Change Your Image
patrickfranciscollins
Ratings
Most Recently Rated
Lists
An error has ocurred. Please try againReviews
The Babysitter (2017)
A Strange "Good/bad" Movie
The Baybsitter is a strange film to critique in that there are numerous ways to do so. If you're looking for a "so bad it's good" experience, this film and its sequel (alongside anything directed by McG) are the money. Although, in terms of legitimate quality when assessed like most films, it's very poor.
The movie is usually funny with how putrid the transitions are, often times music feels entirely out of place and the tacked-on movie-ruining references are even more so. The dialogue feels more like bad nerd erotica for a good chunk of the film rather than an actual movie. Although, sometimes the movie becomes offensive in its quality.
For one, the characters are so stereotypical that the movie is hypocritical - it attempts to comment on social issues such as feminism, yet the female characters are exclusively either the Madonna or the wh0re. It attempts to speak on racial inequality, and yet every black character is "hip" or has a "fire mixtape", uses words like "yo" and "forreal" in every second sentence and greet people with the same close-to-the-chest handshake. It all feels like a confusing cha-cha slide of political alliance, as though it wants to be appeal to racists one moment and condemn the very same bigotry in the next. The commentary either feels largely underdeveloped and simplistic, downright racist or sexist, or simply unnecessary.
A lot of "good-bad" movies are also good because they're surprising. You never really know what'll happen because it's impossible to predict a script so laughable. The Babysitter is different, though, it's sort of a grey area of predictability: despite its efforts to subvert expectations, these sudden changes in tone and pace never feel threatening. Every "scare" you can see coming, most deaths are the same, besides the first and one of the last, but even when the movie is surprising, the reaction it provokes is more of indifference; perhaps an "Oh... ok." From the audience at best. Sometimes scenes can be seen from a mile away, other times quick shifts and changes in the script are surprising, but never thrilling or bewildering in the same way as other movies of this calibre.
The dialogue is so laughable that it's hardly worth mentioning. When the script is actually trying to be funny, it isn't, and when it's not, it is. There is one joke that made me laugh and this was the only moment of genuine quality in the entire script: the stereotypical black character makes a joke about STD's that isn't in too poor taste and involves an actual setup and punchline rather than the movie just half-assedly saying something that sounds "quirky" or "relatable" like it does for the rest of its duration.
Overall, if you're looking for a laugh with a friend, this movie may be it. Something to poke fun at and have a good time with in the background. Even if it can get offensive at points, it is mostly a fun time if not taken too seriously. However, being reviewed genuinely, and having its quality assessed legitimately: this movie is a disaster, even if it is one you can't look away from. The characters are unbearably bad, the writing is contrived and at points, horribly offensive. The Babysitter is certainly a strange one, although whether or not it's worth the watch depends on who you are. If you want a good movie, look elsewhere. If you want a good time with a bad movie, you've found a candidate.
The Night House (2020)
Contrived, confused, conspicuous
The Night House (directed by David Bruckner) is a trite and largely contrived "horror"/ thriller movie whose somewhat unique concepts fall flat as they are surrounded by cheap jump scares and a predictable investigative plot that is blatantly non-sensical.
One of the film's greatest feats is its ability to establish itself quickly. It does this with a degree of subtlety: at the beginning we hear a hushed conversation about a loss and immediately the movie is intriguing.
However, this great feat is immediately ruined moments later when the same point is re-established again and again without any subtlety at all. We see a cliche sequence of Beth (who is so forgettable that I had to google her name shortly after viewing this movie) looking over old videotapes of her dead husband, a trope that is very tired at this point. While the first scene left me hopeful for a unique experience, the following ones (such as this) prove this film to be everything but.
The movie gets even worse, somehow, at exploring Beth's grief shortly after. Beth is a teacher, although this job is entirely incidental and contributes nothing to the movie other than setting up a single scene with a child's mother for the sole purpose of informing the audience that Beth's husband committed suicide. Although this encounter is meant to act like a "breaking point" for the character, we aren't shown enough prior to this moment for it to feel natural. Furthermore, while a line or two about the husband may have been understandable, after all, the writers have to lighten their expository load, Beth instead depicts the entire tale for this stranger (and the audience) and the moment immediately tarnishes any provocative core it had simply by being poorly written and largely contrived. There are several moments like this in the movie, where the protagonist is given the "trait" of oversharing to excuse poor writing rather than for any strong characterisation. The film is incapable of discussing mature topics naturally, and each time it wants to explore grief an underwhelming scenario is invented for that sole purpose rather than any dialogue developing naturally - the subject doesn't feel like an intelligent deliberation of grief, it never feels fluid or cohesive; merely tacked-on and uninspired.
Similarly, half of the film's cast exists to be exploited for a lack of writing talent. A great example of which is the bar sequence, where an entire group of friends is materialised for Beth in order to pry more exposition about the husband's suicide out of the script. This is the most offensive example of this, as the questions these "people" ask are not even in the same realm as the word "normal", and the protagonist is once again justified by the writers as someone who "overshares" in order to supply this readily available exposition. This group is never seen again and this is their purpose in its entirety - expository dialogue. Hooray.
There is another character, an endearing yet slightly "off" old man who lives across the lake who exists for a similar purpose, although his is even less tangible. It's fairly indiscernible whether he exists only as a red herring to arouse the viewer's suspicion or a way to further Beth's lacklustre investigation, as he doesn't do a great job fulfilling either role. Regardless, he lacks an identity, doesn't service the movie in any major way, is nearly pointless and yet another example of an obvious need for greater writing talent within the film's script.
This character isn't the only red herring, though, there are several: in one scene Beth looks through her husband's diaries and finds blueprints, alongside books on mazes accompanied by several scrawling of these mazes. None of these elements - which at first seem imperative - go anywhere at all. The maze books and drawings pop up several times throughout the movie and yet there is never any correlation to the actual plot. The books themselves link to a character the husband knew, but these could have been any books - why specifically develop this obsession with mazes, show numerous scribbles of them separate from the books, and then provide no payoff to this prevalent theme? The blueprints also provide nothing to the film, like the books, and exist to make the film seem more intriguing than it ends up being. They don't move the plot forward at all. The blueprints are for both the house the movie is named after as well as a hidden shack with bodies under the floorboards. The latter blueprints maybe could have been interesting, since it sort of leads somewhere, but the reason that the protagonist searches for this murder-shack is completely disconnected from the prints, as she sees it in a dream and decides to look for it thereafter. The former prints, however, are wholly pointless. So it begs the question, what's the point? Like a lot of this movie, there isn't one. These promising concepts are solely to divert attention and theorisation away from the obvious plot the movie eventually falls into.
Arguably the main plot device that gets the ball rolling are the pictures of women found on the husband's phone and computer. This doesn't make sense, though. It's revealed late in the film that the husband was being tormented by death itself, referred to as "nothing" within the movie, and that he killed people that looked like protagonist to fool death into thinking they were Beth, who death wants. So, if the husband hates killing and literally shot himself to prevent causing further harm to others and it was tearing him apart emotionally, why relish in it, snapping sly photographs of the victims and never deleting them? He gains nothing from taking these pictures and it doesn't suit his character. Even if he felt the photos were necessary for some reason, why would he keep them after the women inevitably went missing? It's illogical and nonsensical, keeping these photos around like a present for the police to find. You could say that in some profound way, he was conflicted and deep down, wanted to be caught, but let's be honest - the movie isn't that high brow.
When it comes to the lead character herself, it's tragic that her character revolves entirely around the man, her husband, and that she lacks any memorable identity outside of a relationship with him whatsoever. Her husband - despite the audience never seeing him (in the flesh) and him being a literal corpse - is given the more compelling character arc, which is both something to be impressed and repulsed by.
The acting is also decent, Rebecca Hall does a good job with a poor script in that you can see some of the characters tics develop as the film ensues. She can also get very emotional at any given moment, a feat which would serve her well if the script could at all be taken seriously. Unfortunately, it cannot, so her acting is in vein, akin to any attempt at "horror" within this movie.
The movie's idea of a fright is to jump scare the audience with extremely loud, repellent music or sharp audio cues which only made my ears recoil in fear rather than anything else. Although there are some extremely well shot segments which make creative use of environments towards the end, and the reveal of who has been speaking to the protagonist is somewhat worthwhile on paper, it feels sort of gimmicky and underdeveloped, it's at least a decent concept - which is scarce in this movie - but even these concepts fall flat at this movie's delivery.
The Night House could have been a good movie, had it capitalised on the several red herrings it placed throughout its narrative, evolving these clues into actual relevancy, or if it made better use of any of its useless characters. However, since it is so abominably contrived, sloppily written and downright forgettable, the movie's mild potential in concept wanes into complete mediocrity upon execution.
Eyes Wide Shut (1999)
Hair-raising uncertainty
Eyes Wide Shut is the remarkable final film by Stanley Kubrick, the enigmatic and revered auteur. The picture preceded his death by mere months and cements his legacy as one of the greatest filmmakers all time.
One of the most immediately captivating elements of this movie is its music - the sounds that accompany Bill Hartford (Tom Cruise) around the city of New York are not those of some inner-city melody like one might expect, but rather an isolating, low and rumbling yet volatile piano ballad whose unpredictability mirrors that of the film. The piece begins piercing yet somewhat distant, as the knife-like keys stab and echo towards the audience, before these knives are drowned by the deep gurgle of the lower piano notes, occasionally and incalculably writhing out between those low tones for another stab at the audience's ears. Though simple, this recurring theme does wonders in terms of building the atmosphere and unease within a scene as well as heightening the experience of the film when aligned with Kubrick's fantastic images.
Such images are powerful because of their contrast to reality; the film is littered with Christmas lights and colours associated with joviality: shades of green, red, orange, yellow, pink, but as the story unfolds this vibrancy seems to contrast the film's darkness, like an inviting masquerade serving as conspiratorial subterfuge.
Everything in this movie contributes to the atmosphere: one of darkness and anxiety. The city, with what few glimpses we see of it, feels alive, lurking in the pit of its own darkness, waiting to accommodate the dark fantasies of the protagonist with both its narrow streets as well as its neon signs and dim-lit bars.
Although the most important quality within the film is not mere images in a vacuum, you can have a good-looking film and still, it is without soul if it is without engaging storytelling. Luckily, the movie thrives here, too. The structure of Eyes Wide Shut is certainly off-kilter (though not to the degree of a 2001 or Full Metal Jacket) featuring a myriad of deliberately drawn out scenes both near the beginning and end. The picture takes little time to introduce itself, instead opting to throw itself head-first into the arms of its own plot almost immediately. This structure is extremely refreshing and makes the movie stand out from the very first frame. Eyes Wide Shut is simultaneously quick yet careful, it indulges in the characters and setting to such an immense degree, yet it takes so little time to acquaint the audience with these aspects of the film that the embellishment feels less like your average introductory phase and more like peeling back layers of characters you already know despite having just met them, in a place you're used to despite having never seen. This sense of familiarity soon fades, though, when Bill gets himself wrapped up in either what could be a conspiracy, the calibre of which seems to envelope the entire city, or gets himself wrapped in what could also merely be his own paranoia.
The film's true glory is that either could be true; it is left ambiguous, but interestingly so: there is evidence for both conclusions. A trail of upscaling violence left in Bill's wake, a chain made in bruises and overdoses, but then justified by the only common acquaintance and "friend" Bill has - Victor - as being merely circumstantial. The afore mentioned long sequences of Eyes Wide Shut build not only the atmosphere, but the film's mystique, also. It is a remarkable (and intentional) irony that the more the audience is made aware of, the less they actually know; instead of answering these larger-than-life questions with lazy expository dialogue, tacked on at the film's end to give cohesion to dangling threads left in the writer's self-made pigeon-hole they locked themselves into, Kubrick ensures that Bill's inquires only add to the unknown.
This show of smoke and mirrors never truly ends, it only becomes yet more eery, more bold and more inventive as the film nears its end, supplying the audience with an incessant stream of unnerving scenarios to fuel the intangible sense of dread at the core of the film. The inquiries Bill makes do end up feeling "pointless", as they were tactfully labelled by the movie's featured cult, but not in a way that is indicative of feeble writing or material that should be removed, but rather the powerlessness of Bill's investigations continuously builds the hopeless and paralysing questions within the audience's heads.
However, the film is not perfect. For example, Alice (Nicole Kidman) has two monologues, one where she depicts a dream lacking in any subtlety in a scene which spans over five minutes, as well as her monologue about a Navy man, and both are underwhelming. The latter is not quite as offensive, it begins promising but is extended past its welcome, reiterating itself over and over while causing an already massive scene which was hitherto brilliant to taper off at the tail end. The former, though, is dreadful: Alice drones on and on for over five minutes about a surface-level dream epitomising obviousness, and despite the point of this lengthy scene being advertised instantaneously, the character and script continue to babble on uninterestingly for several minutes without ever switching subject. It is needlessly drawn out. These moments could be viewed as necessary (without them Bill would lack motive or conflict and the plot would stagnate, and it provides insight into the characters which are otherwise brilliant) or even "pivotal" - yet they are boring; the movie proves it is possible to be both. These instances detract from the larger whole of the film and take the audience out of the experience where it could have been avoided, although it doesn't take long to slip back into the film's world, which is enthralling until the credits roll.
Perhaps some viewers may be discontented by the lack of a real conclusion to the cult plot, but arguably this lack of transparency is what works best for the film. Even at the end, when somewhat of a "happy ending" is reached, the audience will still be paranoid, locked into their seats and awaiting tragedy. An awareness springs, and the amicability of the imagery becomes... sinister. In the movie's final moments we see the couple's daughter walk off, perhaps accompanied by, or - at least alongside - two older men, dressed in coats frighteningly similar to those found in the fantastic mansion section of the movie. They walk off, never to be seen again, with the daughter next to them. Perhaps it's a mistake, perhaps it's intentional. It could be the cult men returning to punish Bill for breaking his oath to tell no-one of the cult, or nothing. The movie is so meticulous in its obstinate refusal to reveal anything that truthfully, it doesn't matter. This could be some horrific hidden ending or nothing at all, but the fact that something lurking in the background of a scene can be discussed akin to a core element of a lesser movie is indicative of Kubrick's reputation for perfection, as well as his ability to manipulate audiences into being hyper-aware of everything, just like Bill Hartford, as a result of experiencing this movie.
Eyes Wide Shut is almost wholly unique, with its surreal mansion segment which may go down as one of the best cinematic sequences of all time - especially with its parallels to reality we uncover every day in the modern age - with its intensely oppressive atmosphere of paranoia, sexual frustration and fear. There's a lot to love about this movie, and it's an experience which verges on transcendent; as it finishes, the haunting nature of both major and minute details will remain, and the movie will be left - like those hair-raising piano keys that accompany it so well - to echo in the minds of its audience, as the film refuses to remove its mask.
The Theban Plays by Sophocles: Oedipus the King (1986)
An interesting experience
I watched this in class one time and it gave me a literal seizure.
2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
Beauty Without Meaning
2001: A Space Odyssey is one of the most renowned films of all time. Often you'll hear pretentious film students talk about how existential the experience is, how grandiose the scope of the film is, and what a wonderful thing it's saying - but never have I heard anyone say what the film is actually about.
There's something to be said about ambiguity (when it's employed well) and how it can enhance the experience of a film, truly decide whether or not you like it, in a way that is very hit or miss. Some of my favourite films of the last decade use ambiguity as a tool to work their magic and remain within the viewer after the experience (take The Lighthouse, for example) but in order for ambiguity to work in this way, there needs to be a degree of certainty.
What I mean by this is that with those other films there are unquestionable aspects of the movie that work as a foundation for the ambiguity to operate: you know about the world, characters, etc. And there is a general understanding to be had of the film before those (in some cases) off-kilter scenes happen that leave the audience questioning things. But without this foundation, you make the audience question everything, which ultimately makes them question nothing; if there is nothing known or certain, no central premise or foundation, no actual intrinsic story or direction to the film, then the film is at its core, about nothing.
I've heard people use the "Show vs. Tell" argument in discussion around movies such as 2001, and they say that films such as this are greater than films that "tell" you everything going on. What I posit to these people, as a genuine question with no arrogance or ill intent, is what is this film "showing", then? The film opens with 20 minutes of ape footage depicting the evolution of man after a black box appears. This is uninteresting and frankly, boring. The "questions" the film is apparently "asking" you are juvenile and uninteresting. "Oooo where did this box come from, what does it represent?"
These are boring questions to ponder when you have to experience a film lacking in any foundation, the writing, when it happens (in the third act) is brilliant, but for the first long, drawn out two thirds of the film, there is little to no dialogue besides exposition about an infection that eventually leads nowhere and matters nothing to the core of the film, other than to posit another pointless "question" when the audience learns that this quarantined space station features... uh oh... the black box!
The problem with 2001's ambiguity in this sense is that it's everywhere, to the point where the basic premise of the film can't even be agreed upon. If such an opinion makes myself a lesser film critic then fine, but ambiguity for its own sake, or for the sake of neglecting any writing duties, is terrible. What's the point in ambiguity if the audience is forced to virtually make their own story out of something? To me, there isn't one. Either paint the canvas or leave it blank, don't spray the middle with sporadic splodges of alluded meaning and ask me to finish it for you, to make it into something myself.
While the film, in a logical sense, has direction (in that it has a goal, an end point), it is entirely devoid of meaning. The final act of the film is good, and features actual writing alongside intense surrealism. Although, like the rest of the film, said surrealism - with those glorious colours dancing hyper-actively across the screen - lasts too long, and even the hypnotic blend of flowing vibrancy becomes, somehow, uninteresting.
It's almost as though the film itself is aware that it has no tangible direction, so it flattens the few powerful moments it possesses by indulging in them, hoping to convince you that the experience is worthwhile due to such moments, but to the point of such embellishment becoming a hinderance to the moment, destroying the power it once had, and thus weakening the experience overall; the film itself ruins what little pace and fascination it builds.
The film is generally too long, too drawn out, it features dialogue that is utterly inconsequential or irrelevant, and yet, it is praised for what is considered to be its unique "storytelling". Who knew that dispensing with narrative entirely would be considered "subverting the medium" by so many.
Though its influence and spectacular direction are undeniable, the film is somehow, at the same time grandiose yet uncharismatic, vibrant yet lifeless; deliberate, yet without meaning. Even said direction and influence do not mean the film is good. On the contrary, 2001 is an indulgent, sloppy mess of a film that proves movies are not greater than the sum of their parts - you can have great cinematography and direction, decent actors and the works - but in the end, if the film is merely masquerading behind its faux existentialism and tacked-on ambiguity as a crux to relieve the intricacies of storytelling, if it drags itself on past the point of being tolerable for no purpose, and if it is, at its core, fundamentally devoid of any coherent meaning beyond pretension, it's no masterpiece.
Punch-Drunk Love (2002)
A False Promise
Punch-Drunk Love is an interesting film whose central premise doesn't live up to its intensely emotional title.
The character of Barry is an incredibly interesting one, and does wonders in terms of evoking sympathy as well as empathy. Adam Sandler's acting in this film is also amongst his best. Barry's large group of sisters bully him to the point of him feeling like more of an outsider than he could've been, or ends up being, until he finds a woman who he falls in love with, and his confidence and power are restored. The only problem is, this plot is vastly under-developed.
Phillip Seymour Hoffman's character has all of three scenes which establish him to be "angry man who wants money" and not much past that. While the man's acting can never be insulted, the character is far from good, and even more unbelievable is how his story is resolved. He sends men after Barry to attack and take money from him, displaying a willingness to commit multiple crimes, and then towards the end all Barry has to do is say "Hey, cut that out!" And he stops.
Presumably PSH's character took Barry's weakness for granted, and didn't see his strength as being worth the struggle, and in this way the film attempts to showcase how love has changed Barry - but in doing so, it compromises the believability of what could be considered the "antagonist". For one, why would a man who is involved in crime expect no resistance at all? Even from a man like Barry, it seems doubtful that someone would disengage from conspicuous showcases of ordered violent crime out of respect for someone's bravado later on. Second, what did his character even want? Of course, to exploit Barry, but for what purpose besides money? And at least, why does he want that money? These are questions the film never answers.
If all that matters is the love of the film, you know, the main love interest, then fine, cast these comments about all else aside and let us focus on the main love. A character who, shortly after watching the film, I cannot remember the name of, and is so hilariously idyllic and one-dimensional that the film feels like it's happening inside Barry's own head. She displays nothing but interest for Barry, continuously, and their relationship involves nothing but flat, boring remarks about liking one another, and an interesting dynamic between the characters is instead replaced by off-kilter yet one-note flirting. Perhaps this is the euphoria of their early relationship but even then, the scenes involving the two feel like a false promise; it acts as though there is something better, more grand behind the curtain waiting to be revealed, and yet all there ever is happens to be more idealism. Even at the end, where a decent ending would have been for the woman to reject Barry for leaving her in the hospital - she just accepts him, barely listening to his explanation before embracing him again. It feels quite deflated, and the two never seem to talk about anything seriously and their scenes play like a ten year old's imagined first dates.
The direction and camera work is good, but not nearly on par with Paul's other works. There are more than a few scenes of the film which feature lens flare so abhorrent that it actively inhibits the importance of the dialogue from occurring to the viewer as they can't even see the characters' faces. However, it is a mixed bag, as soon after one of these instances there is a great section in the middle which is deliberately overwhelming (due to the direction) in order to illustrate Barry's inability to escape disaster and his sisters' abuse.
The soundtrack is of a more consistent quality though, often doing wonders in serving the tension or enhancing the joy of the action within a scene.
The film is by no means poor - Barry's character is a genuinely interesting one, and one I found myself attached to almost immediately. I felt sorry for him, I felt his want for escape, his sadness and his anxiety and torment stemming from his sisters.
When the film ended, I felt partly glad for him, but on the whole, a lot of the other characters feel either under-developed or unimportant to an almost indiscernible premise, a lot of the time operating as background noise to fuel the struggle of a character whose conclusion is far from the satisfying end it could've been had these roles been better written. It's as though the picture is as lost as its protagonist, wanting something for itself that it can hardly attain, and in this state its story of love feels half-hearted and lacking in the dynamic one might think of with such an extreme title as Punch-Drunk Love.
The Master (2012)
An exhibition in pretentious meandering
2012 saw renowned director Paul Thomas Anderson lapse into pure meaninglessness, with his absurdly pretentious exhibition of meandering - The Master - which operates as a film that attempts to tackle or at least discuss many, many serious issues and in so doing it fails to discuss even the issue of its own characters.
The film dedicates itself largely to two characters: one, the main, Freddie, and two, the Master. And yet, at the beginning and end of the film both of these characters are exactly the same, they are explored only in specific, key areas otherwise not at all, and the events that the film depicts don't even feel important in the scope of their stories. The film attempts to speak on various issues and ultimately does none of them justice, and they all come off as gimmicks, tacked on to make the film seem more original.
Joaquin Phoenix and Phillip Seymour Hoffman give life-alteringly good performances, a showcase of which is the fantastic interview scene which takes place over the course of several minutes of repeated questioning, the former actor gradually becoming more emotionally worked up and even distressed at times, while Hoffman spouts lines here and there about his philosophy, decorating the cake nicely with his weirdo Scientology icing. There's another great scene where Hoffman shines in showing the Master's impulsivity when attempting to disable a critic, if the reader requires a more fulfilling representation of his talent in the film.
The picture is a lot like that, though, a fantastic scene here and there, but altogether, a cluttered and unfocused mess. In spite of the beautiful cinematography of this film, and the outstanding performances, the movie is, in a word, purposeless. The definition of "pretentious" is for something to affect a larger purpose or importance than it actually has, and in this we can see that the Master more than fits this bill. For one, this messy assembly of loosely connected ideas that never go anywhere is pretentious for affecting that it has any purpose, for it doesn't, but it goes farther than this. In the end, the deflated and useless finish writes itself six feet below ground, but in this task it simultaneously twiddles its own moustache acting superior and genius, especially when some of Hoffman's final words are uttered, and it's as though the picture is unable to escape its own ego.
He says "If you ever do learn to live without a master, do tell us, because you'll be the first in human history" and then proceeds to sing eerily. The scene, though decent, sums up perfectly the faux "importance" of the film. 2 and a half hours of nonsense, little to no character development and a non-existent plot, only to cement a message that humans have had leaders throughout history. Wow. Perhaps it's deeper than that, perhaps it's a commentary on the master himself, how he excuses his own flaws because he deems it a sacrifice for leadership, and if not him, then who? But even then, this is a point the film fails to make the audience care about. Why does it matter? In short, it doesn't. The characters can be unpacked all you want, but their end goal doesn't change, doesn't falter, doesn't adapt to their own emotions, and ultimately the film feels entirely pointless, like a poor project written by a man affecting talent greater than that which he actually possesses.
The film may find fans in those that prioritise good looks above all else, ironic for a medium whose fans often criticise that which is "flashy" but lacking in substance, and perhaps the performances persuade some viewers that there is something lurking there, under the surface, waiting to be peeled back. If there is though, you'll need a ninety inch scalpel and some firm tweezers to pull out anything but dust from this bloodless wound of a film.