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This thoroughly unpleasant thriller from the hands of Joel Schumacher (
Batman and Robin) offers very little in its lurid tour of snuff films and the seedy pornographic underworld. A wooden Nicolas Cage stars as a private detective hired by a tycoon's widow, who discovers in her dead husband's safe some 8mm footage of a young girl being sexually abused and slaughtered. Cage's job is to determine the veracity of the film and to find out the girl's identity, whether she be alive or dead. What could have been a taut, nerve-jangling thriller is instead a lumbering, overwrought but underwritten tale of vigilante justice. Screenwriter Andrew Kevin Walker also penned the imaginative and compelling
Seven, but you wouldn't know it from this tired and monotonous script. Schumacher tries for echoes of both
The Silence of the Lambs and Paul Schrader's
Hardcore (which stars George C. Scott as a father trying to find his daughter in the seedy porn industry), but despite some slick camerawork, the film fails to draw the audience into either the mystery of the missing girl or Cage's supposed internal conflicts. It's not so much the unsavory subject matter as it is the sloppy and unimaginative filmmaking that makes the movie unbearable. Of the entire cast only Joaquin Phoenix, as a charismatic goth boy who works at an adult book store, comes away with a memorable performance.
--Mark Englehart
From The New Yorker
When a big Hollywood picture starts courting the movie buffs in the audience, it must be in trouble; when it starts with a shot of a movie projector and boasts a hero called Welles, hold your nose. This grim new work from Joel Schumacher takes itself so seriously that there were reports of frivolous laughter in the theatres. The Welles in question, played by Nicolas Cage, is a private detective who is asked to watch a snuff movie and to find out just how snuffy it is-whether a young woman was actually killed onscreen. His quest leads him to Los Angeles and New York, and to a slow crawl through the belly of the porno industry. The problem here is not that Schumacher's approach is exploitative but that it's boring; poor Catherine Keener, playing Welles's wife, has the thankless task of sitting at home waiting for her man to call with yet more recitations of gloom. The usually sprightly Cage seems locked and barred; the only fun comes when he teams up with Joaquin Phoenix, a bemused observer of the hard-core scene. But not even Phoenix can save a film that solemnly fulfills everything you guessed in the first ten minutes. -Anthony Lane
Copyright © 2006
The New Yorker