What the hell was that?
This is the most incomprehensible piece of dogshit I've seen in a hot minute, and I don't think I've been this disappointed with a film since, well since Mission to Mars. De Palma knows how to shoot a film, that much is true — he certainly gives it his all here with the period accurate set design, moody noir lighting, and the usual De Palma-isms we've come to know and love — but this script is insanely frustrating, and not even the mad genius himself could keep this ship afloat.
In classic noir fashion, the story is convoluted as hell. Unlike classic noir fashion, the story is only superficially convoluted, haphazardly introducing plot thread after plot thread and character after character into the film because it has no idea what else to do with the main story, eventually coalescing into a whole lotta fuckin' nothing come the end. The pacing of this film is aggravating in its relentlessness. It never stops to take a breather, which any good noir worth its salt loves to do. But this one just hits the gas and rarely lifts its foot off, so you're bombarded with a myriad of scenes that feel truncated and tangential at best, with moments of potential quiet introspection that could be beneficial for character development instead subbed out so we can get to the next scene quicker.
I'm quite fond of my little meow meow Josh Hartnett, but he sticks out like a sore thumb. He's not built for a period drama. Just like Ryan Phillippe in Gosford Park, his face and voice take me out of the era that's trying to be captured. In all honesty, none of the actors are great here — Fiona Shaw innocent, her performance here is gloriously absurd and so out of place that it somehow wraps back around and just works.
I don't know man. I think this might just be De Palma's worst. The immense potential is undeniable, and maybe there's a longer cut out there that takes its time and is more considerate in its storytelling, one that doesn't hurt to watch, but I don't think I care anymore.
What the hell was that?
This is the most incomprehensible piece of dogshit I've seen in a hot minute, and I don't think I've been this disappointed with a film since, well since Mission to Mars. De Palma knows how to shoot a film, that much is true — he certainly gives it his all here with the period accurate set design, moody noir lighting, and the usual De Palma-isms we've come to know and love — but this script is insanely frustrating, and not even the mad genius himself could keep this ship afloat.
In classic noir fashion, the story is convoluted as hell. Unlike classic noir fashion, the story is only superficially convoluted, haphazardly introducing plot thread after plot thread and character after character into the film because it has no idea what else to do with the main story, eventually coalescing into a whole lotta fuckin' nothing come the end. The pacing of this film is aggravating in its relentlessness. It never stops to take a breather, which any good noir worth its salt loves to do. But this one just hits the gas and rarely lifts its foot off, so you're bombarded with a myriad of scenes that feel truncated and tangential at best, with moments of potential quiet introspection that could be beneficial for character development instead subbed out so we can get to the next scene quicker.
I'm quite fond of my little meow meow Josh Hartnett, but he sticks out like a sore thumb. He's not built for a period drama. Just like Ryan Phillippe in Gosford Park, his face and voice take me out of the era that's trying to be captured. In all honesty, none of the actors are great here — Fiona Shaw innocent, her performance here is gloriously absurd and so out of place that it somehow wraps back around and just works.
I don't know man. I think this might just be De Palma's worst. The immense potential is undeniable, and maybe there's a longer cut out there that takes its time and is more considerate in its storytelling, one that doesn't hurt to watch, but I don't think I care anymore.
