Time is of the essence for Al Pacino's Dr. Jack Gramm, a forensic scientist who receives a threatening call on his cell phone informing him he's got all of 88 minutes to live.
But a scant hour-and-a-half can seem like a hellish eternity when you've got a nonsensical, exposition-heavy script (by Gary Scott Thompson) and stagy directing (by Jon Avnet) to work with, not to mention an official running time that actually exceeds the American-German co-production's real-time gimmick by almost 20 minutes.
Spending a good portion of the past two years being knocked around TriStar's release schedule, this ridiculous thriller would be hard-pressed to last much longer than its title in theaters before doing time on DVD, as is already the case in many overseas territories.
When two copycat killings take place within hours of the scheduled execution of Jon Forster (Neal McDonough), who was found guilty of being the serial killer known as the The Seattle Strangler, the media is beginning to wonder if Gramm's nine-year-old testimony convicted the right guy.
While Gramm is convinced the grisly killings are the work of a copycat killer, he finds himself with more pressing problems when he receives a personal, time-sensitive death threat from somebody who would appear to be operating within his own circle of colleagues.
As the body count continues to hit ever closer to home, Gramm is required to cut through the mounting paranoia and whittle down the list of potential suspects before it's too late.
It will actually take a lot less than 88 minutes for most audience members to figure out whodunit thanks to some clunky execution that effectively tips the culprit's identity within the first half-hour.
The old built-in ticking clock is a trick that can work successfully on a show like "24" or, to a lesser extent, in a film like John Badham's 1995 thriller, Nick of Time, but it requires expert calibration from both the writing and direction to pull it off.
A quickening of pace would also be a prerequisite, but in the case of 88 Minutes the accompanying action is more of the head-scratching than the pulse-pounding variety.
While Avnet is a filmmaker with a proven strength for character-driven literary drama like Fried Green Tomatoes, he seems out of his element here, especially the one provided by Gary Scott Thompson's ragingly artificial copycat of a copycat killer picture.
Pacino, sporting a wild hairdo and facial hair that seemingly channels the late Wolfman Jack, counts on his old bag of tricks to pump some credibility into his character, but this time they only take him so far.
Also squandered is a talented supporting cast including Alicia Witt, Amy Brenneman and Leelee Sobieski, among the list of possible suspects, who have all, apparently been instructed to overplay their roles on the potentially guilty side.
With something like eight executive producers on board, it's not surprising that the prevailing visual style would be best described as quick and dirty, with a barely-disguised Vancouver subbing for Seattle.
88 MINUTES
TriStar Pictures
A TriStar Pictures and Millennium Films presentation of a Randall Emmett/George Furla production for Equity Pictures Medienfonds GmbH & KG III and Nu Image Entertainment GmbH.
Credits:
Director: Jon Avnet
Writer: Gary Scott Thompson
Producers: Jon Avnet, Randall Emmett, Gary Scott Thompson, Avi Lerner
Executive producers: Danny Dimbort, Trevor Short, Boaz Davidson, George Furla, Andreas Thiesmeyer, Josef Lautenschlager, Lawrence Bender, John Baldecchi
Director of photography: Denis Lenoir
Production designer: Tracey Gallacher
Music: Edward Shearmur
Co-producers: Michael Flannigan, John Thompson, Samuel Hadida, Marsha Oglesby, Jochen Kamlah, Gerd Koechlin, Manfred Heid
Costume designer: Mary McLeod
Editor: Peter Berger
Cast:
Jack Gramm: Al Pacino
Kim Cummings: Alicia Witt
Lauren Douglas: Leelee Sobieski
Shelly Barnes: Amy Brenneman
Carol Lynn Johnson: Deborah Kara Unger
Benjamin McKenzie: Mike Stempt
Jon Forster: Neal McDonough
Running time -- 106 minutes
MPAA rating: R...
But a scant hour-and-a-half can seem like a hellish eternity when you've got a nonsensical, exposition-heavy script (by Gary Scott Thompson) and stagy directing (by Jon Avnet) to work with, not to mention an official running time that actually exceeds the American-German co-production's real-time gimmick by almost 20 minutes.
Spending a good portion of the past two years being knocked around TriStar's release schedule, this ridiculous thriller would be hard-pressed to last much longer than its title in theaters before doing time on DVD, as is already the case in many overseas territories.
When two copycat killings take place within hours of the scheduled execution of Jon Forster (Neal McDonough), who was found guilty of being the serial killer known as the The Seattle Strangler, the media is beginning to wonder if Gramm's nine-year-old testimony convicted the right guy.
While Gramm is convinced the grisly killings are the work of a copycat killer, he finds himself with more pressing problems when he receives a personal, time-sensitive death threat from somebody who would appear to be operating within his own circle of colleagues.
As the body count continues to hit ever closer to home, Gramm is required to cut through the mounting paranoia and whittle down the list of potential suspects before it's too late.
It will actually take a lot less than 88 minutes for most audience members to figure out whodunit thanks to some clunky execution that effectively tips the culprit's identity within the first half-hour.
The old built-in ticking clock is a trick that can work successfully on a show like "24" or, to a lesser extent, in a film like John Badham's 1995 thriller, Nick of Time, but it requires expert calibration from both the writing and direction to pull it off.
A quickening of pace would also be a prerequisite, but in the case of 88 Minutes the accompanying action is more of the head-scratching than the pulse-pounding variety.
While Avnet is a filmmaker with a proven strength for character-driven literary drama like Fried Green Tomatoes, he seems out of his element here, especially the one provided by Gary Scott Thompson's ragingly artificial copycat of a copycat killer picture.
Pacino, sporting a wild hairdo and facial hair that seemingly channels the late Wolfman Jack, counts on his old bag of tricks to pump some credibility into his character, but this time they only take him so far.
Also squandered is a talented supporting cast including Alicia Witt, Amy Brenneman and Leelee Sobieski, among the list of possible suspects, who have all, apparently been instructed to overplay their roles on the potentially guilty side.
With something like eight executive producers on board, it's not surprising that the prevailing visual style would be best described as quick and dirty, with a barely-disguised Vancouver subbing for Seattle.
88 MINUTES
TriStar Pictures
A TriStar Pictures and Millennium Films presentation of a Randall Emmett/George Furla production for Equity Pictures Medienfonds GmbH & KG III and Nu Image Entertainment GmbH.
Credits:
Director: Jon Avnet
Writer: Gary Scott Thompson
Producers: Jon Avnet, Randall Emmett, Gary Scott Thompson, Avi Lerner
Executive producers: Danny Dimbort, Trevor Short, Boaz Davidson, George Furla, Andreas Thiesmeyer, Josef Lautenschlager, Lawrence Bender, John Baldecchi
Director of photography: Denis Lenoir
Production designer: Tracey Gallacher
Music: Edward Shearmur
Co-producers: Michael Flannigan, John Thompson, Samuel Hadida, Marsha Oglesby, Jochen Kamlah, Gerd Koechlin, Manfred Heid
Costume designer: Mary McLeod
Editor: Peter Berger
Cast:
Jack Gramm: Al Pacino
Kim Cummings: Alicia Witt
Lauren Douglas: Leelee Sobieski
Shelly Barnes: Amy Brenneman
Carol Lynn Johnson: Deborah Kara Unger
Benjamin McKenzie: Mike Stempt
Jon Forster: Neal McDonough
Running time -- 106 minutes
MPAA rating: R...
- 4/14/2008
- The Hollywood Reporter - Movie News
Everybody's favorite Vietnam vet with post-traumatic stress disorder is back.
Before the smirking starts, let's not forget that they also were giggling when it was announced that the Italian Stallion was coming out of retirement, but then Sylvester Stallone silenced the skeptics with the thoroughly respectable Rocky Balboa.
Could the first sighting of John J. Rambo in two decades prove equally rewarding?
Oh well, one out of two ain't bad.
For Rambo, the fourth and purportedly final movie in the series that began back in 1982 with First Blood, director/co-writer Stallone has taken a similar, stripped-down approach to the material.
But what worked for the beloved underdog does the one-man killing machine no favors.
By going the unplugged route, Stallone has removed the over-the-top comic book element that made the Rambo movies such a pop cultural staple of the Reagan era.
What remains is a lot of hyper-realistic, brutal violence; snatches of banal dialogue; and all the escalating dramatic tension of a video game.
In short, No. 4 is one big snore.
Considering the cold shoulder given to recent war-related movies, Rambo, with its guerrilla-style marketing campaign, could find that a blotchy iconic image might not be much of a domestic draw beyond nostalgia seekers.
Given Rambo's standing as a worldwide phenomenon, however, the movie's 11 executive producers should still be pleased with those final tallies.
The last time we saw Rambo, he was kicking butt in Afghanistan.
Since that time he has been laying low in northern Thailand, minding his business as a longboat driver on the Salween River and wrangling boa constrictors for snake fights.
But when a group of human rights missionaries gets caught in the crossfire of the still-raging Burmese-Karen civil war, Rambo ultimately rises to the challenge. Accompanied by a group of mercenaries, he soon finds himself ripping out a guy's throat with his bare hands, just like the good old days.
Also, just like the good old days, Rambo remains the strong, silent type, which ensures that speeches like, "When you're pushed, killin' is as easy as breathin'," are kept to a grateful minimum.
The other trite characters in the Stallone- and Art Monterastelli-penned script aren't so lucky, which makes it easier not to become emotionally invested when a good portion of them are beheaded or vivisected or blown to bits by the intense, bloody violence.
It's ironically the only thing that's really alive in this otherwise dull film.
From an audience point of view, you wish Stallone had instead headed in the other direction, pulling out all stops and going out a blaze of glory, taking a page out of the John McClane playbook for last year's guilty-pleasure Die Hard revival.
Instead Stallone is intent on showing the introspective, vulnerable man behind the legend, stripping him of most of that showy '80s gear (but allowing him to keep his shirt on) and ending on a sun-drenched, silly coda during which a weary Rambo discovers that you can go home again.
Sorry Sly, not this time.
RAMBO
Lionsgate
The Weinstein Co./Equity Prods./Millennium Films/Nu Image
Credits:
Director: Sylvester Stallone
Screenwriters: Art Monterastelli, Sylvester Stallone
Based on characters created by: David Morrell
Producers: Avi Lerner, Kevin King-Templeton, John Thompson
Executive producers: Jon Feltheimer, Peter Block, Harvey Weinstein, Bob Weinstein, Danny Dimbort, Boaz Davidson, Trevor Short, Andreas Thiesmeyer, Florian Lechner, Randall Emmett, George Furla
Director of photography: Glen MacPherson
Production designer: Franco Giacomo Carbone
Music: Brian Tyler
Costume designer: Lizz Wolf
Editor: Sean Albertson
Cast:
John Rambo: Sylvester Stallone
Sarah Miller: Julie Benz
Dr. Michael Burnett: Paul Schulze
School Boy: Matthew Marsden
Lewis: Graham McTavish
Arthur Marsh: Ken Howard
Running time -- 93 minutes
MPAA rating: R...
Before the smirking starts, let's not forget that they also were giggling when it was announced that the Italian Stallion was coming out of retirement, but then Sylvester Stallone silenced the skeptics with the thoroughly respectable Rocky Balboa.
Could the first sighting of John J. Rambo in two decades prove equally rewarding?
Oh well, one out of two ain't bad.
For Rambo, the fourth and purportedly final movie in the series that began back in 1982 with First Blood, director/co-writer Stallone has taken a similar, stripped-down approach to the material.
But what worked for the beloved underdog does the one-man killing machine no favors.
By going the unplugged route, Stallone has removed the over-the-top comic book element that made the Rambo movies such a pop cultural staple of the Reagan era.
What remains is a lot of hyper-realistic, brutal violence; snatches of banal dialogue; and all the escalating dramatic tension of a video game.
In short, No. 4 is one big snore.
Considering the cold shoulder given to recent war-related movies, Rambo, with its guerrilla-style marketing campaign, could find that a blotchy iconic image might not be much of a domestic draw beyond nostalgia seekers.
Given Rambo's standing as a worldwide phenomenon, however, the movie's 11 executive producers should still be pleased with those final tallies.
The last time we saw Rambo, he was kicking butt in Afghanistan.
Since that time he has been laying low in northern Thailand, minding his business as a longboat driver on the Salween River and wrangling boa constrictors for snake fights.
But when a group of human rights missionaries gets caught in the crossfire of the still-raging Burmese-Karen civil war, Rambo ultimately rises to the challenge. Accompanied by a group of mercenaries, he soon finds himself ripping out a guy's throat with his bare hands, just like the good old days.
Also, just like the good old days, Rambo remains the strong, silent type, which ensures that speeches like, "When you're pushed, killin' is as easy as breathin'," are kept to a grateful minimum.
The other trite characters in the Stallone- and Art Monterastelli-penned script aren't so lucky, which makes it easier not to become emotionally invested when a good portion of them are beheaded or vivisected or blown to bits by the intense, bloody violence.
It's ironically the only thing that's really alive in this otherwise dull film.
From an audience point of view, you wish Stallone had instead headed in the other direction, pulling out all stops and going out a blaze of glory, taking a page out of the John McClane playbook for last year's guilty-pleasure Die Hard revival.
Instead Stallone is intent on showing the introspective, vulnerable man behind the legend, stripping him of most of that showy '80s gear (but allowing him to keep his shirt on) and ending on a sun-drenched, silly coda during which a weary Rambo discovers that you can go home again.
Sorry Sly, not this time.
RAMBO
Lionsgate
The Weinstein Co./Equity Prods./Millennium Films/Nu Image
Credits:
Director: Sylvester Stallone
Screenwriters: Art Monterastelli, Sylvester Stallone
Based on characters created by: David Morrell
Producers: Avi Lerner, Kevin King-Templeton, John Thompson
Executive producers: Jon Feltheimer, Peter Block, Harvey Weinstein, Bob Weinstein, Danny Dimbort, Boaz Davidson, Trevor Short, Andreas Thiesmeyer, Florian Lechner, Randall Emmett, George Furla
Director of photography: Glen MacPherson
Production designer: Franco Giacomo Carbone
Music: Brian Tyler
Costume designer: Lizz Wolf
Editor: Sean Albertson
Cast:
John Rambo: Sylvester Stallone
Sarah Miller: Julie Benz
Dr. Michael Burnett: Paul Schulze
School Boy: Matthew Marsden
Lewis: Graham McTavish
Arthur Marsh: Ken Howard
Running time -- 93 minutes
MPAA rating: R...
- 1/25/2008
- The Hollywood Reporter - Movie News
"Black Dahlia" has the looks, smarts and attitude of a classic Brian De Palma/film noir thriller. During the first hour, the hope that the director has tapped into something really great mounts with each passing minute. Then, gradually, the feverish pulp imagination of James Ellroy, on whose novel Josh Friedman based his screenplay, feeds into De Palma's dark side. The violence grows absurd, emotions get overplayed, and the film revels once too often in its gleeful depiction of corrupt, decadent old Los Angeles. Disappointingly, the film edges dangerously into camp.
No, "Black Dahlia" never quite falls into that black hole. The actors in the major roles cling firmly, even lovingly, to their boisterous characters. The sordidness and madness never seem completely wrong given the rancid world the movie surveys. Nevertheless, the second half feels heavy and unfulfilled, potential greatness reduced to a good movie plagued with problems.
Because the want-to-see factor for this anticipated film is equal to your want-to-like desire, the film's domestic distributor, Universal, could enjoy potent boxoffice. But it might skew older, to fans of De Palma and crime fiction as well as those who recall one of Los Angeles' most infamous murders.
On Jan. 15, 1947, the city -- in its postwar frenzy of growth, development, racial tensions and unbridled ambition -- awoke to an unimaginable crime: The torture-ravished body of a beautiful young woman named Elizabeth Short was found in a vacant lot off Crenshaw. The body was cut in half at the waist, disemboweled, drained of all blood and cruelly marked with grotesque taunts by her killer. The discovery sparked the city's greatest manhunt, but the killer was never found.
Which hasn't prevented continual articles, books, novels and documentaries from speculating on possible motives and suspects. Ellroy took a fictional crack at the case in arguably his best Los Angeles crime novel. It was typical Ellroy, who blamed the ghastly murder not on a deranged psychopath with a score to settle but rather police corruption, political chicanery, ruthless gangsters and various businessmen. In other words, the city killed Elizabeth.
Like any of his crackling crime tales, Ellroy surrounds historical events with fiendishly dark fictional characters. The cops on the case are Bucky Bleichert (Josh Hartnett) and Lee Blanchard (Aaron Eckhart), ex-boxers who become partners on the beat and off. Bucky finds himself in an unconsummated menage with Lee and his live-in lover, Kay Lake (Scarlett Johansson). Each has troubling secrets.
Lee, hopped up on Benzedrine, grows obsessed with The Black Dahlia, as the newspapers named Elizabeth, driven to know everything about her. Bucky, too, is drawn to her fatal charm, especially when his lone-wolf investigation into lesbian bars brings him under the sway of an AC/DC hottie named Madeleine Linscott (Hilary Swank), whose daddy is the richest developer in the city.
Characters, subplots and twists come fast and thick -- albeit abridged from an even greater onslaught in the novel. It is with the introduction of the Linscott family, though, that the story develops a noticeable wobble. Predictably, the Linscotts' involvement with the Dahlia proves extensive. Yet it is really so far-fetched. The family is one of those fictional creations where dementia, delusion and depravity run silent and deep, only to erupt in grotesque outbursts that border on the comic.
And speaking of comic, you should see De Palma and production designer Dante Ferretti's idea of a Los Angeles lesbian bar circa 1947. Instead of an underground hideaway, the place is a veritable Follies Bergere with half-naked chorines writhing and smooching on a towering stairway to the strains of a big band belting out Cole Porter.
But the film does many things right. The rapid dialogue is sharp throughout, as it should be because much of it is lifted from Ellroy's novel. Hartnett delivers an intriguing mix of tenderness, self-righteousness and self-incrimination -- Ellroy cops are never clean. Eckhart plays scenes at full throttle yet never feels out of control. As the good vamp, Johansson uses an angelic pout and faux innocence to have her way with men. As the bad vamp, Swank goes for such unrestrained sexuality that she makes the actual Dahlia -- Mia Kirshner seen in screen tests and one rather tame stag film -- seem almost demure.
Then there are the De Palma touches that pull you out of the movie: the black bird swooping down symbolically on the Dahlia's corpse, an earthquake thrown in for no good reason, Fiona Shaw's over-the-top performance as Madeleine's drug-addled mom, the rush of revelations in the final reel that feels more like footnotes than climactic moments.
Mark Isham's music is lush whether in a romantic or an overheated mood. Vilmos Zsigmond's graceful camera is a tad self-conscious as are sets and costumes, all a little too eager to flout their period trappings.
THE BLACK DAHLIA
Universal Pictures
Universal in association with Millennnium Films presents a Signature Pictures production for Equity Pictures Medienfonds and Nu-Image Entertainment
Credits:
Director: Brian De Palma
Screenwriter: Josh Friedman
Based on the novel by: James Ellroy
Producers: Art Linson, Avi Lerner, Moshe Diamant, Ruby Cohen
Executive producers: James B. Harris, Danny Dimbort, Boaz Davidson, Trevor Short, John Thompson, Andreas Thiesmeyer, Josef Lautenschlager, Henrik Huydts, Rolf Deyhle
Director of photography: Vilmos Zsigmond
Production designer: Dante Ferretti
Music: Mark Isham
Costume designer: Jenny Beavan
Editor: Bill Pankow
Cast:
Bucky Bleichert: Josh Hartnett
Lee Blanchard: Aaron Eckhart
Kay Lake: Scarlett Johansson
Madeleine Linscott: Hilary Swank
Elizabeth Short: Mia Kirshner
Russ Millard: Mike Starr
Ramona: Fiona Shaw
Martha: Rachel Miner
Bill Koenig: Victor McGuire
MPAA rating: R
Running time -- 121 minutes...
No, "Black Dahlia" never quite falls into that black hole. The actors in the major roles cling firmly, even lovingly, to their boisterous characters. The sordidness and madness never seem completely wrong given the rancid world the movie surveys. Nevertheless, the second half feels heavy and unfulfilled, potential greatness reduced to a good movie plagued with problems.
Because the want-to-see factor for this anticipated film is equal to your want-to-like desire, the film's domestic distributor, Universal, could enjoy potent boxoffice. But it might skew older, to fans of De Palma and crime fiction as well as those who recall one of Los Angeles' most infamous murders.
On Jan. 15, 1947, the city -- in its postwar frenzy of growth, development, racial tensions and unbridled ambition -- awoke to an unimaginable crime: The torture-ravished body of a beautiful young woman named Elizabeth Short was found in a vacant lot off Crenshaw. The body was cut in half at the waist, disemboweled, drained of all blood and cruelly marked with grotesque taunts by her killer. The discovery sparked the city's greatest manhunt, but the killer was never found.
Which hasn't prevented continual articles, books, novels and documentaries from speculating on possible motives and suspects. Ellroy took a fictional crack at the case in arguably his best Los Angeles crime novel. It was typical Ellroy, who blamed the ghastly murder not on a deranged psychopath with a score to settle but rather police corruption, political chicanery, ruthless gangsters and various businessmen. In other words, the city killed Elizabeth.
Like any of his crackling crime tales, Ellroy surrounds historical events with fiendishly dark fictional characters. The cops on the case are Bucky Bleichert (Josh Hartnett) and Lee Blanchard (Aaron Eckhart), ex-boxers who become partners on the beat and off. Bucky finds himself in an unconsummated menage with Lee and his live-in lover, Kay Lake (Scarlett Johansson). Each has troubling secrets.
Lee, hopped up on Benzedrine, grows obsessed with The Black Dahlia, as the newspapers named Elizabeth, driven to know everything about her. Bucky, too, is drawn to her fatal charm, especially when his lone-wolf investigation into lesbian bars brings him under the sway of an AC/DC hottie named Madeleine Linscott (Hilary Swank), whose daddy is the richest developer in the city.
Characters, subplots and twists come fast and thick -- albeit abridged from an even greater onslaught in the novel. It is with the introduction of the Linscott family, though, that the story develops a noticeable wobble. Predictably, the Linscotts' involvement with the Dahlia proves extensive. Yet it is really so far-fetched. The family is one of those fictional creations where dementia, delusion and depravity run silent and deep, only to erupt in grotesque outbursts that border on the comic.
And speaking of comic, you should see De Palma and production designer Dante Ferretti's idea of a Los Angeles lesbian bar circa 1947. Instead of an underground hideaway, the place is a veritable Follies Bergere with half-naked chorines writhing and smooching on a towering stairway to the strains of a big band belting out Cole Porter.
But the film does many things right. The rapid dialogue is sharp throughout, as it should be because much of it is lifted from Ellroy's novel. Hartnett delivers an intriguing mix of tenderness, self-righteousness and self-incrimination -- Ellroy cops are never clean. Eckhart plays scenes at full throttle yet never feels out of control. As the good vamp, Johansson uses an angelic pout and faux innocence to have her way with men. As the bad vamp, Swank goes for such unrestrained sexuality that she makes the actual Dahlia -- Mia Kirshner seen in screen tests and one rather tame stag film -- seem almost demure.
Then there are the De Palma touches that pull you out of the movie: the black bird swooping down symbolically on the Dahlia's corpse, an earthquake thrown in for no good reason, Fiona Shaw's over-the-top performance as Madeleine's drug-addled mom, the rush of revelations in the final reel that feels more like footnotes than climactic moments.
Mark Isham's music is lush whether in a romantic or an overheated mood. Vilmos Zsigmond's graceful camera is a tad self-conscious as are sets and costumes, all a little too eager to flout their period trappings.
THE BLACK DAHLIA
Universal Pictures
Universal in association with Millennnium Films presents a Signature Pictures production for Equity Pictures Medienfonds and Nu-Image Entertainment
Credits:
Director: Brian De Palma
Screenwriter: Josh Friedman
Based on the novel by: James Ellroy
Producers: Art Linson, Avi Lerner, Moshe Diamant, Ruby Cohen
Executive producers: James B. Harris, Danny Dimbort, Boaz Davidson, Trevor Short, John Thompson, Andreas Thiesmeyer, Josef Lautenschlager, Henrik Huydts, Rolf Deyhle
Director of photography: Vilmos Zsigmond
Production designer: Dante Ferretti
Music: Mark Isham
Costume designer: Jenny Beavan
Editor: Bill Pankow
Cast:
Bucky Bleichert: Josh Hartnett
Lee Blanchard: Aaron Eckhart
Kay Lake: Scarlett Johansson
Madeleine Linscott: Hilary Swank
Elizabeth Short: Mia Kirshner
Russ Millard: Mike Starr
Ramona: Fiona Shaw
Martha: Rachel Miner
Bill Koenig: Victor McGuire
MPAA rating: R
Running time -- 121 minutes...
- 8/31/2006
- The Hollywood Reporter - Movie News
NEW YORK -- The notorious Lonely Hearts Killers of the 1940s already have provided the inspiration for more than one film. But while the duo's crimes were indeed sensational, writer-director Todd Robinson's starry take on the material fails to provide much in the way of a new perspective. Concentrating as much on the detectives investigating the case as on the killers, "Lonely Hearts" fails to show off its impressive cast at their best. The film recently had its world premiere at the Tribeca Film Festival.
For those who don't recollect the case, it involved Raymond Fernandez (Jared Leto) and Martha Beck (Salma Hayek), who teamed up to commit a string of murders before being caught and executed at Sing Sing in 1951. They were dubbed the Lonely Heart Killers because of their conning of lonely war widows, using Raymond's Latin charms as romantic bait.
Robinson's version depicts the initial teaming of the pair, after Raymond attempted to fleece Martha before realizing she was more than his match when it came to criminality. Indeed, as the film has it, she was a murderous psychopath who elevated her partner's crimes from mere swindling to murder.
Tracking the pair are Long Island detectives Elmer C. Robinson (John Travolta) and his partner, Charles Hildebrandt (James Gandolfini). Fueling Robinson's passion to solve the case is his guilt over his wife's suicide and his covert relationship with a female co-worker (Laura Dern).
The film alternates between scenes depicting the killers' wooing and dispatching of their victims, including a lonely middle-aged woman (Alice Krige) and a young widowed mother (Dagmara Dominczyk), and the detectives' dogged pursuit. The filmmaker doesn't shy away from brutal violence when it comes to the murders, with several of the scenes proving difficult to watch.
Unfortunately, the filmmaker is unable to render either of his intertwining stories with much interest. The killers' crime spree has a familiarity that is not given a particularly original approach, as does the detective's emotional travails. (It's easy to understand the emphasis, however, since Robinson is the real-life grandson of Travolta's character).
Travolta and Gandolfini, in their fourth film together, have a strong rapport, and the former provides his usual complex emotional shadings. But Gandolfini, other than providing a hard-boiled narration, has little to work with here. More egregious in terms of casting are Leto, who is wholly unconvincing as a smooth Latin charmer, and Hayek, who besides bearing no physical resemblance at all to the actual Beck, even here seems far more likable than threatening.
LONELY HEARTS
Nu Image/Millennium Films
Credits:
Director-screenwriter: Todd Robinson
Producers: Boaz Davidson, Holly Wiersma
Executive producers: Danny Dimbort, Randall Emmett, George Furla, Manfred Heid, Gerd Koechlin, Josef Lautenschlager, Avi Lerner, Trevor Short, Andreas Thiesmeyer, John Thompson
Cinematographer: Peter Levy
Editor: Kathryn Himoff
Production designer: Jon Gary Steele
Costume designer: Jacqueline West
Music: Mychael Danna
Cast:
Elmer C. Robinson: John Travolta
Charles Hildebrandt: James Gandolfini
Martha Beck: Salma Hayek
Raymond Fernandez: Jared Leto
Rene: Laura Dern
Detective Reilly: Scott Caan
Janet: Alice Krige
Delphine Downing: Dagmara Dominczyk
Running time -- 108 minutes
MPAA rating R...
For those who don't recollect the case, it involved Raymond Fernandez (Jared Leto) and Martha Beck (Salma Hayek), who teamed up to commit a string of murders before being caught and executed at Sing Sing in 1951. They were dubbed the Lonely Heart Killers because of their conning of lonely war widows, using Raymond's Latin charms as romantic bait.
Robinson's version depicts the initial teaming of the pair, after Raymond attempted to fleece Martha before realizing she was more than his match when it came to criminality. Indeed, as the film has it, she was a murderous psychopath who elevated her partner's crimes from mere swindling to murder.
Tracking the pair are Long Island detectives Elmer C. Robinson (John Travolta) and his partner, Charles Hildebrandt (James Gandolfini). Fueling Robinson's passion to solve the case is his guilt over his wife's suicide and his covert relationship with a female co-worker (Laura Dern).
The film alternates between scenes depicting the killers' wooing and dispatching of their victims, including a lonely middle-aged woman (Alice Krige) and a young widowed mother (Dagmara Dominczyk), and the detectives' dogged pursuit. The filmmaker doesn't shy away from brutal violence when it comes to the murders, with several of the scenes proving difficult to watch.
Unfortunately, the filmmaker is unable to render either of his intertwining stories with much interest. The killers' crime spree has a familiarity that is not given a particularly original approach, as does the detective's emotional travails. (It's easy to understand the emphasis, however, since Robinson is the real-life grandson of Travolta's character).
Travolta and Gandolfini, in their fourth film together, have a strong rapport, and the former provides his usual complex emotional shadings. But Gandolfini, other than providing a hard-boiled narration, has little to work with here. More egregious in terms of casting are Leto, who is wholly unconvincing as a smooth Latin charmer, and Hayek, who besides bearing no physical resemblance at all to the actual Beck, even here seems far more likable than threatening.
LONELY HEARTS
Nu Image/Millennium Films
Credits:
Director-screenwriter: Todd Robinson
Producers: Boaz Davidson, Holly Wiersma
Executive producers: Danny Dimbort, Randall Emmett, George Furla, Manfred Heid, Gerd Koechlin, Josef Lautenschlager, Avi Lerner, Trevor Short, Andreas Thiesmeyer, John Thompson
Cinematographer: Peter Levy
Editor: Kathryn Himoff
Production designer: Jon Gary Steele
Costume designer: Jacqueline West
Music: Mychael Danna
Cast:
Elmer C. Robinson: John Travolta
Charles Hildebrandt: James Gandolfini
Martha Beck: Salma Hayek
Raymond Fernandez: Jared Leto
Rene: Laura Dern
Detective Reilly: Scott Caan
Janet: Alice Krige
Delphine Downing: Dagmara Dominczyk
Running time -- 108 minutes
MPAA rating R...
NEW YORK -- The notorious Lonely Hearts Killers of the 1940s already have provided the inspiration for more than one film. But while the duo's crimes were indeed sensational, writer-director Todd Robinson's starry take on the material fails to provide much in the way of a new perspective. Concentrating as much on the detectives investigating the case as on the killers, Lonely Hearts fails to show off its impressive cast at their best. The film recently had its world premiere at the Tribeca Film Festival.
For those who don't recollect the case, it involved Raymond Fernandez (Jared Leto) and Martha Beck (Salma Hayek), who teamed up to commit a string of murders before being caught and executed at Sing Sing in 1951. They were dubbed the Lonely Heart Killers because of their conning of lonely war widows, using Raymond's Latin charms as romantic bait.
Robinson's version depicts the initial teaming of the pair, after Raymond attempted to fleece Martha before realizing she was more than his match when it came to criminality. Indeed, as the film has it, she was a murderous psychopath who elevated her partner's crimes from mere swindling to murder.
Tracking the pair are Long Island detectives Elmer C. Robinson (John Travolta) and his partner, Charles Hildebrandt (James Gandolfini). Fueling Robinson's passion to solve the case is his guilt over his wife's suicide and his covert relationship with a female co-worker (Laura Dern).
The film alternates between scenes depicting the killers' wooing and dispatching of their victims, including a lonely middle-aged woman (Alice Krige) and a young widowed mother (Dagmara Dominczyk), and the detectives' dogged pursuit. The filmmaker doesn't shy away from brutal violence when it comes to the murders, with several of the scenes proving difficult to watch.
Unfortunately, the filmmaker is unable to render either of his intertwining stories with much interest. The killers' crime spree has a familiarity that is not given a particularly original approach, as does the detective's emotional travails. (It's easy to understand the emphasis, however, since Robinson is the real-life grandson of Travolta's character).
Travolta and Gandolfini, in their fourth film together, have a strong rapport, and the former provides his usual complex emotional shadings. But Gandolfini, other than providing a hard-boiled narration, has little to work with here. More egregious in terms of casting are Leto, who is wholly unconvincing as a smooth Latin charmer, and Hayek, who besides bearing no physical resemblance at all to the actual Beck, even here seems far more likable than threatening.
LONELY HEARTS
Nu Image/Millennium Films
Credits:
Director-screenwriter: Todd Robinson
Producers: Boaz Davidson, Holly Wiersma
Executive producers: Danny Dimbort, Randall Emmett, George Furla, Manfred Heid, Gerd Koechlin, Josef Lautenschlager, Avi Lerner, Trevor Short, Andreas Thiesmeyer, John Thompson
Cinematographer: Peter Levy
Editor: Kathryn Himoff
Production designer: Jon Gary Steele
Costume designer: Jacqueline West
Music: Mychael Danna
Cast:
Elmer C. Robinson: John Travolta
Charles Hildebrandt: James Gandolfini
Martha Beck: Salma Hayek
Raymond Fernandez: Jared Leto
Rene: Laura Dern: Detective Reilly: Scott Caan
Janet: Alice Krige
Delphine Downing: Dagmara Dominczyk
MPAA rating R
Running time -- 108 minutes...
For those who don't recollect the case, it involved Raymond Fernandez (Jared Leto) and Martha Beck (Salma Hayek), who teamed up to commit a string of murders before being caught and executed at Sing Sing in 1951. They were dubbed the Lonely Heart Killers because of their conning of lonely war widows, using Raymond's Latin charms as romantic bait.
Robinson's version depicts the initial teaming of the pair, after Raymond attempted to fleece Martha before realizing she was more than his match when it came to criminality. Indeed, as the film has it, she was a murderous psychopath who elevated her partner's crimes from mere swindling to murder.
Tracking the pair are Long Island detectives Elmer C. Robinson (John Travolta) and his partner, Charles Hildebrandt (James Gandolfini). Fueling Robinson's passion to solve the case is his guilt over his wife's suicide and his covert relationship with a female co-worker (Laura Dern).
The film alternates between scenes depicting the killers' wooing and dispatching of their victims, including a lonely middle-aged woman (Alice Krige) and a young widowed mother (Dagmara Dominczyk), and the detectives' dogged pursuit. The filmmaker doesn't shy away from brutal violence when it comes to the murders, with several of the scenes proving difficult to watch.
Unfortunately, the filmmaker is unable to render either of his intertwining stories with much interest. The killers' crime spree has a familiarity that is not given a particularly original approach, as does the detective's emotional travails. (It's easy to understand the emphasis, however, since Robinson is the real-life grandson of Travolta's character).
Travolta and Gandolfini, in their fourth film together, have a strong rapport, and the former provides his usual complex emotional shadings. But Gandolfini, other than providing a hard-boiled narration, has little to work with here. More egregious in terms of casting are Leto, who is wholly unconvincing as a smooth Latin charmer, and Hayek, who besides bearing no physical resemblance at all to the actual Beck, even here seems far more likable than threatening.
LONELY HEARTS
Nu Image/Millennium Films
Credits:
Director-screenwriter: Todd Robinson
Producers: Boaz Davidson, Holly Wiersma
Executive producers: Danny Dimbort, Randall Emmett, George Furla, Manfred Heid, Gerd Koechlin, Josef Lautenschlager, Avi Lerner, Trevor Short, Andreas Thiesmeyer, John Thompson
Cinematographer: Peter Levy
Editor: Kathryn Himoff
Production designer: Jon Gary Steele
Costume designer: Jacqueline West
Music: Mychael Danna
Cast:
Elmer C. Robinson: John Travolta
Charles Hildebrandt: James Gandolfini
Martha Beck: Salma Hayek
Raymond Fernandez: Jared Leto
Rene: Laura Dern: Detective Reilly: Scott Caan
Janet: Alice Krige
Delphine Downing: Dagmara Dominczyk
MPAA rating R
Running time -- 108 minutes...
The setup is clear in "16 Blocks": Burnt-out cynic and imperiled idealist, forced together under life-threatening circumstances, will save each other, body and soul. Although much of the plot defies credulity, Richard Donner directs the odd-couple action drama with a nimble facility that draws viewers in. It doesn't hurt that leads Bruce Willis and Mos Def can effortlessly enlist audience sympathy, though here, ultimately, they're asked to try too hard, Mos Def in particular. Richard Wenk's script juices the genre basics with a compressed timeline, but the juice turns to sap as he insists on forsaking the story's darker instincts in order to deliver a feel-good capper. This tale of a cop and a baker running for their lives wants to have its cake and eat it too. Despite its dramatic holes, it looks primed for solid action at the boxoffice.
The film begins with a disastrous standoff and backtracks several hours to show how NYPD Detective Jack Mosley (Willis) wound up surrounded by New York's finest. About to end his shift at 8 a.m., he very reluctantly agrees to a bit of OT, ferrying a prisoner from a holding cell to a grand jury. Drained of life, Scotch in his veins, sporting a thinning comb-back and barely able to muster the strength to take his next step -- bad leg notwithstanding -- he has no tolerance for the nonstop chatter of Eddie (a hyperkinetic, shaven-headed Mos Def). Jack leaves him in the car to stop at a liquor store and shuffles back outside just in time to save Eddie from being murdered by a hit man.
Jack might be as surprised as the audience that he still has his reflexes. Something awakens in him -- Willis doesn't push it, but it's fully felt -- and his second wake-up call arrives when he realizes that petty criminal Eddie is about to deliver crucial testimony in the D.A.'s investigation of witness tampering. The criminals out to kill him are corrupt cops, chief among them Jack's former partner, Frank (slick gum-chewing evil from David Morse, who used to play good guys). After saving Eddie's life a second time, Jack must get Eddie to the courthouse by 10 a.m., when the grand jury's tenure ends. Those 16 blocks through Chinatown are now a minefield studded with Frank's team, out to kill "the kid" and save their hides.
Weaving their way through the basements, apartment buildings, businesses and rooftops of the neighborhood, Eddie and Jack, predictably, develop mutual respect despite their diametrically opposed philosophies. For Jack, who's clearly boozing to numb enormous existential pain, it all comes down to "Life is too long" and "People don't change". Eddie, a street kid with a business plan and a notebook full of birthday cake recipes, believes it's exactly the other way around.
Without overdoing the buddy business, the leads convey convincing chemistry. The underrated Willis provides a typically generous and nuanced performance and does his best to downplay the script's sentimental indulgences. Rapper-actor Mos Def is compelling as always, but his character's optimistic, nasal chatter becomes tiresome; he registers best in Eddie's quiet moments of reckoning.
As orchestrated by Donner and DP Glen MacPherson, the action has tensile strength and a visceral punch, with key contributions in Arv Greywal's production design and Klaus Badelt's percussive score. But after trawling through some grim and grimy territory, the film winds up ultra-eager for sunshine, leaving by the wayside its potentially complex questions about moral authority and collateral damage.
16 Blocks
Warner Bros. Pictures
An Alcon Entertainment/Millennium Films presentation of an Emmet/Furla Films and Cheyenne Enterprises production
Credits:
Director: Richard Donner
Screenwriter: Richard Wenk
Producers: Jim Van Wyck, John Thompson, Arnold Rifkin, Avi Lerner, Randall Emmett
Executive producers: Andreas Thiesmeyer, Josef Lautenschlager, Danny Dimbort, Trevor Short, Boaz Davidson, George Furla, Hadeel Reda
Director of photography: Glen MacPherson
Production designer: Arv Greywal
Music: Klaus Badelt
Co-producers: Derek Hoffman, Brian Read
Editor: Steven Mirkovich
Cast:
Jack Mosley: Bruce Willis
Eddie Bunker: Mos Def
Frank Nugent: David Morse
Diane Mosley: Jenna Stern
Capt. Gruber: Casey Sander
Jimmy Mulvey: Cylk Cozart
Robert Torres: David Zayas
Jerry Shue: Robert Racki
Ortiz: Conrad Pla
Maldonado: Hechter Ubarry
Deputy Commissioner Wagner: Richard Fitzpatrick
MPAA rating PG-13
Running time -- 101 minutes...
The film begins with a disastrous standoff and backtracks several hours to show how NYPD Detective Jack Mosley (Willis) wound up surrounded by New York's finest. About to end his shift at 8 a.m., he very reluctantly agrees to a bit of OT, ferrying a prisoner from a holding cell to a grand jury. Drained of life, Scotch in his veins, sporting a thinning comb-back and barely able to muster the strength to take his next step -- bad leg notwithstanding -- he has no tolerance for the nonstop chatter of Eddie (a hyperkinetic, shaven-headed Mos Def). Jack leaves him in the car to stop at a liquor store and shuffles back outside just in time to save Eddie from being murdered by a hit man.
Jack might be as surprised as the audience that he still has his reflexes. Something awakens in him -- Willis doesn't push it, but it's fully felt -- and his second wake-up call arrives when he realizes that petty criminal Eddie is about to deliver crucial testimony in the D.A.'s investigation of witness tampering. The criminals out to kill him are corrupt cops, chief among them Jack's former partner, Frank (slick gum-chewing evil from David Morse, who used to play good guys). After saving Eddie's life a second time, Jack must get Eddie to the courthouse by 10 a.m., when the grand jury's tenure ends. Those 16 blocks through Chinatown are now a minefield studded with Frank's team, out to kill "the kid" and save their hides.
Weaving their way through the basements, apartment buildings, businesses and rooftops of the neighborhood, Eddie and Jack, predictably, develop mutual respect despite their diametrically opposed philosophies. For Jack, who's clearly boozing to numb enormous existential pain, it all comes down to "Life is too long" and "People don't change". Eddie, a street kid with a business plan and a notebook full of birthday cake recipes, believes it's exactly the other way around.
Without overdoing the buddy business, the leads convey convincing chemistry. The underrated Willis provides a typically generous and nuanced performance and does his best to downplay the script's sentimental indulgences. Rapper-actor Mos Def is compelling as always, but his character's optimistic, nasal chatter becomes tiresome; he registers best in Eddie's quiet moments of reckoning.
As orchestrated by Donner and DP Glen MacPherson, the action has tensile strength and a visceral punch, with key contributions in Arv Greywal's production design and Klaus Badelt's percussive score. But after trawling through some grim and grimy territory, the film winds up ultra-eager for sunshine, leaving by the wayside its potentially complex questions about moral authority and collateral damage.
16 Blocks
Warner Bros. Pictures
An Alcon Entertainment/Millennium Films presentation of an Emmet/Furla Films and Cheyenne Enterprises production
Credits:
Director: Richard Donner
Screenwriter: Richard Wenk
Producers: Jim Van Wyck, John Thompson, Arnold Rifkin, Avi Lerner, Randall Emmett
Executive producers: Andreas Thiesmeyer, Josef Lautenschlager, Danny Dimbort, Trevor Short, Boaz Davidson, George Furla, Hadeel Reda
Director of photography: Glen MacPherson
Production designer: Arv Greywal
Music: Klaus Badelt
Co-producers: Derek Hoffman, Brian Read
Editor: Steven Mirkovich
Cast:
Jack Mosley: Bruce Willis
Eddie Bunker: Mos Def
Frank Nugent: David Morse
Diane Mosley: Jenna Stern
Capt. Gruber: Casey Sander
Jimmy Mulvey: Cylk Cozart
Robert Torres: David Zayas
Jerry Shue: Robert Racki
Ortiz: Conrad Pla
Maldonado: Hechter Ubarry
Deputy Commissioner Wagner: Richard Fitzpatrick
MPAA rating PG-13
Running time -- 101 minutes...
If Hostage looks a lot like a state-of-the-art French "policier" minus the pesky subtitles, the effect is purely intentional.
In his English-language debut, French director Florent Siri employs the same forceful, gritty style used for his 2002 film, The Nest, delivering a noir-tinged thriller with commercial aspirations.
The latter aspect is provided by Bruce Willis, who leads a similarly solid cast through the sharp twists and turns of Doug Richardson's script, based on the Robert Crais novel.
Sharing certain plot aspects with Panic Room, the picture should prove to be a moderate hit for Miramax, which has been buying a considerable amount of advance TV ad time in support of Willis' return to crime-fighting mode.
Willis is Jeff Talley, a former ace LAPD hostage negotiator, who, following the deaths of a mother and her young son, left Los Angeles and took a job as chief of police in a nominally low-crime area of Ventura County.
But he soon finds himself in the thick of things again after a trio of delinquent teenagers (Ben Foster, Jonathan Tucker and Marshall Allman) hold a widowed, shady accountant (Kevin Pollak) and his two children (Michelle Horn and Jimmy Bennett) hostage following a bungled robbery attempt in their multimillion-dollar hilltop compound.
To further complicate matters, Pollak's Walter Smith is in possession of a disc containing digital information being sought by a particularly persuasive (federal?) outfit that has nabbed Talley's own estranged wife (Serena Scott Thomas) and daughter (Willis' real-life daughter, Rumer), to ensure that he delivers the goods.
Playing what is essentially an art house version of his Die Hard John McClane character, Willis wears the added layers of complexity effectively, as a reluctant hero struggling to clear a tricky path to redemption.
Also impressive is Foster in a change-of-pace turn as the creepy ringleader of the teenage assailants and scene-stealing young Bennett, who manages to fend quite nicely for himself in his fortress of a home.
Director Siri's heavily stylized visual approach translates successfully, at least before everything reaches an overly operatic third-act crescendo.
Contributing to the picture's edgy look is Italian cinematographer Giovanni Fiore Coltellacci, who was Siri's collaborator on The Nest, and production designer Larry Fulton, who worked on Willis' The Sixth Sense and succeeds in turning the sprawling Topanga Canyon compound into a bona fide character.
Completing the mood is an aria of a score by ever-versatile Alexandre Desplat (Birth, Girl With a Pearl Earring, ) that keeps tempo with each sudden plot curve and constantly shifting emotional tone.
Hostage
Miramax
Miramax Films and Stratus Film Co. present a Cheyenne Enterprises production
An Equity Pictures Medienfonds GmbH & Co. KG II production in association with Syndicate Films International
Credits:
Director: Florent Siri
Screenplay: Doug Richardson
Based on the book by Robert Crais
Producers: Mark Gordon, Robert Yari, Bruce Willis, Arnold Rifkin
Executive producers: Hawk Koch, David Wally, Andreas Thiesmeyer, Josef Lautenschlager
Director of photography: Giovanni Fiore Coltellacci
Production designer: Larry Fulton
Editors: Olivier Gajan, Richard J.P. Byard
Costume designer: Elisabetta Beraldo
Music: Alexandre Desplat
Cast:
Jeff Talley: Bruce Willis
Walter Smith: Kevin Pollak
Mars Krupcheck: Ben Foster
Dennis Kelly: Jonathan Tucker
Kevin Kelly: Marshall Allman
Jennifer Smith: Michelle Horn
Tommy Smith: Jimmy Bennett
MPAA rating: R
Running time -- 113 minutes...
In his English-language debut, French director Florent Siri employs the same forceful, gritty style used for his 2002 film, The Nest, delivering a noir-tinged thriller with commercial aspirations.
The latter aspect is provided by Bruce Willis, who leads a similarly solid cast through the sharp twists and turns of Doug Richardson's script, based on the Robert Crais novel.
Sharing certain plot aspects with Panic Room, the picture should prove to be a moderate hit for Miramax, which has been buying a considerable amount of advance TV ad time in support of Willis' return to crime-fighting mode.
Willis is Jeff Talley, a former ace LAPD hostage negotiator, who, following the deaths of a mother and her young son, left Los Angeles and took a job as chief of police in a nominally low-crime area of Ventura County.
But he soon finds himself in the thick of things again after a trio of delinquent teenagers (Ben Foster, Jonathan Tucker and Marshall Allman) hold a widowed, shady accountant (Kevin Pollak) and his two children (Michelle Horn and Jimmy Bennett) hostage following a bungled robbery attempt in their multimillion-dollar hilltop compound.
To further complicate matters, Pollak's Walter Smith is in possession of a disc containing digital information being sought by a particularly persuasive (federal?) outfit that has nabbed Talley's own estranged wife (Serena Scott Thomas) and daughter (Willis' real-life daughter, Rumer), to ensure that he delivers the goods.
Playing what is essentially an art house version of his Die Hard John McClane character, Willis wears the added layers of complexity effectively, as a reluctant hero struggling to clear a tricky path to redemption.
Also impressive is Foster in a change-of-pace turn as the creepy ringleader of the teenage assailants and scene-stealing young Bennett, who manages to fend quite nicely for himself in his fortress of a home.
Director Siri's heavily stylized visual approach translates successfully, at least before everything reaches an overly operatic third-act crescendo.
Contributing to the picture's edgy look is Italian cinematographer Giovanni Fiore Coltellacci, who was Siri's collaborator on The Nest, and production designer Larry Fulton, who worked on Willis' The Sixth Sense and succeeds in turning the sprawling Topanga Canyon compound into a bona fide character.
Completing the mood is an aria of a score by ever-versatile Alexandre Desplat (Birth, Girl With a Pearl Earring, ) that keeps tempo with each sudden plot curve and constantly shifting emotional tone.
Hostage
Miramax
Miramax Films and Stratus Film Co. present a Cheyenne Enterprises production
An Equity Pictures Medienfonds GmbH & Co. KG II production in association with Syndicate Films International
Credits:
Director: Florent Siri
Screenplay: Doug Richardson
Based on the book by Robert Crais
Producers: Mark Gordon, Robert Yari, Bruce Willis, Arnold Rifkin
Executive producers: Hawk Koch, David Wally, Andreas Thiesmeyer, Josef Lautenschlager
Director of photography: Giovanni Fiore Coltellacci
Production designer: Larry Fulton
Editors: Olivier Gajan, Richard J.P. Byard
Costume designer: Elisabetta Beraldo
Music: Alexandre Desplat
Cast:
Jeff Talley: Bruce Willis
Walter Smith: Kevin Pollak
Mars Krupcheck: Ben Foster
Dennis Kelly: Jonathan Tucker
Kevin Kelly: Marshall Allman
Jennifer Smith: Michelle Horn
Tommy Smith: Jimmy Bennett
MPAA rating: R
Running time -- 113 minutes...
- 3/25/2005
- The Hollywood Reporter - Movie News
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