The Cell

    A long, long time ago when I had learned Independence without learning Causal Thought, I decided that if I mixed two of my favorite drink powders together, then I would have created some sort of a super-drink which would tantalize and thrill my taste buds. Unfortunately, my mixture involved powdered cocoa and Kool-ade dissolved into milk. Needless to say I learned a very valuable lesson on that day: test all new concoctions on your younger sister -- that's for what she was born.
    The Cell is a great deal like taking two rather volatile drink powders and mixing them in the level *wrong* medium: what you wind up with is a mess that has elements of what you'd hoped to achieve without any of the savour.
    Ever notice how modern movie-making's all about food?
    Let's get the ratings out of the way, if'n y'please, gov?

    Gore: 9
    Schmaltz: 9
    Character Development: 3
    Sturgeon Principle: Middle 50th percentile

    I wanted to like this movie a lot, you know? It's been a long time since The Matrix or The Thirteenth Floor and I've been really itching for a good movie that forces me to think about my reality. I would not have said no to a surrealistic examination of the mind of a serial killer... a ride based upon Jungian psycho-theology... I had so many expectations going into this film that I was very worried I was going to make it bad because of preconception.
    I needn't have worried -- the movie was wretched without any help from me at all.
    Mix equal parts of The Matrix with Silence of the Lambs into a water base and you'll wind up with this little darling of a dilly. Years from now, as I lie upon my death-bed, I shall look upon the one hundred seven minutes which I spent watching this film to be the only time in my life which I truly and deeply regret giving over to Hollywood's iron grasp.
    What's wrong with this film? What's not wrong with this film? Upon leaving this film I tried to press charges against everyone involved in its creation on the grounds of 'aggravated assault', but apparently Hollywood has City Hall in its back pocket. It's almost as if the brightest minds in the land gathered together to put together a movie that, years from now, could serve as a pariah for all other flicks. When a director releases his newest Stinkpile, finally he can point to this film and say 'well at least my film isn't The Cell! And you know what? That would become a valid defense.
    Now any of my regular readers (both of you) might be forgiven in asking 'was this film worse than Battlefield: Earth? Might be forgiven, but don't count on it. BE was a Laughable film. You could sit back and watch the Batman-esque camera angels and the rejects from the New Stroggos Finishing School For Carbon-Based Life-forms and generally adopt the attitude of mentally smacking the Director upside the head while saying 'well that was a stupid idea'. The Cell, on the other hand, is a lot like sitting next to that ragged old man on the bus. You know, the guy who smells of body-odour never washed, who drools in his beard and starts to swear at pigeons because he knows that they've been sent by the CIA to get him? You sit there and you wonder if a three-hour shower is going to be enough to ever feel clean again and you count every last second until you can finally pull the 'Next Stop' cord and you're not there *yet*, but by God you're going to get off of this bus even if you have to walk two miles to get home, uphill!
    The story line resembles a poor fish sauce: it separates before you've even begun and never quite seems right afterwards. There's an A story line about saving a young woman's life and there's a B story line about a Social Worker who is The One of Telepathic Social Work and the two story lines try to merge together and even show mirror images of one another... but unfortunately in the end, what you're left with is an inept hack job of pieces and odds and ends that never quite gel, so much as congeal. The notion of Pacing is tossed right out the window, and the audience is often left to wonder precisely why a scene has been shoe-horned into place with such cavalier disregard for flow of story.
    The characters are very poorly explored. They hint of depth and background, but you learn only that one watches erotic cartoons and seems to have an aversion to wearing anything but the most revealing clothing; and the other one *likely* has a y chromosome in his genetic makeup. The antagonist of the piece goes from being presented as the devil incarnate to being the Poor Widdle Victim of Society (I'm not attempting to start an argument about Nature Vs Nurture here -- I'm simply commenting that the movie swings left and right more violently than a yard arm during a monsoon). The entire point of the tale is... um... well various people learn lessons, like... um... er... if you... dress in ribbed plastic suits and hang yourself from the ceiling while a moistened circuit towelette covers your face, you too can take the journey into someone else's mind.
    Oh, and as if this movie didn't cheese me off enough as it is, it commits the one cardinal sin of writing technology: insufficient security for the intelligence-level of its creator. Now if you're Joe Blow who uses his computers for writing his grocery list every week and playing Unreal Tournament on the weekends over your screamin' fast cable modem connection (lucky bastard), you don't really need to worry about your Windows 98SE box being roughly as secure as a Ken and Barbie's Dreamhouse. If, however, you're in a network situation and you have many users who like to play Monkey See, Monkey Screw on your files, you're going to need something a little heftier than the Etch-A-SketchOS. What sort of person wouldn't install a secure OS like Windows NT or Linux? Answer: A stupid one. Now, imagine that you have a SINGLE PROTOTYPE PIECE OF EQUIPMENT, that you've invested years of your life into building. You're not building this thing in your basement... you're one of a team in a place that has a freakin' board of directors. You have a fancy hospital to put around your machine so it doesn't get wet when it rains. My question to you: DO YOU OR DO YOU NOT HAVE A ROOT LEVEL PASSWORD ON THIS MACHINE TO KEEP FLY-BY-THE-SEAT-OF-HER-ENORMOUS-PANTS Social Workers from locking you out of the system so they can pursue their own misguided adjendae? The answers is that if you're NOT A MORON, YOU DO! The technical sorts in this film do not seem like total idiots... so why allow a gaping hole like this one? the movie would have worked just fine without the main character playing Captain Kirk! ARRGH! This is the sort of thing that drives me banana-splits!
    So, in short, stay outta my booze.
    I give this film half a bottle of Bleach. Back to reviews.
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