable epidemic is gradually depriving humanity of its senses, starting with smell and taste, then going straight for hearing and sight. (What happened to touch, one wonders?) This isn't, in itself, a problem, except that any suspension of disbelief is undermined by the film choosing to push this medical nonsense to the fore, rather than hide it behind some believable characterisation, recognisable plot or even some energetic hand-waving. Instead, we're left with a snail's-paced, condescending, sledge-hammer meditation on how we've all lost touch with each other. Or something like that.
The worst thing about this film isn't all the talent and money that went into its production; it's the question of what has gone wrong with David Mackenzie? Young Adam and Hallam Foe were startling and innovative cinematic works. Now it would seem he's had a narrative lobotomy. And whoever told him it would a good idea to strap his camera to a bicycle really should be shot. They invented steady cam for a reason.