Reviews

At various points in this film I found myself asking, why go through all this trouble? Sawyer isn't any real threat to the meth operation. Hell, she's even helping Lowell with his latest cook. This vague interview in DC is totally forgotten by the second reel anyway. Even if she was a threat, why not just kill her? Nobody would ever find her. But then we wouldn't have this movie, which is the worst parts of "Breaking Bad" and "Deliverance".

But such logic is nowhere to be found in this ridiculous script, where characters exist only to advance a plot that makes no sense, later to die (the deputy) or disappear (Slattery).

Let me address one obvious problem. Sawyer isn't very bright. She wouldn't have survived the first night because she inexplicably discarded her sweatshirt. Judging from the dialog and the foggy breath from other characters it was a cold night and she would have died overnight from exposure. The biggest problem is her character is easily the least interesting in the film.

The final scene at the creek sums captures the essence of everything wrong with Rust Creek. We see Sawyer sprinting through the woods. Moments later she is crawling out of the woods just as a vehicle pulls up. A good samaritan perhaps? Oh no! It's O'Doyle! (Such synchronicities are a feature of this movie.) So what does O'Doyle do? In real life he would simply shoot her and dump her body back at the meth trailer and call it a day. Here we get a preposterous scenario where he leads us to the eponymous creek where Sawyer, somehow re-energized, has a chance to emerge victorious.

Throughout his lengthy stint at the two-seven, Ed Green made knowing references to gambling, so in retrospect it's not altogether surprising that his career would end over the body of a bookie. It's a poignant episode, and a clever way to introduce the excellent Anthony Anderson to the cast.

It is a well-worn L&O trope: A longtime friend of one of the leads turns out to be a criminal, or at least the parent or patron of a criminal. After initially defending the friend, the scales slowly fall from the eyes. Adam Schiff seemed to have the worst judgment of character - Robert Vaughn as the unhinged Carl Anderton is most memorable of his numerous fallen friends - but he had plenty of competition.

Anita van Buren would seem the last of the show's stars to suffer this kind of tunnel vision. Yet in this episode she repeatedly goes to bat for Diana Scarwyd's forensic expert. It's perhaps the best case of slow disillusionment of the entire series because the writers invest plenty of time educating us in the subjective science of fingerprint analysis. Not only do we understand how such a miscarriage of justice could happen, we wonder how often it does in the interest of expediency or career advancement.

This is the one L&O episode that gives an idea how interrogations really happen. TV by necessity truncates this process: The "perp" either fesses up or lawyers up in a few minutes of screen time. Here, James Rebhorn's character is subjected to intense, protracted interrogation, with an increasingly aggressive team of detectives pushing every button. Even Capt. Cragen joins the tag-team browbeating until Rebhorn breaks down and supplies evidence of his crimes. In later episodes Rebhorn would play Garnett, a shrewd foil to ADA McCoy. His performance here is marvelous in its subtlety.

Michael Moriarty turns in one of his finest performances as Stone, who must defend Rebhorn in civil court against his extradition to Connecticut- sparing him from a possible death sentence - so that he can prosecute him in New York. Moriarty thrives in these paradoxical scenarios. The interchanges between Moriarty and Richard Brooks, whose Old Testament values want Rebhorn to face ultimate vengeance, are excellent.

We're also treated to standout performances from Allen Garfield, as defense attorney Berg, and Barbara Barrie, as a grieving mother willing to commit perjury to avenge her daughter's death.

The Family Annihilator is a well known criminal pathology and has become an increasingly common theme in crime dramas, but this episode was my introduction. Ron Weber (Timothy Landfield) is the alleged annihilator here, accused of murdering his wife for insurance money, in the process killing one daughter and seriously injuring another.

Weber's attorney (Brooke Smith) turns out to be a former schoolmate of Kincaid's, and they have several agreeable scenes together lamenting the state of their chosen profession and later cracking the case. McCoy is in his usual damn-the-torpedoes form, but Schiff has his doubts. He insists the jury be told why a seemingly ordinary businessman with no criminal history would commit such a ghastly act. Olivet, as usual, is pressured to draw conclusions she's not altogether comfortable with, and at a crucial moment realizes she, and the prosecution, were wrong all along.

It is at this point that the story shifts into a higher, even more disturbing, gear. Ellen Pompeo, still years away from "Grey's Anatomy" fame, gives a chilling performance as a calculating, utterly amoral being. I've never considered her a great actress, but she's great as she dispassionately describes the most hideous behavior. It's unclear whether McCoy knows ahead of time that the judge will reject the deal he offers Jenna, but we share her disgust.

This is a well-made film about an important subject. Unfortunately it degenerates into a polemic against the National Football League, elevating its principal character from forensic brain specialist to crusading hero to martyr, all the while taking liberties with basic facts in service of a narrative.

One such basic fact concerns Mike Webster, on whom the first portion of the movie focuses. Webster was the victim of child abuse with mental illness on both sides of the family. He had a history of substance abuse and depression. This was before he ever played a game with the Steelers. And while Landesman encourages us to believe Webster killed himself, he actually died of a heart attack.

Another basic fact involves Cyril Wecht, portrayed superbly by Albert Brooks. A keen-eyed observer may detect the JFK connection; Wecht has been a prominent assassination conspiracy theorist (Landesman's previous film "Parkland" is devoted to the assassination). Here we see Wecht being arrested and are left to assume that it's the NFL retaliating for Omalu's research. In fact Wecht was charged well BEFORE that research was published, or even known to the NFL.d

Central premise of the film: repeated concussions cause CTE. This is asserted throughout, with Omalu expansively blaming football for the players' deaths. The problem is that there is no scientific basis for this claim. According to the British Journal of Sports Medicine, "there are no published epidemiological, crosssectional or prospective studies relating to modern CTE... Owing to the nature of the published studies, being case reports or pathological case series, it is not possible to determine the causality or risk factors with any certainty. As such, the speculation that repeated concussion or subconcussive impacts cause CTE remains unproven." In short, the plural of anecdote is not data. Furthermore, there is ample evidence that NFL players live LONGER than average.

I realize it's too much to ask a Hollywood picture to eschew emotional appeals, narratives and love stories, even when they do harm to the movie's impact. But this movie would have been so much better served by hewing to the truth.

One of the more ingenious plots, combined with an amusing assortment of minor characters (the officious elevator operator, the harebrained receptionist, the opportunistic New Jersey detective, the scheming CPA) make this as entertaining as L&O ever got.

Now, sexual harassment is not a laughing matter, but it's handled in a way that's subtle yet effective, two traits that later treatments of the subject conspicuously lack. Ross brushes off the judge's remarks with aplomb (to McCoy's bemusement). Only when his handling of the case threatens to derail the trial altogether does Marks receive his comeuppance.

Even the role of defendant, often an afterthought in the "Order" half of the show, gets genuine star treatment. Pamela Gray is excellent in this role, morphing from bewildered, grieving sibling to manipulative defendant and finally to pitiless killer.