I'm probably giving this disguised story of the two Washington, DC, snipers more bonus points than it deserves, simply because it's not a sensationalize, dumbed-down piece of dreck dripping with exploding heads. Those who made the flick put some thought into it and made some hard decisions about how to structure it and bring the elements together. That they failed in many way doesn't detract from their willingness to take risks.
It's not "based on a true story," thank God. It's thoroughly fictionalized, although the two chief characters -- the embittered "father", Isaiah Washington, and his zombified "son", Tequan Richmond, obviously represent the two snipers of infamy who drove around Washington, DC, shooting people at random from a hole in the trunk of a blue Caprice.
Both performances are professional in caliber. As the kid, Richmond hardly has any lines. Washington is a fine actor. He gives a convincing impression of a distraught father over the phone while trying to con confidential information out of some bureaucratic cog. He's far from a stereotypical ghetto black thug. He speaks clearly, is intelligent, is a obsessive parent, and ends his gerund phrases with "ing." It's only his reasoning that is as screwed up as a super-long strand of rotini. They took his kids away, so he's going to bring the government down.
The photography is aptly blue and sepulchral. The shabby environment of the American Northwest, all rain and pitted aluminum siding, is neatly captured, as is the complex density of Washington's relationships with his few white friends. One of them, looking like a guy you'd cross the street to avoid, is a gun freak. They're old friends, evidently, yes, but they know trouble when they see it. The freak and his worried wife are only too glad to see Washington and Richmond take off in their Caprice for sites unknown -- without anyone saying a word to anyone else.
That holding back is innovative in a movie about serial killers. It's also a symptom of the film's weakness. It's very tense (we know what's coming) but not very exciting. Scenes that are important to the viewer are missing. A cop car finds them sleeping in a roadside pull off. Washington is very apologetic and polite. The cop says he will only write them a warning for parking overnight but don't let it happen again. He checks the rear of the Caprice then shuffles to his car radio and we hear him say, "I think I've got something here." And -- BANG -- the pair are in prison and we never see Washington again. No arrest. No interrogation. No trial. Nothing.
It's not much of a crime story. We only see one traffic cop. As a character study, it's okay but the dynamics between the two are so obvious that not much time needs to be spent on them. Richmond is a kid from the Caribbean without parents. Washington is a parent who wants his kids.
In it's own quiet way -- perhaps too quiet -- it's a powerful movie, worth seeing. I really dislike action movies in which Arnold wrenches off somebody's head with a wisecrack, but this one is a bit like watching a performance of Julius Caesar that skips Caesar's assassination and the suicide of Brutus.
It's not "based on a true story," thank God. It's thoroughly fictionalized, although the two chief characters -- the embittered "father", Isaiah Washington, and his zombified "son", Tequan Richmond, obviously represent the two snipers of infamy who drove around Washington, DC, shooting people at random from a hole in the trunk of a blue Caprice.
Both performances are professional in caliber. As the kid, Richmond hardly has any lines. Washington is a fine actor. He gives a convincing impression of a distraught father over the phone while trying to con confidential information out of some bureaucratic cog. He's far from a stereotypical ghetto black thug. He speaks clearly, is intelligent, is a obsessive parent, and ends his gerund phrases with "ing." It's only his reasoning that is as screwed up as a super-long strand of rotini. They took his kids away, so he's going to bring the government down.
The photography is aptly blue and sepulchral. The shabby environment of the American Northwest, all rain and pitted aluminum siding, is neatly captured, as is the complex density of Washington's relationships with his few white friends. One of them, looking like a guy you'd cross the street to avoid, is a gun freak. They're old friends, evidently, yes, but they know trouble when they see it. The freak and his worried wife are only too glad to see Washington and Richmond take off in their Caprice for sites unknown -- without anyone saying a word to anyone else.
That holding back is innovative in a movie about serial killers. It's also a symptom of the film's weakness. It's very tense (we know what's coming) but not very exciting. Scenes that are important to the viewer are missing. A cop car finds them sleeping in a roadside pull off. Washington is very apologetic and polite. The cop says he will only write them a warning for parking overnight but don't let it happen again. He checks the rear of the Caprice then shuffles to his car radio and we hear him say, "I think I've got something here." And -- BANG -- the pair are in prison and we never see Washington again. No arrest. No interrogation. No trial. Nothing.
It's not much of a crime story. We only see one traffic cop. As a character study, it's okay but the dynamics between the two are so obvious that not much time needs to be spent on them. Richmond is a kid from the Caribbean without parents. Washington is a parent who wants his kids.
In it's own quiet way -- perhaps too quiet -- it's a powerful movie, worth seeing. I really dislike action movies in which Arnold wrenches off somebody's head with a wisecrack, but this one is a bit like watching a performance of Julius Caesar that skips Caesar's assassination and the suicide of Brutus.