Left behind in a sea of vulnerability

Open Water (2004)
Lions Gate Films presents a Chris Kentis film, starring Blanchard Ryan and Daniel Travis. Written by Kentis. 79m. Rated R for language and some nudity.

2 stars

You’re going to notice a couple of things about “Open Water” in its opening minutes.

First off, you’ll inevitably notice that the transition from low-budget digital video to 35mm print has been unkind to this $130,000 indie. The picture exhibits a distracting “blockiness” that is usually found on a poorly compressed DVD - a term the reviewing community calls “artifacts.”

But there’s another kind of blockiness that may bother you more: the actors themselves are quite unseasoned. Their stilted acting is enhanced by the stilted dialogue, so it’s a great relief this is a horror movie. After all, we forgive actors’ transgressions if the movie is able to scare us.

“Open Water” has certainly been hyped as a thriller - a veritable “Blair Witch Project” in the unforgiving ocean. But it’s 76-minute run time is the movie’s greatest tell. It has an idea - a couple stranded in the middle of the ocean - that is only scary as long as the filmmakers keep introducing obstacles.

Daniel (Daniel Travis) and Susan (Blanchard Ryan) are a workaholic couple that have come to a tropical paradise - something that invariably starts with the word “grand” - for a week-long getaway. One of their first excursions is to explore a coral reef during a diving charter.

The couple explores nature’s offerings, unaware that their instructors have miscalculated an otherwise routine head count and sped off to the next dive location without them. When they surface, the pair is surprised to find their boat nowhere near them.

As time progresses, their surprise quickly evolves into more inwardly placed emotions like fear, anger and resentment. The couple fights dehydration, fatigue and motion sickness - as well as a wide array of jellyfish and sharks - all while blaming each other for the series of events which lead them to be left behind.

If the script was a little stronger, I may have believed these characters a little more than I did. Oftentimes, it felt like the actors were making statements they thought they should say in such a precarious situation instead of letting the natural rhythms of conversation lead them to the appropriate moments. Canned speeches about work frustrations and emotional abandonment seemed ideal for the situation, yet not convincing. I felt myself instead feeling a stronger urge.

These people needed to die.

I think the movie would lose most of its audience if reviewers such as myself detailed what transpires from hour to hour and revealed if the couple were saved by the absent-minded divers or just became shark bait. I will only reveal this: the film’s strongest moments come at night, when writer/director Chris Kentis makes the bold decision to only light his actors with the glow of lightning strikes.

It is during these moments - and these minutes only - that I could feel the true terror of abandonment and fear as sharks circled below the couple. For that reason - and a few small others - “Open Water” will provide the thrill audiences are looking for.

But caveat emptor: It may not be for as long as you think.

Family-friendly, but a bit too long

The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement (2004)
Buena Vista Pictures presents a Garry Marshall film, starring Anne Hathaway and Julie Andrews. Written by Gina Wendkos and Shonda Rhimes and based a book by Meg Cabot. 115m. Rated G.

1 star

“The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement” is like a fluffernutter. It’s sugary sweet and easy to digest. But it’s lacking any real sophistication.

I’ve eaten my fair share of fluffernutter and I seen my fair share of mindless films, so a movie like “The Princess Diaries 2” doesn’t necessarily bother me. But it doesn’t excite me either.

Thankfully, I’m not the target audience for this female-friendly fare. I’m certain 9-13 year old girls will glean many more smile-worthy moments than I had, but even an old fogy like myself managed a couple chuckles.

In what I’ve largely assumed to be a rehash of the original offering, “The Princess Diaries 2” follows Princeton graduate Mia Thermopolis (Anne Hathaway), who returns to the mythical land of Genovia - looking a lot like California - to assume her rightful position as princess.

But there’s trouble afoot in the person of Viscount Mabrey (John Rhys-Davies), who has beaten down Genovian parliament - with adequate amounts of huffing and puffing - into thinking a princess must marry before she assumes the throne.

The lines are clearly delineated. Twenty-one-year-old Mia represents a fresh perspective on old traditions, so it’s going to be no surprise two cinematic hours later when she talks of female empowerment and flying solo as Genovian ruler.

All “The Princess Diaries 2” has to do is to capitalize on the long-time dream of every pre-teen and tween: that someday their handsome prince charming will come and sweep them off their feet; that they will become real princesses themselves and that every trivial bauble and bead will be theirs to complement their shiny dress apparel.

Prince Charming is Andrew Jacoby (Callum Blue), Duke of Kennelworth. Or is he? In a plot lineage I’m able to trace back at least as far as 1993’s “Sleepless in Seattle,” Jacoby is the nice guy who still finishes last. The true chemistry comes from Lord Nicholas Deveraux (Chris Pine), who is the scheming viscount’s nephew and back-up heir to the Genovian throne.

In a G-rated arena, all plot devices - including the love interests, opposition and allies - are usually introduced within the first 10 minutes of the film. The question therefore becomes: What do we make of the final hour and forty minutes?

We certainly cannot rely on Garry Marshall’s plodding direction, which is desperately devoid of anything that isn’t already standardized, formalized and marginalized.

Audiences also can’t rely on B-plots that don’t feel like anything more than space filler. One in particular reveals a budding romance between Queen Clarisse (Julie Andrews) and her head of security, Joe (Hector Elizondo). Apparently, the subplot was devised by the two actors during breaks of the first movie to prove that romance at 50 years of age is still viable. I don’t think any 9-13 year old girl wants to be reminded of sexual affections from people her parents’ age, but that may just be me.

Mostly, I relied on the performance of Julie Andrews to keep the movie charming. Andrews - who has no doubt lowered herself by being a part of this interminable series - still presents her character with a heavy heaping of grace and poise, even when she’s doing something as silly as mattress surfing. I think I gave the movie an entire half star because it didn’t relegate Andrews to performing a hip-hop dance with Raven (nee Raven-Symone), or maybe because Andrews was wise enough to decline.

Although movies from the Pixar franchise and films like “Shrek” have long ushered in a new reign in kiddy fare - where the parents can actually laugh as much or more than the children - “Princess Diaries 2” is largely devoid of any such material. A sly reference to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern - two minor characters from “Hamlet” - is one of the few morsels of higher intelligence the movie provides.

My recommendation? Drop the tweeners off at the movie theater for two hours of mindless entertainment, but save yourself the price of admission.

Alien versus Predator versus boredom

Alien vs. Predator (2004)
20th Century Fox presents a Paul W.S. Anderson film, starring Lance Henriksen and Sanaa Lathan. Written by Paul W.S. Anderson, Dan O’Bannon, Ronald Shusett, Jim Thomas and John Thomas. 107m. Rated PG-13 for violence, language, horror images, slime and gore.

0.5 stars

In a move that smacks of desperation by a studio hungry for a quick buck, America has been assaulted with a movie that features once-popular franchises.

Long have we wearied of increasingly diminished returns in the “Alien” series, yet that hasn’t stopped 20th Century Fox from spinning off a video game/comic book into a dreadful prequel that’s currently staining theaters. The “Predator” series has been dormant for 14 years.

Yet that hasn’t stopped the studio from ending years of speculation and assembling a C-list of actors and a director whose previous films have been video game offshoots as well.

In this cockeyed script, environmental technician Alexa Woods (Sanaa Lathan) leads a group of money-hungry scientists into the ruins of an ancient pyramid constructed in Antarctica. The group has been assembled by Charles Bishop Weyland (Lance Henriksen), the co-founder of the Weyland-Yutani Corporation - a reference to the now-later “Alien” movies.

Blinded by greed, Alexa is treated as a regular Cassandra by the group when her plaintive cries they are woefully unprepared are ignored. Thus the crew - buoyed by translator Sebastian deRosa (Raoul Bova) and chemical engineer Graeme Miller (Ewen Bremner) - embark on the underground expedition, armed only with flares and digging equipment.

The central conflict in the movie is enticing: aliens and predators, it seems, are engaged in an “once a century” battle for dominance of the ice shelf, with humans caught in the middle.

However, the execution is at best flim-flam. From the stilted dialogue to schmaltzy direction, audiences have come to associate with video game inspired action films, “Alien vs. Predator” is mired from the start. Perhaps most frustrating is the rapid action that is performed in a medium close-up, making it impossible for someone lacking lightning eyes to see which beast is actually prevailing. Director Paul W.S. Anderson - no, not a clever pseudonym for either the more-accomplished Paul Thomas Anderson or Wes Anderson - and cinematographer David Johnson are most at fault. They bathe their set palettes in heavy blacks, which would have been ideal if not for the two predominately black species at war within the frame.

Other times, the action is just horrifically bad, such as when a predator cripples an alien in a toss more apropos to a hammer throw. Meanwhile, the scientists do everything within their power to stand in the way of the “epic” battle and are summarily executed. Those who violate Alexa’s three obvious rules - don’t go alone, maintain constant communication and don’t be a hero - are usually first to die.

Armed with a pad of paper and not willing to succumb to feelings of ennui, I jotted little notes about the body counts for this battle, which is said to take place Oct. 10, 2004. In the end, predator - dubbed “human’s enemy’s enemy” - eradicates 10 humans. Aliens only account for six human deaths. I suppose the predators won the overall competition as well, even though we all know the aliens must have survived for the four “Alien” films to exist.

“Alien vs. Predator” is caught in the same sort of quagmire that the second film of most trilogies encounter. Audiences know where the movie will conclude because they know what will occur after the credits roll in order for the whole dynamic to make sense. In order to make this movie more viable, I would have suggested a plot that existed outside the realm of what audiences know. Comic books often suggest alternate dimensions with entrenched characters; why can’t films perform the same function?

Taking off the Cruise control

Collateral (2004)
Dreamworks SKG & Paramount Pictures present a Michael Mann film, starring Tom Cruise and Jamie Foxx. Written by Stuart Beattie. 120m. Rated R for violence and language.

3 stars

In 1976, Martin Scorsese put a serial killer in the front seat of a taxicab. For “Collateral,” Michael Mann returns him to the back.

“Someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets,” Travis Bickle sneered during the key scene of “Taxi Driver.” Bickle saw himself as the cleansing agent, taking each encroachment against the welfare of New York City personally.
In “Collateral,” Vincent (Tom Cruise) lacks the emotional attachment that Travis Bickle had, which almost makes him scarier. He’s a hired gun, cold to emotional synapses like remorse or regret.

The job is simple: eliminate four key witnesses and a special prosecutor from an upcoming federal narcotrafficking trial the night before the case commences in a Los Angeles courthouse.

In movies, lives have an usual way of intersecting at the most inopportune moments. Max (Jamie Foxx) has been a cabbie for 12 years - saving up money, he says, for a full-time luxury limousine company. When Vincent offers him $600 for five stops, Max is hard pressed to say no. As the popular idiom goes, the devil is in the details, Max.

Having easily established the conflict and the general unfolding of the narrative, there isn’t much to keep this film tense except for Max’s general unwillingness to be party to murder - a revelation that hits him like a dead guy falling out a three-story window.

Instead of worrying about plot trivialities, I appreciated the unique approach to the film’s aesthetics. Mann opted to shoot the film in mostly high-definition digital video, which lacks some of the attention to detail that has kept so many filmmakers from abandoning the 20th century practice.

Much like Robert Rodriguez’s attempt during “Once Upon a Time in Mexico,” there are plenty of visual hiccups. The grain registers much more distinctly in under-lit scenes, causing some havoc when Vincent patrols a night-club for his fourth target.

But there are obvious benefits, too. The smaller camera system translates into tighter set-ups for Mann than allowable in a traditional 16 or 35mm system, leaving these extreme oft-center close-ups that are visual feasts. Anyone who has seen “Taxicab Confessions” is aware of the camera angle that encompasses both the cabbie (in right foreground) and passenger (usually in center background).

Max is not unlike the chatty cabbies of that long-running HBO program - drivers that play part-psychologist as they listen to their “client” ramble off their problems. This style attracts Annie (Jada Pinkett Smith), which is helpful to Max when the audience learns Annie is the special prosecutor Vincent will eventually be seeking to eliminate.

While Smith adds little to the overall mix, Foxx has used his role as the conscientious fellow to its advantage. The 36-year-old doesn’t have the chops to truly put a production on his back, despite his cast as lead in upcoming the Ray Charles biopic. He’s worked best as the flashy friend or, as he is in “Collateral”: an everyman who desires the taste of something out of his tax bracket.

This is the first truly evil character Cruise has played in his career. I doubt the change will be permanent, however, as his character effectively negated his most prominent characteristic: his boyish looks. Audiences will be sold on Vincent because the actor doesn’t play him too over the top or too distant. There is an air of mystery about the hitman that should have interests sufficiently piqued.

On the other hand, Cruise is too much a star to not occasionally remind you that he is essentially Tom Cruise playing someone, not being someone. Don’t expect a Ron Kovic or a Frank “T.J.” Mackey-like performance; Mann isn’t working him any harder than Steven Spielberg, John Woo or Rob Reiner did.

Correction: Someone pointed out to me that Travis Bickle wasn't a serial killer. He's more of a psychopath. I agree.

Shyamalan has struck out with “The Village”

The Village (2004)
Buena Vista Pictures presents a M. Night Shyamalan film, starring Bryce Howard, William Hurt and Joaquin Phoenix. Written by Shyamalan. 120m. Rated PG-13 for a scene of violence and frightening situations.

1.5 stars

In baseball, those who talk in cliches say players who are trying too hard for their success are “trying to hit a five-run home run” - a result unattainable in the modern construction of the game.

M. Night Shyamalan has stepped to the proverbial plate and struck out trying to hit a five-run home run with “The Village,” the latest in a string of disappointments since his excellent debut, “The Sixth Sense.”

From a land that time has seemed to forgot lives Edward Walker (William Hurt), the self-righteous but soft spoken elder of a quaint quasi-Amish settlement. The village is so intimate, everyone congregates for meat and a steaming bowl of corn on the cob at the same set of tables.

The villagers are cut off from the rest of civilization, the elders say, by “those we don’t speak of” - monsters attracted to shades of red who attack anyone who crosses over the wooded boundaries.

The fearless and taciturn Lucius Hunt (Joaquin Phoenix) petitions the council to travel to “the towns” for needed medical supplies. While the elders mull this idea, a villager is brutally attacked with a knife. As they lay dying, Edward’s blind daughter Ivy (Bryce Dallas Howard) offers to travel outside the borders for the necessary equipment, hoping the monsters will smell her innocence and righteous intentions and let her pass.

It’s maddening to talk about the plot in such vague terms. Yet one of the few true joys that can be derived from the movie is in guessing the purpose of the antiquated village. Keen observers may have the entire puzzle figured out after the first stinger: a brief glimpse of the red hooded monster about 30 minutes into the film.

Audiences who do figure out the attempted “five run home run” are most likely going to be disappointed. The reveal is not nearly as stunning as finding out Bruce Willis was dead in “The Sixth Sense.”

While they wait, they’ll be exposed to the most bathetic screenwriting as elders like Alice Hunt (Sigourney Weaver) and Edward Walker engage in clumsy affairs - the type so ill-conceived you’d expect a scene of disappointing sex to follow. There’s a reason people laugh at the maudlin affairs we called features from the 1930s. Nobody watches “Wuthering Heights” and actually thinks Heathcliff is going to die if he isn’t allowed to love Catherine enough.

Add to this a nauseating type of speaking in which villagers construct sentences in this way: “I am but scared for my only son’s life.” If this movie doesn’t have you rolling your eyes while you’re waiting for its silly payoff, you have a stronger resistance to schmaltz than I do.

The movie does have its moments of hope. Although I think it’s often pretentious and overblown, I could always appreciated the unique camera spins, pans and zooms employed by ardent film school follower Shyamalan. His casting of Academy Award winner Adrien Brody as the village’s idiot is an inspired turn; newcomer Bryce Dallas Howard - the daughter of actor/director Ron Howard - demonstrates promise as well.

During the movie, I spent my time unearthing the nugget of truth hidden in this river of waste. The village is a microcosm for the current America, it seems, because it exists in a state of perpetual fear of the unknown. Since Sept. 11, Americans have been told there’s a minatory presence who wants to attack our water supplies, our small towns, our big corporate giants or our airports. Our yearning to extend beyond our boundaries, Shyamalan may be saying, have caused these undue attacks. But which came first: Did we instigate such attacks by charging through like Manifest Destiny? Or did others attack us because we dared to encroach on their land? Villagers of the movie seemed to have ruined their utopia by arming us with the very thing which could ultimately destroy it: knowledge.