Showing posts with label matthew fox. Show all posts
Showing posts with label matthew fox. Show all posts

October 19, 2012

Alex Cross

They call me The Smoke Monster


Grade: D
Director: Rob Cohen
Starring: Tyler Perry, Matthew Fox, Edward Burns, Rachel Nichols, John C. McGinley, Cicely Tyson and Jean Reno
MPAA Rating: PG-13
Running Time: 1 hr. 41 min.

It’s sadly appropriate that the penultimate act in Alex Cross, an interloper on the launch of the long-awaited award movies season, takes place in a derelict cinema (here, the ruins of the once-opulent Michigan Theater in Detroit). This anything-but-thrilling thriller is an example of the sort of Hollywood tripe that is steering increasingly more movie watchers toward Redbox and away from the cineplex. “Eight bucks to watch Tyler Perry…out of drag? No thanks, I’ll just wait for the DVD.”

Picking up the tottering mantle once carried by Morgan Freeman in Along Came a Spider and Kiss the Girls, Perry stars in a story loosely adapted from James Patterson’s twelfth novel featuring the titular Ph.D-educated homicide detective. For reasons that aren’t even clear by the time the closing credits roll, there’s a hired hit man (an emaciated Matthew Fox, “Lost” in more ways than one) targeting Detroit’s one-percenters. Resembling a humanoid praying mantis and going by such varying monikers as “The Butcher of Sligo” and “Picasso,” the sadistic killer has a predilection for mixed martial arts and charcoal sketching when he isn’t drugging and dismembering his prey.

Despite supplying subtle clues that virtually beg the police to track his murderous cat-and-mouse spree, Picasso flips his lid when Cross and Co. actually thwart one assassination in a high-rise shootout. So, Picasso starts targeting the cops…or at least female cops and the female significant others of male cops. So, this IS a Tyler Perry movie, after all.

Cross and his partner/best bud Tommy (Edward Burns) get strapped and go rogue, stealing homicide evidence (collected against an innocent suspect, we’re conspicuously informed) to trade for information about Picasso. Amidst a clutter of cliché, we meet inconsequential characters like John C. McGinley’s stock police captain (someone tell me whether he’s alive or dead) and a French industrialist played by Jean Reno, who apparently absorbed all the calories Fox shed.

Perry seems most at ease where you’d expect: personal family moments like sharing the joy of his wife’s new pregnancy or the give-and-take with his sassy “Nana Mama” (Cicely Tyson). It’s when he has to start expanding his emotions or chasing bad guys that the portly Perry runs into real peril. So, director Rob Cohen trots out the annoying shaky cam, its worst application being during a climactic grapple in which Perry’s haymakers must have looked like feather pillows without some digital obfuscation.

I still don’t know what is more unbelievable: the implausible timing required for the hit launched from a moving People Mover, or the final scene confessions of a villain lacking any necessity to spill his guts. Or maybe it’s that a movie so conspicuously sponsored by Cadillac includes a plot point that could discourage people from buying a car equipped with OnStar.

Besides Fox, who appears as though he prepared for completely different movie, the rest of the cast lifelessly yammers through the already insipid script as though it was their first read-through. Perhaps it was, since any sensible actor would have fled Alex Cross immediately after rehearsal and sought out more highbrow fare…like a cross-dressing comedy.

February 20, 2008

Vantage Point

Look here...the Others strike again


Grade: C
Starring: Dennis Quaid, Matthew Fox, Forest Whitaker, Sigourney Weaver, William Hurt, Edgar Ramirez, and Said Taghmaoui
Rating: PG-13
Running Time: 1 hour, 30 minutes

Even a prestige cast and whiz-bang machinations cannot save Vantage Point, the, oh, thousandth resurrection of Rashomon, this time as a 24-inspired deconstruction of the apparent assassination of the U.S. president (William Hurt), on the eve of an international counterterrorism summit, from six different perspectives. The problem is that by the third or fourth rewind/replay, revelation turns to repetition. The tableau ultimately proves a hollow gimmick designed to stretch the film’s running time to the requisite 90-minute mark. By the time you realize that you could just watch the overextended final segment and glean the entire plotline, you have already sat through 70 minutes of filler with nothing to show for it besides a bad case of déjà vu.

The round-robin format leaves several actors – particularly CNN-style press hounds played by Sigourney Weaver and Zoe Saldana – with little to contribute while relegating others to their base impulses. Chief among the latter are veteran Secret Service agent Thomas Barnes (Dennis Quaid), who once took a bullet for the president and spends this entire film sporting Quaid’s trademark scowl while constantly staring into a video monitor and growling some variation of “My God…” or “Jesus Christ…” As an American tourist with a camcorder, Forest Whitaker manages to over-Method a role that requires little of him besides running through the city streets of Salamanca, Spain filming his own personal Cloverfield.

Hurt and Lost's Matthew Fox acquit themselves well; in particular, Fox’s brand of intense masculine vulnerability gives him star potential that can be realized in the right role. But, so absorbed are director Pete Travis and debut screenwriter Barry Levy in their fastitious formula that before all the disparate narratives conveniently collide at a single intersection in the middle of town, they attempt to package zeitgeist about overseas anti-American sentiment and the nobility of a president who refuses to reflexively bomb a friendly Arab country based on “solid intelligence” inside a storyline that features unfriendly Arab jihadists killing hundreds in an effort to off that same president.

An improbable car chase, a POTUS body-double, and the interminable plight of a lost little girl are the frosting on this bland layer cake. The most useful vantage point, it turns out, is the view of the theater’s exit door on your way out of it.

Neil Morris