One Hour Photo (2002)
Photography was apparently all the thematic rage in films last year -- they were an intrinsic part of Memento, they were fraught with significance in The Others, Matthieu Kassovitz collected them in Amelie... and this little movie, so obsessed with snapshots and scopophilia, was being filmed. It almost plays out like a series of photos -- the look of the film is so deliberate and stylized that it seems preserved in amber. Quite simply, this is a beautiful movie to look at, possibly my favorite this year from a pure visual standpoint. There is a downside to all this fussy manipulation of the mise-en-scene, however; in terms of narrative, the film also feels encased in something -- molasses, maybe. Deliberation is a fine thing to apply to your visuals when your screenplay is weak (look what wonders it did for Se7en), but when the same action-free pace leaks into telling of your story, thereby allowing the audience to pick out holes, notice gaffes and eventually see it for the shallow thing it is... that's a brand of seeing the filmmakers never thought of. They do try, I'll give them credit (there's no lack of ambition thematically, even if the whole idea of photos-as-rememberences was done far more impressively in Memento), but all the visual brio in the world can't keep this from feeling like the bastard son of Peeping Tom and The Hand the Rocks the Cradle. (Looking at the above critique of pacing, I suppose the same charges could be leveled at Signs. I never claimed to be consistent, dammit.) Visual brio does count for a lot in my book, though, especially when it's able to conjure up a palpable sense of unease and creepiness. Besides, the filmmakers had another ace in the hole with Robin Williams. Here he gives his best performance in years, disappearing completely into the character of Sy. His well-modulated turn lends depth to a role that on paper must read as aggresively one-dimensional (one-and-a-half at best), and he keeps the film afloat even when it veers into been-there-done-that territory. He makes this worth seeing on his lonesome; the eye-popping sights are mere gravy. (I get the feeling that if Mark Romanek ever gets his hands on a really good screenplay, he'll turn out a masterpiece.)
Grade: B
Photography was apparently all the thematic rage in films last year -- they were an intrinsic part of Memento, they were fraught with significance in The Others, Matthieu Kassovitz collected them in Amelie... and this little movie, so obsessed with snapshots and scopophilia, was being filmed. It almost plays out like a series of photos -- the look of the film is so deliberate and stylized that it seems preserved in amber. Quite simply, this is a beautiful movie to look at, possibly my favorite this year from a pure visual standpoint. There is a downside to all this fussy manipulation of the mise-en-scene, however; in terms of narrative, the film also feels encased in something -- molasses, maybe. Deliberation is a fine thing to apply to your visuals when your screenplay is weak (look what wonders it did for Se7en), but when the same action-free pace leaks into telling of your story, thereby allowing the audience to pick out holes, notice gaffes and eventually see it for the shallow thing it is... that's a brand of seeing the filmmakers never thought of. They do try, I'll give them credit (there's no lack of ambition thematically, even if the whole idea of photos-as-rememberences was done far more impressively in Memento), but all the visual brio in the world can't keep this from feeling like the bastard son of Peeping Tom and The Hand the Rocks the Cradle. (Looking at the above critique of pacing, I suppose the same charges could be leveled at Signs. I never claimed to be consistent, dammit.) Visual brio does count for a lot in my book, though, especially when it's able to conjure up a palpable sense of unease and creepiness. Besides, the filmmakers had another ace in the hole with Robin Williams. Here he gives his best performance in years, disappearing completely into the character of Sy. His well-modulated turn lends depth to a role that on paper must read as aggresively one-dimensional (one-and-a-half at best), and he keeps the film afloat even when it veers into been-there-done-that territory. He makes this worth seeing on his lonesome; the eye-popping sights are mere gravy. (I get the feeling that if Mark Romanek ever gets his hands on a really good screenplay, he'll turn out a masterpiece.)
Grade: B
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