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Reviews
Legally Blonde (2001)
blondes have law fun
Gentlemen, an announcement. Legally Blonde despite possessing a title worthy of porn and a Racquel Welch cameo is, in fact, a chick flick. A girly movie, right from its pink squiggly titles through to its `be what you wanna be' conclusion. The kind of thing women enjoy when they've just split up with their boyfriends; like chocolate, or shagging their ex's best friend. No need to get upset, though: like the previous girly film from writer Karen McCullah Lutz (10 Things I Hate About You), it's a very entertaining one.
Our pretty protagonist is Elle Woods (Reese Witherspoon), a prom-Queen, Clueless-type teen from Bel Air who lives for Prada and fluffy pink things. She's blonde. Her primary ambition in life is to marry her boyfriend, the debonair Warner Huntingdon III (Matthew Davis). He's not blond, and he doesn't take her seriously (hiss!), becuase he wants to be a Senator by the time he's thirty, and he needs a `Jackie, not Marilyn'. So he dumps her. And she follows him to Harvard Law School to show him she's more than just a blonde.
Except, in the true tradition of fish-out-of-water comedy, she isn't really more than a blonde, because that wouldn't be funny. Instead of changing herself, she endears herself to her contemporaries as the film goes on, which does, at times, create slightly uncomfortable viewing: are we supposed to be laughing at this crude caricature, or with her? This is a film that wants us to empathise with a dizzy blonde standing up for the rights of dizzy blondes to be treated as if they weren't dizzy blondes, which is a bit like Bernard Manning asking not to be treated like a fat racist Northerner.
Because the character remains so static, Witherspoon never really gets a chance to show what a great actress she can be (as those who have seen the far more satisfying Election will confirm). Actually, though this is undoubtedly Witherspoon's movie, the real breakthrough performance here is Jennifer Coolidge (Stifler's Mom from American Pie), who, in her supporting scenes as Elle's nail artist, reveals herself as a very capable comedy actress.
But these minor points of critique are, like, so irrelevant to the average viewer of Legally Blonde. This is a film that will make a lot of people (mostly girls) very happy. And, to quote Elle's legal advice, `happy people just don't kill their husbands. They just don't.' So us men gain too.
American Pie 2 (2001)
Wanky Yanky Panky
"A guy puts his dick in a pie and that's a movie?"
That, or something very much like it, was Spike Lee's reaction two years ago to a certain pastry-penetrating $11 million teen comedy that stole the summer box office and went on to gross $150 million worldwide. If you shared Spike's cynicism of the original, lord only knows what you'll make of the sequel, in which not only the penis - but also the mouth and anus - are unpleasantly violated for our viewing pleasure. But the chances are, you'll find yourself laughing.
The first film may well have ended with the four central characters toasting "the next step" after having lost their virginity. However, any fears that that next step might have involved the resolution of their neuroses, a less demeaning attitude to women, or indeed any kind of growing up at all, happily prove unfounded. Every member of the original cast is back, so that means more Jim (Jason Biggs) and his desperate quest for experience with the curiously-accented, amply-endowed Nadia (Shannon Elizabeth), more Finch (Eddie Kaye Thomas) lusting over a woman twice his age, and - joyfully - more of Jim's Dad (Eugene Levy) walking in at awkward moments and livening up the proceedings with sublimely awkward pep talks.
What's changed is the location: one year has now passed since the guys departed East Great Falls High for college, and, aiming for the best summer of their lives, they hire out a lakeside cabin and wait for the girls to roll on in. When this doesn't quite happen as planned, the boys seek out other ways to widen their sexual experience. Oz (Chris Klien) opts for phone sex in an attempt to maintain his long distance relationship with Heather (Mena Suvari). Stifler (Carrey-alike Seann William Scott, who should be given his own movie, right now, and possibly also a crown) breaks into the house next door and discovers a vibrator. And, in the most welcome plot development, Jim gets to visit band camp and reconvene with his prom partner Michelle (Alyson Hannigan). And then gets a trumpet up his a***.
Has any film ever made been quite so acutely aware of its target audience? Writers Adam Herz and David H. Steinberg have clearly been doing their research: close your eyes and, as each set-piece looms nearer, you can almost hear the sound of innumerable focus groups behind the scenes, all consisting entirely of adolescent boys, all being asked exactly the same question - "And what's the worst thing that could happen now?" The humiliations they dream up as a result only moderately compete with that initial dick-in-a-pie shock of yore; yet, like its predecessor, this movie succeeds magnificently in tuning into today's teenage moviegoers, their popcorn attention spans, and their appetite for embarrassment. Why simply get caught wanking by your parents when you can get caught by the whole town? Why simply be using your hands when you can be using lubricant? Why simply use lubricant when you could be using... ah, but that would be telling.
And yet things are never allowed to get out of hand (pun intended): under all the gross-out humour runs a pulse of carefully calculated conservatism. Family values are mocked, but never undermined. Halfway into the film, and according to tradition, director James B. Rogers rewards his audience with a hard-earned glimpse of tit (lesbian tit at that). But whenever it all seems to be getting a bit too "Porky's", the sentimental music intervenes and we're reminded that, hey kids - sometimes it's all about respect. This smoothness of production threatens the rawness of the franchise somewhat, but it's to the filmmakers' credit that so many sketchy loose ends are tied together for a happy ending that (just) avoids substituting comedy with corniness. It may not be a movie, Spike, but it is funny. Let's just hope they call it a day before number three.
The Score (2001)
Get a grip, Bobbie
It's been four years since Jackie Brown. In the intermittent period,
Robert De Niro's reputation as one of the finest actors of his
generation has remained unblemished. Time for a rethink. After
the unenviable hat-trick of Flawless, 15 Minutes, and, most
bizzarely, The Adventures Of Rocky And Bullwinkle, the sour-faced
master of Method has once again opted to star in a movie that
neglects the most basic elements of storytelling and requires him
only to scowl a bit. And play with some cool gadgets.
De Niro plays Nick, a veteran smooth criminal whose day job
invovles running a Montreal Jazz bar, and whose extra-cirricular
skills include breaking into a safe faster than Houdini could break
out of one. Asked by his eccentric middle man Max (a whale-sized
Marlon Brando) to endeavour on "one...last...job" for a cool $6
million, his initial reaction is to refuse the prospect because of the
risk. But after some persuasive encounters with the up-and-coming young heister Jack (Edward Norton), he changes
his mind and - guess what? - the con is on.
Director Frank Oz (In & Out, Bowfinger) has never tackled a thriller
before, and it shows - his lengthy, steady, shadow-shaded
photography is so concerned with mimicking noirish cinema that
he forgets to build up any tension for the first ninety minutes. He is
unaided by a shocking script that allows for no conflict, no
back-story, and no comprehensible understanding of what the
object they are trying to steal actually is. And our hero's motive? If
he does the steal, he gets to pay off the mortgage. Genius. If I
finish writing this review, I can go to Starbuck's and get a coffee. To
be fair, things do step up a gear for the final reel, but to say that a
heist movie has a good heist scene is like saying that Karma
Sutra has some sex in it.
Of course it's not exactly De Niro's fault that it all turned out this
way, but, considering the influence he must wield in Hollywood, it
surely wouldn't have been difficult for him to demand script
changes that might actually have made himself and his co-stars
shine in the way that they ought to. Movie fans all over the world
should join hands and hope that he has now learned his lesson
and can return to form. However, considering his next two projects
are sequels to Analze This and Meet The Parents, that's some
hope indeed.
Toy Story 2 (1999)
a great sequel to a great movie
Creating a sequel to one of the most original and enduring family favourites of the nineties was always going to be a risky business just ask the producers of 'Babe: Pig In The City'. And, what with established characters, million-dollar merchandising and the likes of Tom Hanks on board, it would not have been entirely surprising if this latest Disney sequel had suffered from complacency. So how refreshing it is to find that 'Toy Story 2' is just as vibrant, innovative, and relentlessly entertaining as its predecessor.
Reuniting the original cast Woody, Buzz, Mr. Potato Head et al, plus a few new additions with co-director Lasseter and his creative cohorts at Pixar, the ingenious plot involves the kidnapping of Woody by a ghoulish toy collector determined to sell him to a museum, and the other toys' hilarious attempts at a rescue mission. Discovering the secrets of his past along the way (it turns out he was once the star of a 50s TV show, Woody's Roundup', lovingly recreated for our pleasure), the cowboy has to face a brace of poignant moral dilemmas most specifically, whether he should sacrifice an extended shelf-life to be with his friends and his owner Andy. Whilst the animation is never allowed to detract from the characters and the story, some of the new graphics are breathtaking; the human and canine characters are now nearly as authentic at the toys themselves, and, as before, every frame has been carefully attended to - no texture, shadow or background detail is left unchecked and parts of the movie (not least the dazzling finale) are strikingly, invigoratingly visual.
Fans of the original will no doubt be left wanting to see more of the three-eyed green creatures, who continually steal every scene they're in, and the contributions of Randy Newman - whose original songs so helped to define the whole feel of the first film - are sadly limited to one gooey flashback sequence and a couple of reprises of You've Got A Friend In Me'. But 'Toy Story 2' has rounded, loveable characters, staggeringly well-crafted set-pieces, and, perhaps most impressively, moments of genuine pathos - whilst the rapid and cross-generational humour is of a calibre hardly ever achieved by live-action movies. If you're not smiling by the time you leave the cinema or turn off that video, there is something clinically wrong with you.
The Dish (2000)
one small step for cinema... but still fun
As all current English undergraduates know, being born in the 80's was a bit crap. While we are constantly reminded how our parents kept busy burning their bras, screaming at The Beatles and establishing the notion of free love, our collective cultural contribution as yet is Blur v Oasis, the birth of digital television, and the ironic recreation of Seventies fashion. We also managed to miss the most remarkable achievement in the history of our planet - man landing on the moon and 'The Dish' is here to rub our noses in it.
The movie follows the little-known story of the team led by Cliff Buxton (Sam Neill) who ran the enormous radio telescope responsible for receiving those famous images of Armstrong and co as they completed their lunar landing. Somewhat unbelievably, the dish of the title was not located, as one might expect, in Houston, or Florida, but in the middle of a sheep paddock in New South Wales, Australia.
The film does well at playing up the obvious humour of a small town in spasm at the prospect of a visit from the American Ambassador, NASA, and the Prime Minister of Australia. It's an ensemble piece crammed full with great supporting performances the young man obsessed with his Army training, the incompetent security guard who revels in carrying a gun, the politically rebellious Mayor's daughter determined to dampen everyone's enthusiasm and even Eliza Szonert ('Neighbours'' Dannii Stark, fact fans) comes out trumps in her role as local totty Janine.
But where the film falters is that the main characters are also little more than well-rounded charicatures, defined by their jobs or their family, with only occasional glimpses of human interest' clumsily thrown at them in an effort to make them more complex. In a film such as this, where the real action is happening in outer space and the outcome is a forgone conclusion (we all know that man made it to the moon), what suspense there is must come from whether or not the individual characters succeed in their ambitions, and the gentle affection they provoke is, unfortunately, not quite enough to keep the audience on side.
There are some hilarious moments of Aussie-American diplomacy the town band mistaking the Hawaii 5-0' theme for the U.S. National Anthem, for example but the full comedy of such situations is never quite realised, presumably to ensure no potential foreign audiences are offended. Indeed, 'The Dish' seems to go out of its way to be inoffensive to everyone, which some will find refreshing in the modern climate of comedy - but vulgarity, as we all know from 'Muriel's Wedding' and 'Priscilla', is what everyone expects from Australian cinema. Like its predecessor, 'The Castle', Rob Sitch's latest will not repeat overseas its incredible success back home, but one random Bank Holiday you'll see it on TV, and you'll like it. And thirty years later, you can make everyone born after 2010 feel sorry that they didn't see it when you did.
The Terminator (1984)
An action movie classic
Back in the days when 'Titanic' was just a big old boat and the script for 'Junior' had not yet been accidentally dropped in the greenlight pile, James Cameron was the up-and-coming director of low-budget action movie 'Piranha II: Flying Killers' and Arnold Schwarzenegger was a towering Teutonic wunderkind that you wouldn't want to mess with. Together they made 'The Terminator', and transformed a genre forever.
The concept is fantastically simple: an unstoppable killing machine (Schwarzenegger) goes back in time to kill Sarah Connor (Linda Hamilton), future mother of John Connor, leader of the resistance. The direction is intelligent, humorous, and stylistic; Cameron gradually builds up the tension with a series of stacked set pieces that result in a fast-paced finale that effortlessly blends the intensity of face-to-face combat with the spectacle of bullet-ridden cops flying across the screen.
Oh yes, it's all very easy to laugh at the eighties perms, disco boogying and dated special effects. It's even easier to pick holes in the script: why, for example, when Sarah proves so difficult to kill, doesn't the Terminator go back in time another thirty years and kill her mother? And why, if he can expertly mimic anyone, does he choose to speak like a cack-brained Austrian?
Such distractions, however, do not override the fact that lying under this classic audience-pleaser is a dark, serious, emotive movie, with a convincing performance from Michael Biehn as Reese, and a genuinely disturbing man v machine subtext that still resonates today.
It's about time the commonly held misconception that Arnie's sixteen lines somehow form the basis of the movie is exposed as falsehood. Yet an attempt to find any other performer who could request a `phased plasma pulse-laser in the forty watt range' with quite the same level of automated cool would be an uphill struggle indeed. `I'll be back', he famously declares in his trademark shades. And thank Christ for that.
Malèna (2000)
Charming but lacking
'Malena' is set in Italy. Not just any old Italy, mind: classical Italy. You know, the Italy from the movies. Old women wearing black and rosy-cheeked boys on bicycles. Fellini's Italy. Benigni's Italy. The kind of sun-kissed, pasta-eating, Duce -worshipping Italy that gets romanticised to such an extent it cannot possibly resemble any European country in the last hundred years. The kind of Italy, in short, that Mel Brooks would build if he were going to make a spoof Godfather movie.
The reason for this is that that kind of Italy was also the backdrop for 'Cinema Paradiso', Guisseppe Tornatore's nostalgic tribute to the power of the silver screen and the trials of the teenage crush. Thirteen years later, the director has understandably attempted to replicate the success of that international award-winner with a return to the basic template, this time substituting the magic of cinema with the curvaceous allure of a beautiful lady.
That lady is Malena (Monica Bellucci), and she has the town divided: all the men want to sleep with her and all the women think she's a whore. But for hormonally-charged adolescent Renato (Giuseppe Sulfaro), she becomes an obsession; a reason to skip school and buy long trousers. When Malena's husband is reported dead in the War, she has to exploit her beauty to survive. And when the town turns against her, it's only Renato's unfaltering commitment to her which remains.
It is rare that a child actor can carry a whole film but Salfaro is sensitive and superb. And Lajos Koltais' photography thoroughly deserved its Oscar nomination the film looks stunning. It's the confection of the movie, however, that doesn't quite hit the mark. The characters are thin, the War-time setting is shamefully underused, and the tone is rarely allowed to rise above Renato's shallow fantasies. When the film notches up a level and Malena is publicly humiliated, the result is a harrowing piece of cinema, but it clashes uncomfortably with the sentimental whimsy and fetishisation that preceded it.
That said, if this tale of unrequited love, teenage penis-measuring and ample-bosomed beauty were made in England, it would be low-budget and depressing. If it were American, it would descend into sub-Farrelly cum jokes. But somehow, despite its structural faults, 'Malena' is charming. The film lacks depth, but there are still some great moments, a Morricone score, and vivid and inventive direction from Tornatore. If that's what you're looking for, you won't be disappointed. But then, if that's what you were looking for, you could rent 'Cinema Paradiso'.
Hamlet (2000)
The film is out of joint
HAMLET (12) Director: Michael Almereyda Starring: Ethan Hawke, Kyle MacLachlan, Bill Murray, Julia Stiles *** (three stars)
`New York City, 2000'. That's the caption that greets us at the outset of Michael Almereyda's 'Hamlet', the latest big-screen outing for Shakespeare's most famous rebel. `Aha!', we are expected to shriek delightedly, `this is radical! Shakespeare? In contemporary America? What will they think of next?'
So assured are the makers of this movie that such a reaction will be achieved, it seems that everything beyond the central concept that the characters work for Denmark Corporation and visit the Elsinore Hotel for press conferences is somewhat neglected.
At 111 minutes, this has to be one of the shortest Hamlet's ever, but the basic story does at least remain intact: following the death of his father (the CEO of the corporation), amateur filmmaker Hamlet (Ethan Hawke) is visited in his apartment by the ghost of his father (Sam Shepard) and told of the `murder most foul' committed by his Uncle Claudius (Kyle Maclachlan). Hamlet aims to take his revenge, and meantime falls in love with glamorous rock-chick Ophelia (Julia Stiles).
There certainly is potential for all this to work fabulously, but much of the casting is woeful. Hawke displays admirable dexterity in affirming his cheekbones and moodily slouching around, but he has neither the acting ability nor the oscillating charisma needed to play this most tricky of tragic heroes. There is, in his performance, none of the is-he-mad-or-not negation that typically defines the role. And the inherent self-awareness of the character, so brilliantly captured by Simon Russell Beale in the most recent London production, is limited to his filming himself with a camcorder.
Bill Murray, however, is always a pleasure to watch, and it's fascinating to see him bring his trademark sardonicism to the language of the Bard. But Bill Murray will never escape being Bill Murray, and, although Polonius is not an entirely serious character, Almereyda underplays the audience's tendency to laugh whenever he's on screen, which renders many of his scenes uncomfortable. Maclachlan makes a suitably sleazy Claudius, though, and Julia Stiles (most famous for '10 Things I Hate About You', a far looser but more charming Shakespeare adaptation) a fine Ophelia.
With the shadow of Baz Luhrman's superb 'Romeo + Juliet' (1996) hanging over him like the Empire State, Almereyda rejects Luhrman's sheer cinematic punch for a flatter, more traditional style of cinema. Modern adaptations need modern visualization, and Almereyda's direction is flat and uninspiring. One does have to marvel at his occasional audacity (he sets the `To Be Or Not To Be' soliloquy in the Action aisle at Blockbuster Video), but there's no real sense of ground being broken.
All this said, there are some nice ironic touches, and the film does pass the time (which is somewhat inevitable, considering the source material). The claustrophobic New York commercialism does effectively convey the notion that `the time is out of joint', and die-hard Shakespeare fans will find the symbolization of the story attractive (both James Dean and Brandon Lee make appearances on background TV screens). But a New Shakespeare' movie (especially one which aims to be as hip and young as this) should win over new Shakespeare audiences, and, as such, this has to be considered a wasted opportunity. It's watchable enough, but at half the length of Branagh's recent interpretation, it's twice as boring.
Saltwater (2000)
an encouraging directorial debut that deserves to be seen
As any fan of Irish movies knows, the people of Ireland generally like to while away their time - between warm pints of Guinness - by embarking on secret affairs with ginger housemaids, further corroding their repressive relationships with their fathers, and building nail-bombs for the IRA. In recent years, films like 'Waking Ned' and 'I Went Down' have shamefully attempted to re-orientate this perception, emphasizing the inherent amiability and humour of the Irish people. Conor Mcpherson's 'Saltwater' dares to take this dangerous agenda even further, by setting the action in a small South Dublin seaside community and actually making the characters within it seem real. 'Michael Collins' fans beware you have been warned.
There are several plot lines in the movie, but they all orbit around the family of chip-shop owner George (Brian Cox), who has recently lost his wife and a lot of money at the bookies. His son (Peter McDonald), frustrated with the way his life is going, takes it upon himself to steal some money back for his father. And his younger brother Joe (Laurence Kinlan) is having his own problems, covering for a rebellious school-mate, and witnessing a rape that he can't get out of his mind. Meanwhile, their friend Ray (Conor Mullen), a university lecturer with a mid-life crisis, is juggling two women and an imploding career.
Around these simple ideas, and from his own script, first-time director McPherson (author of hit play 'The Weir') builds up a charming, convincing environment in which beauty can be found in monotony and havoc can ensue from familiarity; a timewarped town in which everybody knows the local policewoman and great ripples can be caused by the tiniest splash. Most impressively, he manages to inspire exceptionally natural performances from every single member of his cast, from the adolescent bully to the elderly drunkard. Rising middle-aged star Brendan Gleeson is especially good, in a supporting role as a corrupt loan shark, but top acting honours have to go to Kinlan ('Angela's Ashes'), who manages to make all American child actors look silly with a striking performance as the young man who knows too much.
'Saltwater' is an undeniably small movie, and this means it's not for everyone. There is little that is cinematic about the script, which seems to naturally belong somewhere between theatre and television (the film was adapted from McPherson's play, 'This Lime Tree Bower'). There is also some horribly plinky-plonky music, and some paper-thin characters. But elements like these didn't inhibit 'American Beauty', and, although 'Saltwater' lacks the mass-appeal of that movie, it's often just as enjoyable, and just as adept at veering between the subtly dark and the genuinely hilarious. Yes, there's nothing here that hasn't been done before but when a movie contains the most memorable hangover scene in recent memory, (worth the admission price alone), it's scarcely worth complaining. It's a very encouraging directorial debut, which deserves to be seen; a small landmark for Irish film. And there's not even a leprechaun in sight.
Flawless (1999)
Good acting - but the script is anything but flawless
"Flawless" was released in the USA in 1999. It's been out in England since November, but most English readers probably won't have heard of it. It's a buddy movie about a drag queen and a homophobic security guard who suffers a near-paralysing stroke. It's written in the style of a GCSE drama piece and directed by Joel Shumacher, he of "Batman And Robin" fame. Not exactly a mouthwatering prospect, you say? Perhaps you are wondering why it got a release at all. Well, because it stars Robert De Niro and Philip Seymour Hoffman, and they are two of the finest actors working in film today.
De Niro plays Walt Koontz (we know he's the security guard because he has a mantelpiece full of trophies, plays cards and eats donuts). Hoffman is Rusty Zimmerman, who lives next door (he's the drag queen, obviously, because he's brash, claps his hands excitedly and says things like: `Well, life's a bitch, so I became one, honey!'). After his stroke, Koontz has to side step his ultra-conservative beliefs and take singing lessons with Rusty as part of his speech therapy. Cue some touching odd-couple moments around the piano and the gradual realisation for Koontz that - shock! - those crazy homos really aren't so bad after all.
De Niro played a comparable role to better effect in "Awakenings", and Hoffman is not as impressive as he was in "Happiness" or "Boogie Nights", but the two leads are generally convincing, and enjoy some inevitably fantastic moments. The chemistry between the two, however, which must be tight to drive an essentially theatrical movie like this, is distinctly lacking. A European filmmaker with a greater grasp of subtlety would give the characters more time to breathe (Almodovar's "All About My Mother" trod similar territory with electrifying results), but Schumacher's dire script insults the audience by assuming that the story needs constant emotional crisis to hold the attention. And so we are provided with deaths, gunfights, parties, and tragic telephone calls: all of which are contrived, plot-driven devices, which demean the relationship between the two central characters to the kind of schmaltzy emotional pornography which usually involves Robin Williams (the script stops just short of including an AIDS death, or a speech explaining Koontz' hatred of homosexuals, although one can be certain it would have had something to do with an abusive father).
The treatment of the gay men in the movie, though stereotypical, does not pander entirely to the expectation of a straight audience, as one might accuse Hollywood product like "The Birdcage" of doing. And, as director, Schumacher is reasonably accomplished and has, thank heavens, suppressed his previously flamboyant tendency and instead developed the gritty style he established well in "8mm". Like Curtis Hanson's recently released "Wonder Boys", the general style (and the casting of Hoffman) suggests he has been paying heed to independent cinema and that can be no bad thing. But his frequent use of handheld camera fulfils no function whatever, and his neon lighting and clichéd gangster scenes (mostly of the `Gimme back my muthafu***n money, bitch' variety) more resemble a Tarantino pastiche than a distinctive voice of his own. Add into the mix two entirely irrelevant subplots and an overwhelming weight of tragic over the comic, and you are left with a movie that, despite some good performances, is anything but flawless.
Unbreakable (2000)
It's like the Sixth Sense but without the fun!
If you'd just written and directed the surprise smash-hit of 1999, been nominated for an Oscar and had the world waiting for your follow-up, you'd want to rush off a sequel, too. But The Sixth Sense isn't exactly the kind of movie which lends itself to franchise. Bearing this in mind, writer-director M. Night Shyamalan should have thrown his considerable talent into an entirely new project with the innovation and immediacy of its predecessor. What he has done in Unbreakable (although it's not actually a sequel) is to reprise so many of those elements which made his previous effort so exciting - Bruce Willis, a child lead, some psychic phenomena, a struggling relationship, a fantastic twist - that his distinctive and previously refreshing brand of filmmaking is in serious danger of appearing formulaic.
This time round our Brucie plays David Dunn, a stadium security guard whose life is turned upside down when he becomes the sole survivor of a catastrophic train derailment. After meeting Elijah Price (Samuel L. Jackson), a comic-book fanatic with a rare brittle bone condition and an even rarer selection of casualwear, David undergoes a journey of self-discovery in which he - and the audience - are led to wonder whether his lucky escape really was a coincidence, or, in fact, a demonstration of his own supernatural abilities.
Willis and Jackson, together on screen for the first time since Die Hard With A Vengeance, retain their on-screen chemistry, and there are some fine supporting performances from Robin Wright Penn, as David's fragile spouse, and Spencer Trent Clark, who stands somewhat in the shadow of The Sixth Sense's Hayley Joel Osmond, but is a convincing child actor nonetheless. As a director, Shyamalan has some fantastic ideas, and simply by juxtaposing a spinning and static image he is capable of transporting us from a psychological view of his characters to a sensitivity of the world's wider dangers. He is on tried and tested turf with all the extra-sensory malarkey his plot provides, but effectively embellishes the paranoia of his protagonists (and keeps the audience appropriately weary of their own perceptions) through his impressive willingness to experiment with the camera: entire scenes are revealed on the reflection of a television screen, or through a curtain rippling in the wind.
The constant use of scary music and lingering camerawork does build suspense when it's needed, but it also highlights the weakness of the script when it's not. The plot, ingenious as it is as high-concept, quickly loses direction, and becomes too far-fetched to be plausible. And the comic-book imagery is well-executed, but seems to belong to another movie entirely. It's a film that doesn't really kick in until it's almost over, and - most disappointing of all for Sixth Sense fans - it lacks emotional conviction. This movie wants to leave you shaken and epiphanic, but instead makes you wonder exactly what the point is. It may be more intelligent than your standard mainstream fare, but it doesn't have the common sense to know whether it's commercial or spiritual; flamboyant or low-key; popcorn or profound. Everyone was hoping that Unbreakable would be like The Sixth Sense. It's biggest flaw is. it tries to be like The Sixth Sense. How about that for a twist. *** (3 stars)