Reviews

Nothing much seems to go on in this small, lazy South-Florida town. Just as little is done by its sheriff, Matt Lee Whitlock (Denzel Washington), a fact well illustrated in an early scene of him polishing off a beer, his legs propped up on his office desk. Maybe he's bored. Or maybe drinking beers on the job is just what one does to make it through the humid summers down there. There is one thing happening: an affair he has been nurturing on the side with a steamy young woman, Ann, who calls in an attempted robbery as a sort of thrilling preamble to sizzling sex with the sheriff when he shows up. He may be the lazy type, but you cannot say he's not careful. And the scene does sizzle. Ann is played by the very appealing Sanaa Lathan, and married to a jobless professional quarterback, Chris (Dean Cain), who spends his time working at the county morgue. It is made very clear from the beginning the only thing Matt and Chris have in common (other than Gorgeous Ann) is a mutual distaste for one another. So the stage has been set for the rest of Out of Time, a frenetic, sometimes tense thriller that, by force of star power and sure direction, just manages to elevate itself above the unremarkable genre which binds it.

Many movies before this one have told the story of the innocent man trying to extricate himself from a sticky situation, proving his innocence while at the same time trying to catch the bad guy. The Fugitive comes to mind as one of the better variations on the theme, and there are of course many lesser versions as well. In this film, it's Chief Whitlock who's stuck in a mess. And though there may or not be others involved in putting him there, he has for the most part no one to blame but himself for his lousy predicament. And of course this all involves a host of details and plot particulars which are not mine to tell. Let's just say that it involves these factors: his lover Ann; a double murder; a life insurance policy; his ex-wife investigating the murder; the D.E.A., and hundreds of thousands of dollars in confiscated drug bust money. And in the middle of this swamp of ingredients wades Whitlock himself -- caught very much by surprise, no longer bored, and now with a sense of urgency bordering on panic. And as the title suggests, time doesn't look to be on his side.

Out of Time was directed by Carl Franklin, who is capable and experienced at his craft. Two of his films, One False Move and One True Thing, were alike in more than one way. While their stories were completely unrelated, they both featured strong casts, absorbing dialog and measured, observant direction. With One False Move, a film about outlaws on the run through the deep South, Franklin was adept at controlling the pace of the story, keenly evoking suspense when needed, allowing for tense dramatic pauses when called for. He brings that element of pacing to this movie, saturating the earlier scenes with slow-burn slide guitar music and swelteringly slow shots of the Floridian landscape. Then suddenly, as Chief Whitlock becomes enmeshed in his race for time, so does the film's entire speed. That the audience stay on board through countless contrived chase sequences can be attributed mainly to Franklin keeping them there. Here he has a much less inspired story to work with, having to enlist some extra help from the actors. The supporting cast are convincing in their roles. Eva Mendes, who continues to show great on-screen promise, plays Whitlock's estranged wife. The two actors create just the right kind of chemistry as two people who are apart for good reason, it seems, but who still like each other enough to be able to have civilized conversations while working together on the murder investigation.

But the real glue holding the ordinariness together is Denzel Washington. Once again he has brought to the screen intelligence, wit, integrity and, yes, the likability quotient. He always seems to convey these appealing traits through his characters, including those we are not meant to like at all. Even in Training Day, where he played a dirty, despicable cop, much of the movie focused on his character's ability to convince his partner and us that he was doing the right thing. In Out of Time, Denzel's Whitlock is a sympathetic character, to be sure. He is generally respected by the members of the county he runs. We forgive him his faults, as we do the poor decisions he makes while painting himself into a seemingly inescapable corner. Then as the film progresses, and as his methods of extrication go from unscrupulous to outright illegal, we wonder aloud why we have been on his side through the whole thing. This man may not be a sinner, but neither is he the picture of saintliness. It doesn't seem to wash, but there you have it. But Denzel pulls it off through the whole movie, gracing Chief Whitlock with virtuous, sympathetic qualities he does not possess.

Toward the end of the movie, anyone paying attention to the clock would notice that the movie itself is almost out of time -- probably not nearly enough time to resolve the laundry list of problems Whitlock has burdened himself with. The film nonetheless scurries to its disappointing, pat resolution, careful to tighten most of the loose ends it can remember, but done with such brevity as to leave us all feeling a little pinched, and more than a little let down. This kind of pinched finish effectively washes away all of the potentially intriguing character dilemmas presented in the character of Matt Lee Whitlock. Still, the actor playing him is Denzel, so we don't mind feeling happy for him --in spite of his, and the film's, many shortcomings.

One of the many acting skills Anthony Hopkins possesses is the ability to attract and disturb at the same time; he can charm you to no end with sly smiles and unspoken allure. But all the while he's hiding something unsettling that you can't ever quite figure out. In Hearts in Atlantis, the latest of what by now must be a truly massive box set of Stephen King film adaptations, Sir Anthony finds a writer perfectly suited to these unique talents. What we see is a movie eerie and enchanting, both in mood and in style -- a story that holds onto its cards throughout, letting you see each of them slowly, one by one, and only when absolutely necessary. In the end we find we have been held captive by a stunningly memorable and powerful film.

The story begins as a retrospective: Robert Morse plays the older version of Bobby Garfield, the central character of this reminiscent story. It takes a recent tragedy to send the older Bobby unwittingly in the mind to his days as an 11-year-old in 1960. There we go to a place common to almost all of King's stories: rural New England, where Bobby lives with his mother (Hope Davis), and spends his innocent, aimless days with his two friends Sully (Will Rothhaar) and Carol (Mika Boorem). His father died when Bobby was only five, and his mother is so busy hopefully tending to a real estate career that she has little time to tend to her only child. To this point nothing is out of the ordinary; this childhood is deliberately portrayed with hazy, warm undertones, akin to the sense of youth so familiar to many who look back upon it.

Fairly early on we meet Ted Brautigan (Hopkins), a boarder who shows up quite suddenly on their porch, his belongings in grocery bags. He is clean, well-spoken, unobtrusive and generally a placid sort. But he is also an instant enigma: he is of unknown origin, means, and intent, and Bobby's mother quickly decides this is a man to be viewed with caution. Bobby, on the other hand, innocently curious --and most likely desperate for anything that could spell the boredom of his uneventful summer-- decides this a man worth knowing. They become close, Brautigan dispersing kennels of wisdom and even offering young Bobby a dollar a week and cold root beers to read him the newspaper daily. But Brautigan clearly has a special quality about him: he can sense things and see things that are not readily apparent to most others. Bobby seems to have this gift as well, though in a lees pronounced way, and through this they form a bond, one Bobby's mother slowly and begrudgingly affords him. She's suspicious of this man still, while we the viewers begin gradually to glean some of the mysteries of his past. I don't dare say what they are, but they do involve "the Low Men", people, Brautigan warns Bobby, who may some day come looking for him. He tells Bobby what signs to look for about town, gently using the boy as a scout of imminent danger. Bobby does not know who they are or what they represent. Neither do we, for a long time, but the key instrument of this story is to make it intentionally vague. We are not to be concerned about these details, but rather to know that Brautigan has experienced them, and will do whatever he can to shield Bobby and his youth from the corrupting darkness looming behind them.

Stephen King has been widely read as an author of horror and suspense, but his best works --like this one-- work on a much more insidious level, evoking a sense of foreboding and unknown that manages to inform everything that happens within. The makers of this film find great success emphasizing the shady murkiness of the story, and they still manage to keep things centered. The mysteries of Ted Brautigan find parallels in the wonders of youth: Bobby experiences his first kiss, naturally, encounters a menacing bully, and learns to view his mother in evolving ways...grown-up ways. This is really a story of innocence and maturity, of youth's purity and the dangers that lurk at its end. Bobby finds that end to a certain degree, but along the way finds friendship, knowledge, and a sense of the mysteries of adulthood that await him. Ted Brautigan is really more than a friend to Bobby; he is a guide, a protector, and a teacher. These two actors provide real, natural on screen chemistry in this film, and there is one delightful scene early on where Brautigan intensely relives for Bobby a glory day of Chicago Bears football lore. This is an actor who can take any available strengths of writing and magnify them for us viewers who watch him say them aloud. As a result Anthony Hopkins anchors this infectious little film to the ground while still allowing it to soar skyward when needed.

This reviewer will not bother the reader with what he was up to in junior high school. For one thing, it would most likely pass as pretty uneventful storytelling. It is, however, safe to say it was a wildly innocent time when compared to the activities engaged in by Tracy (Evan Rachel Wood), the young character featured in Thirteen, a new film by director Catherine Hardwicke. Once in a very long while we get to watch a movie which deals truthfully with family dramas; this one does just that, smartly avoiding many of the serious pitfalls of Hollywood family portraits by showing a conflicted, realistic picture of child and parent -- both of whom have feelings, desires and weaknesses. Its loving, sympathetic approach to these people is what elevates the film above the pack, and which lets it stand as a movie definitely worth watching.

At the start we see two Tracys: the young, innocent one walking through her first days of the school year, and then the one in her bedroom getting high on inhalants with a friend. The rest of the film shows us exactly how she got from one to the other. Most aspects of Tracy's life seem more or less normal. She lives in the middle-class suburbs of Los Angeles with her brother and her mother Melanie (Holly Hunter), recently divorced, who looks after the two children by herself. Melanie has her hands full trying to make ends meet as a hairstylist while ensuring her kids make it to school and back each day with some level of safety and happiness in between. We learn that she is a recovering alcoholic who must fit her A.A. meetings into her hectic schedule, but this is not shown to be a bad thing. And Tracy's brother Mason (Brady Corbet) appears to be about as well-adjusted a teenager as one could expect to find. Nothing to worry about, right?

Well, Tracy, like almost any young teenage girl, suffers from the timeless need to fit in --to be popular. An inconsiderate classmate of hers openly ridicules her clothes, and that's really all it takes to cause Tracy to run home later in tears, ruefully throwing almost her entire wardrobe into the garbage. And her reaction is fairly understandable. After all this really is a painful, traumatic time of childhood for many girls her age. Her mother knows this, patiently absorbing the hysterics while gently attempting to placate Tracy with doses of reason and understanding. But unfortunately the knife has already been turned. Tracy looks to redeem this deeply shameful social incident by actively seeking out the acceptance of one of the more brazenly popular girls in school.

Her name is Evie (Nikki Reed), and at first her acceptance isn't so easily granted. Tracy finds she must shoplift, for example, as a way of gaining the respect of Evie and her friends. But gain it she does, and soon after, Tracy has already embarked upon a long ride with a truly wild young child. This involves, among other things, body piercing, alcohol, drugs, and sexual activity far too advanced for a girl of only thirteen. What's refreshing is how the film neither smooths over nor dwells upon these scenes; it tells them directly as matter-of-fact chains of event for a thirteen-year-old. What's impressive is how the film always stays with its characters, focusing on how Tracy's actions begin to spin out of control, damaging herself, her mother and her entire family. Melanie, who is at first buoyed by her daughter's recent mood change, but then clearly begins to worry that she has completely lost touch with her daughter. And the question of Nikki's motives are brought to focus, then made vague: she lies, cheats and manipulates while with Tracy. But all along she is sincerely fostering Melanie's sympathies, assuring her she is the one thing to help keep this family together, when we suspect that maybe she is actually dividing it. Nikki, we find out, is from a "broken home" of circumstances far, far worse than those in Tracy's house: her alcoholic guardian (not in recovery) seems completely apathetic to Nikki's life, exercising discipline in one scene by telling the girls to have only one beer while she's gone, because they still have to do their homework!

This is not a perfect movie, mind you. There are some less effective scenes involving Tracy's father, who briefly appears, and a supporting role by Jeremy Sisto as Melanie's ex-addict boyfriend, is a sometimes effective story strand. And come to think of it, this is nothing new to the lives of mothers and daughters out there. Countless teenagers have gone through this sort of thing, on the screen and in real life. One hopes it does not always involve sex and drug abuse at such an early age, but the teenager acting out against the parent's tenuous authority and control is certainly not new ground here. Still, this story is entirely unique in its own right, always original and involving . As it turns out, the actress who plays Evie, Nikki Reed, wrote this story when she herself was thirteen, and shares the screen writing credit with the director. Perhaps this is what injects the movie with such realism and frankness, and which drives its fresh, unaffected dialogue. This is not a film that talks down to its audience or its subject matter. Evan Rachel Wood shows astounding depth in her role as Tracy, and Holly Hunter brings to the screen another one of her many gritty, emotionally charged performances. Her Melanie is a real parent: one who wants for her children, fears for their safety, and is nothing less than human when she finds she does not always have the answers to how to make these wishes a reality. These characters are written, and acted, with intelligence and sympathy. Now if only the rest of Hollywood would start to follow suit, we might have something here.

William Shakespeare's plays are classified as comedy, tragedy, or history. Some of his most memorable --and most often read -- creations provide us with wistful humor, gentle poetry and hilarious slapstick. Some of them survive as unforgettable dramas of compelling depth and gravity. Regardless, he was able to write with unparalleled skill and inventiveness, contributing greatly to our young language. So in what category lies The Merchant of Venice ? I was very surprised to find it is one of Shakespeare's comedies. I had never before read it nor seen it, but after watching this most recent film version I have decided it is neither and it is both. This is one of many questions the viewer must try to answer when coming to terms with what is clearly a perplexing and deeply troubling moral tragedy.

The players are introduced quickly, and simply. One of them, firstly, is Venice itself; director Michael Radford filmed the Venetian scenes in the actual city, creating an impressively vibrant, bustling backdrop to the play's proceedings. To this scenery enters the youthful Bassanio (Joseph Fiennes), returning to Venice to see a dear old friend, Antonio (Jeremy Irons). It seems the poor Bassanio has heard of a princess whose father has died and has left to any potential suitors a lottery of sorts. Waiting at the fair lady's island estate are three small trunks,

only one of which contains "images of the princess". He who can guess the right one, using only blind intuition and the cryptic teasers written upon them, will be bestowed the father's huge fortune for life. Oh, and his daughter and her eternal love in marriage, I forgot to mention. Here the light comedy of Shakespeare takes over the movie. This farcical plot element drives the story and also fills up much of the film's screen time, as a number of painfully eager opportunists arrive at the island, humorously vying for and failing to earn this very wealthy hand in marriage. But before any of this occurs Bassanio, very much lacking in finances, entreats Antonio to loan him three thousand ducats to pay for the lengthy journey he must take to have his shot at the prize.

Antonio, himself nearly penniless, must reluctantly embrace humility by seeking the financial aid of Shylock (Al Pacino), one of countless Jewish usurers who keep the sagging economy afloat yet are scorned and persecuted to no end by the city's zealously Christian majority. Thus they dwell in society's underbelly, and it is here the two borrowers must go. Shylock does not hesitate to remind the two men of a certain incident where Antonio insulted and spat on him in the city market, and he proudly rebukes this man who frankly has a lot of nerve now coming to ask for help. But help him Shylock does. He even erases any kind of interest on the loan, most likely feeling he has no reason to be concerned if Antonio will be able to repay him within three months. Still, Shylock's one contractual demand is a pound of Antonio's flesh, should he renege on their agreement. This is an unsettling request, to be sure, for Antonio and Bassanio as well as for us. But it appears that despite his justifiable pride Shylock does not really anticipate seeing such a gruesome act occurring.

So here the dramatic groundwork has been laid. And while the film goes off to explore its gentler side with its love lottery and mistaken identities, there still looms the gloomy prospect of the loan itself. In the end, what will become of this ominous agreement? Meanwhile we are left at turns to explore the true central character of Shylock. Al Pacino has ample dramatic weight to carry here, and he does so with convincing grit and passion. There are times when he is given room for the theatrics we have come to expect from such a colorful actor. But his most impressive scenes are the ones where he internalizes this energy, showing a conflicted personality: honest, sincere, and proud, yet brooding, vengeful and entirely remorseless. This is one of Pacino's most heartfelt performances to date. And while the rest of the cast play their roles creditably and convincingly, it is Pacino who really owns the film -- especially toward the end, when Shakespeare upends this seeming romantic comedy with a wallop of a third act.

I shall not reveal much here; all I can say is that it involves the initial loan -- a mighty shoe one expected would drop sooner or later. And does it ever. By the end Shakespeare has raised a host of dilemmas for his audience: seemingly unresolvable questions of faith, morality, law, and mercy are thrown before us through the final scenes, and while by curtain's close the playwright's position may seem clear to some, we are left completely at odds. There are winners and losers in this one, but have the winners earned their spoils with good reason, or have they in a larger sense ended out losing as well? Has virtue been rewarded, or simply flouted? Has justice in fact this time been just? By the play's finish some fates are painfully clear, and unequivocally sealed. But the audience are to be the ones who really decide the verdict for all of those involved. And for some the verdict is still out for the play as well. Comedy or tragedy? The author has cunningly veiled the intense courtroom finale with an ending of light mirth and pat romantic resolutions. Is he saying that all is well that ends well, or is this his final, ironic condemnation? The play's humor serves to set us up nicely for such a heavy crash. And while it is also what unfortunately keeps The Merchant of Venice from achieving the greatness of so many of Shakespeare's other works, it is still engaging, amusing, and thought-provoking beyond measure.