Film
Based on a Stephen King novella, this film's premise is that while escaping a collapsing marriage in his isolated log cabin, writer Mort Rainey (Johnny Depp) finds himself confronted by stereotypical 'crazy hick' John Shooter (John Turturro), who claims that Rainey stole one of his stories. It's a mundane start in a predictable setting but maybe it will get better as it goes along. It doesn't.
The real problem with Secret Widow is its lack of identity. The frequent flashes of humour provided by Depp's laconic wit aren't nearly enough to push the movie into the Scream-style realms of satire, merely serving to hinder the creation of any real tension or fear. Secret Window has a blood and body count which, by horror genre standards, puts it about on a par with a slightly nasty Tweenies episode, but at the same time it lacks the intricacy and sophistication of plot it would need to pass itself off as a legitimate psychological thriller. The film fumbles along, devoid of atmosphere or purpose until it finally winds down into a twist ending so unforgiveably overused it should be illegal. The worst type of film is not one that fails, it's one that doesn't know what it's trying to accomplish. This isn't a film about fear, the paranormal, psychosis or paranoia. It's not a film about emotion or clever ideas. It's really just about making a little bit more money off the King brand name.
King has written better stories that have made better movies. In many ways this feels like a poor plagiarism of ground previously covered by his better efforts such as Misery or The Shining (particularly ironic given the movie's plot). Without the presence of performers of the calibre of Depp and Turturro this would likely have ended up yet another member of the straight- to-video club. Unfortunately it is impossible for another entire film to be rescued by Depp's furtively emotional charisma (see Pirates of the Caribbean for evidence of his previous miracles in singlehandedly reviving a maligned genre).
It's just hard to feel concern for his character, who seems to spend a lot of time napping on a sofa, wearing a multicoloured dressing gown and eating Doritos. It's probably not the fault of director/screenwriter David Koepp's (whose previous work includes Jurrasic Park): his clever tracking shots and controlled direction just can't stretch the threadbare source material over the 96 minutes running time.
The tagline reads, "Some windows should never be opened," and the sad truth is some movies should never be made.
Not since Richard Burton donned a skirt opposite a smouldering Elizabeth Taylor in Cleopatra have we been treated to such a slew of sword and sandal epics. It's official: the toga is back.
The year 2000 saw Gladiator single-handedly revive a genre that had been languishing in a cinematic no-man's land since its heyday in the 1950s and 1960s. Box-office returns of $180m have a habit of inspiring a flurry of production line imitations, and the first offering to come our way is Wolfgang Petersen's Troy, relying heavily on the allure of Brad Pitt's lantern jaw and the unfathomable appeal of Orlando Bloom. This time, the stakes are even higher with a budget of almost $200m and the Odeon has already been taking advance bookings for weeks as audiences salivate.
But other opponents are entering the arena; in July, Training Day director Antoine Fuqua brings us King Arthur, which purports to tell the true story "behind the legend". The climate may be colder, but the formula is unchanged.
Keira Knightley has come a long way from gentle dribbling around Hounslow in Bend It Like Beckham to daubing herself in woad and screaming like a banshee as a particularly grimy Guinevere. A more appealing prospect on the horizon is Oliver Stone's Alexander at the end of this year, featuring Britney-fondler Colin Farrell in the title role of the all-conquering Macedonian.
An impressive supporting cast including Jared Leto, Anthony Hopkins and Angelina Jolie would suggest that the historical epic is the latest must-have notch on a Hollywood A-lister's belt.
Baz Luhrmann is rumoured to be entering the fray too, with a competing Alexander project tentatively scheduled for next year; Leonardo DiCaprio looks likely to grace us with his fey charm as the hero of the moment.
Directors don't seem likely to venture out of the dark and distant past any time soon, so let's hope the stars can emerge with what remains of their dignity intact.
Silver Bear-winning Son Frere, the latest from Patrice Chereau, the acclaimed director of the controversial Intimacy, is a stark study of seaside and sickness, the body and blood.
The blood is that between two brothers: blood that can heal, and in the case of Thomas, played by the mesmerising Bruno Todeschini (Those who love me take the train), the actual blood that fails to stick together.
Thomas is dying of a never revealed insidious disease and asks Luc, the fabulous Eric Caravaca, to take care of him.
At first reluctant and resentful, Luc is soon entirely consumed by the obscure rituals and dignity-stripping mechanics involved in staving off death: the endless drips, drugs, tests, injections and paper thin gowns.
Scenes of this struggle are intersected with those at sea where, in contrast, they await the inevitable.
Chereau, who also helped to adapt the script from a novel by Phillipe Besson, is unflinching in his almost clinical attention to detail.
A single shot of blood being taken is somehow far more harrowing than an entire series of ER.
He is particularly concerned with the disintegration of the body - physical and emotional - its transparency and ability to turn on itself.
The relationship between the brothers binds the film together, as they come to rely increasingly on each other, and after a particularly uncompromising scene involving a full body shave, to the exclusion of all others.
The fact is that Son Frere is beautifully evoked; you can almost smell both the bitterness of salt and impending death.
DVD of the week
The Mother
Anne Reid and Daniel Craig in this latest Hanif Kureishi adaptation, an unconventional and provocative love story.
TV Film of the week
Last of the Mohicans
Daniel Day-Lewis bounds about thewilderness in this epic adventure story. Bodice rippingly good.
Channel 4, Sunday, 9pm
Turkey of the week
Fatal Attraction
Glenn Close leaps out of the bath as the definitive bunny-boiling stalker. Watch out Michael Douglas.
Channel 5, Monday, 10pm
6th May 2004