A tale told by an idiot.

Rating: 1/10 (2 September 2005)

The film's tagline is "You think you know who you are. You have no idea." I reject both the suggested idea that I have no idea who I am and the inferred suggestion that this film tells me who people truly are. If people in real life are really like this, then man, we're screwed.
A bilious film that I walked into late and left prematurely. A film which is so wrapped up in its goal of becoming The Race Film of All Time that it loses sight of the very tools a film must use.
The rules of Hollywood are such: if you show something in the first half, it must be used in the second half. Thus the gun that the daughter worries about her father buying will somehow find its way into the story in the second half. The rules of Hollywood are to make dialog 'real' - a concept which changes with every decade. Is this 'real dialog' somehow less ludicrous than the 'real dialog' of Kevin Smith ten years ago? The rules of Hollywood state that we set the scene, and as action rises, the camera moves in closer to the faces - in this film primarily so we can see the supposed shame, humiliation and transcendental realism of the characters. The strings increase, the frame-rate slows down, and our heart is meant to break.
This film is as crassly manipulative as it is vapid. I have my own prejudices against L.A., which I freely admit, so to combat this prejudice I will not say that this is a natural situation stemming from the location, but rather probably from the author and director. The writer, Paul Haggis, already showed a taste for polemics over humanity in his Million Dollar Baby, which at least had a director who understood how to make the vision of the film bring out the best of a script's ideas. Now that Paul Haggis has his own hands on the camera it becomes obvious that not only does he not know how to write true, natural human drama, he does not know how to photograph or direct it as well. Paul Haggis comes from the land of TV, let us not forget: the land of diminished expectations.
Everything is as obvious as a TV-movie, simply presented for simple minds - Haggis drills into us, over and over again, that while on the surface people may seem to be awful, they have secret pains hidden. This is a nice idea, but so hamfistedly presented that the whole juxtaposition of bad/good has an amateurish feel. Structurally the film is broken up, in the tradition of Magnolia and other earlier films. The editing is as typical and conventionally "cinematic" as could be - if there is a dramatic movement, such as a door opening or a car driving past between the subject and camera, the editors use that extreme movement to give the cut that occurs there a more kinetic quality. The problem is that other than the drive to keep things moving, there is very little intelligence and thought behind the cuts - everything is kept by the books. Not only are the puppets of this hideous racial punch and judy show ineptly handled, but even the curtains are lowered and raised with incompetence.
The film tries desperately to present reality, but there's just no talent whatsoever. Some of the actors are good, some of the actors are bad, and all of the performance get muddied together, brought down by the low, low aesthetics of the film. We have cinematography which is technically clear: we can see the scene, we have a clear understanding of what is happening. However, not only is the cinematography unremarkable, but it is thoughtless camera-work and framing which believes that it actually is inspired. The result is little stylistic flourishes which one recognizes but do not actually add anything to the drama or pathos. For example - and this is a spoiler - as a father holds his dying child (the father might be shot too, I didn't stick around to find out) the camera sees his face and gives us the famous Vertigo track/zoom. The Vertigo shot!!! It was at this point that the film became hysterical and I just had to leave. I had to leave because it was so bad. I left because I was in the middle of a crowded theater, and I wanted to express to the audience that I was sick of emptyheaded Hollywood 'art' which is full of sound and fury, yet signifying nothing (in the Bard's own words). I hate to waste such good Shakespearian references on something this remarkably bad.