director
Alex Proyas
screenwriters
Alex Proyas
Lem Dobbs
David S. Goyer
producers
Andrew Mason
Alex Proyas
cinematographer
Dariusz Wolski
music
Trevor Jones
editor
Dov Hoenig
cast
Rufus Sewell (John Murdoch)
William Hurt (Inspector Bumstead)
Kiefer Sutherland (Dr. Schreber)
Jennifer Connelly (Emma Murdoch)
Richard O'Brien (Mr. Hand)
Ian Richardson (Mr. Book)
Bruce Spence (Mr. Wall)
Colin Friels (Walenski)
mpaa rating: R
running
time: 100m
u.s.
release: 2/20/98
video
availability: VHS -
DVD
other alex
proyas films
reviewed on this website:
- the
crow
- dark
city
- i,
robot
|
If
you took Blade Runner, Brazil, Alphaville,
Hellraiser, and 12
Monkeys, mooshed them all together, then snorted some
chimney soot and sneezed all over the film, the result would
look very much like Dark City. This hopelessly lifeless
and derivative fantasy has gotten hefty praise in some quarters,
most loudly from Roger Ebert, a lifelong sci-fi fan who actually
gave it four stars (maybe he snorted too much chimney
soot). It's the second film by Alex Proyas, who previously directed
The
Crow; Proyas' achievement here is to make a more
incomprehensible movie than The Crow, which I had not
thought possible. He has indeed topped himself.
Rufus Sewell stars as John Murdoch, a man with serious memory
lapses. He is wanted by the police for a series of prostitute
killings, he is married to Jennifer Connolly, and he can't remember
any of it. (I can understand not remembering Jennifer Connolly,
who may, for all I know, be a woman of many talents; acting is
not among them.) A detective, underplayed by a slumming William
Hurt, is on Murdoch's trail; so is a limping psychiatrist, played
by Kiefer Sutherland with an. Unusual verbal tic that. Requires
him to pause. After every few words. Like this.
It turns out that a black-leather-clad society of bald guys is
running everything, putting everyone in the city to sleep at
midnight and rearranging stuff: "Let's make this
building bigger and that building skinnier, and let's get some
nice coffee tables in here." They also like to switch people's
identities -- it's all part of some experiment they're performing
on humans to see how they react ("Hey, where'd this coffee
table come from?"). Perhaps they switched Roger Ebert's
identity with that of a very easily impressed 12-year-old; I
hope they switch him back.
I gave up on following Dark City about five minutes after
I gave up on trying to see it. My semi-annual lecture
to hotshot directors: There is this thing called a "screen,"
and the audience sits facing the screen, and images are projected
onto this screen so as to create visual entertainment. No matter
how elaborate the sets are, if the lighting is so dim that we
cannot see them, we might as well look up our own asses for
two hours. Movies like this and The Crow (Dariusz Wolski
shot both films -- it's encouraging that people who are apparently
blind can get work as cinematographers) aren't really designed
to be followed or enjoyed -- not by sober viewers. They're
for college kids who prepare by getting stoned in the parking
lot: "Dude, what if we are not who we think we are? Wow.
That's profound, man."
So, back to the plot: Murdoch, it seems, has mysterious powers
like those of the Hellraiser-clone bald guys. His expression
gets real intense, as if he's channeling the hidden forces of
the universe (either that or he's passing a kidney stone), and
suddenly a door appears out of nowhere, or a bridge crumbles
under the feet of his pursuers. Who gave him these powers? I'll
tell you who: Lazy screenwriters (Lem Dobbs, of Kafka,
and David S. Goyer, of the Crow sequel) who haven't thought
of creative ways to get the hero out of a jam and have to resort
to deus ex machina.
During the climax (so heart-pounding that I only nodded off once!),
Murdoch faces off against one of the bald guys; they stand in
mid-air frowning at each other while all hell breaks loose around
them. Evil loses, good triumphs, and a new world is born. A world
with sunlight and beaches, and probably ice cream and kittens,
too. Dark City is one of the most ludicrous movies in
years. Roger, lay off that soot. |
