It's an old-fashioned plot at heart. A young woman is a witness to, or in some other way involved in, a murder. A detective enters the picture. The attraction is immediate. But as one suspicious incident after another unfolds, one of them comes to believe the other is the murderer.
This is all seen from the point of view of the woman, Meg Ryan, as a lonely and desperately horny New York teacher. Usually, it's the other way around, with the detective as the central figure, as in "Laura" or "Basic Instinct." The homicide detective is Marc Ruffalo. He's Ryan's dream boat. He's rough-hewn and dark, uses street language and talks dirty to her, but he's soft spoken, compassionate, and frank. And he has a crude but sometimes fey wit. After he discovers Ryan is an English teacher, he tries to get the spelling of someone's name correctly. "Cornelius Webb," he says. "Is that with two Bs or not two Bs?" Not the kind of guy who would ever cry in front of someone, though. Too masculine for that. He's also a terrific lover, concerned first about her pleasure, and he's gentle.
Well, the plot may be formulaic but the execution is original enough. The first thing one notices is the lighting and photography of New York City and its appointments. That would be Dion Beebe's bailiwick. The images are gorgeous without being excessively decorative. The set decoration is by Andrew Baseman. Everything seems all rose and green and amber. If it were any better done -- if there were billowing scarlet curtains -- it could be a soft porn movie. The Sound Department should get its share of applause too: ticking clocks, chimes, and the most convincing rumble of traffic on the overhead GWB that I've ever heard.
The intentionality behind the images is feminine. The director, Jane Campion, lends the film some insight into how women speak and behave off stage that a male director might have missed either our of ignorance or plain old disregard. When Ryan and her sister, Jennifer Jason Leigh in the film's best performance, enter a coffee shop they order a decaf double latte with Devon cream or something equally fancy. (One wonders how the slightly brutish sensibilities of the homicide detective will fit into this cozy picture, what with his preferring raw coffee out of a paper cup.) The two sisters talk about relationships. Neither seems to care about her work or her career. They're alone and they suffer. They think about marriage and babies. Ryan weeps frequently while discussing her emotions. Ryan also has three guys lusting after her, not including the killer who disassembles his victims. That fantasy is to women what the conquering hero fantasy is to men.
Campion wisely has made a kind of gender crossover movie. Yes, it's all intimately seen from a woman's point of view but there is always that gory murder business lurking in the shadows to keep the men interested, not to mention some explicit fellatio (not involving Ryan), considerable nudity of both male and female, and some compelling simulated sex. I must say I didn't particularly care for the moaning and gasping of Ryan's heavenly orgasm. Not that I minded her getting off, but that it made me wonder about my own prowess. For the same reason I kind of disliked the Ruffalo character. What's he got that I ain't got? What makes the Hottentot so hot?
The identity of the murderer comes as a bit of a surprise but the way the plot spells it out leaves nothing in doubt about the outcome. Strictly by the numbers, Ryan becomes aware of the fact that the guy she's with is the notorious disarticulator of women. Still, the execution of the scene is highly innovative. We don't see the final shooting. There's a high overhead shot of a dead body lying atop a live one. And the dead body never springs back to life! The camera is often hand held and it wobbles, and this has become such a cliché, especially in dumbed-down action movies, that it's a little irritating, but here the camera's movements are modest and appropriate to the setting -- a jolting subway train, for instance.
I like the thing. Smoothly done.
This is all seen from the point of view of the woman, Meg Ryan, as a lonely and desperately horny New York teacher. Usually, it's the other way around, with the detective as the central figure, as in "Laura" or "Basic Instinct." The homicide detective is Marc Ruffalo. He's Ryan's dream boat. He's rough-hewn and dark, uses street language and talks dirty to her, but he's soft spoken, compassionate, and frank. And he has a crude but sometimes fey wit. After he discovers Ryan is an English teacher, he tries to get the spelling of someone's name correctly. "Cornelius Webb," he says. "Is that with two Bs or not two Bs?" Not the kind of guy who would ever cry in front of someone, though. Too masculine for that. He's also a terrific lover, concerned first about her pleasure, and he's gentle.
Well, the plot may be formulaic but the execution is original enough. The first thing one notices is the lighting and photography of New York City and its appointments. That would be Dion Beebe's bailiwick. The images are gorgeous without being excessively decorative. The set decoration is by Andrew Baseman. Everything seems all rose and green and amber. If it were any better done -- if there were billowing scarlet curtains -- it could be a soft porn movie. The Sound Department should get its share of applause too: ticking clocks, chimes, and the most convincing rumble of traffic on the overhead GWB that I've ever heard.
The intentionality behind the images is feminine. The director, Jane Campion, lends the film some insight into how women speak and behave off stage that a male director might have missed either our of ignorance or plain old disregard. When Ryan and her sister, Jennifer Jason Leigh in the film's best performance, enter a coffee shop they order a decaf double latte with Devon cream or something equally fancy. (One wonders how the slightly brutish sensibilities of the homicide detective will fit into this cozy picture, what with his preferring raw coffee out of a paper cup.) The two sisters talk about relationships. Neither seems to care about her work or her career. They're alone and they suffer. They think about marriage and babies. Ryan weeps frequently while discussing her emotions. Ryan also has three guys lusting after her, not including the killer who disassembles his victims. That fantasy is to women what the conquering hero fantasy is to men.
Campion wisely has made a kind of gender crossover movie. Yes, it's all intimately seen from a woman's point of view but there is always that gory murder business lurking in the shadows to keep the men interested, not to mention some explicit fellatio (not involving Ryan), considerable nudity of both male and female, and some compelling simulated sex. I must say I didn't particularly care for the moaning and gasping of Ryan's heavenly orgasm. Not that I minded her getting off, but that it made me wonder about my own prowess. For the same reason I kind of disliked the Ruffalo character. What's he got that I ain't got? What makes the Hottentot so hot?
The identity of the murderer comes as a bit of a surprise but the way the plot spells it out leaves nothing in doubt about the outcome. Strictly by the numbers, Ryan becomes aware of the fact that the guy she's with is the notorious disarticulator of women. Still, the execution of the scene is highly innovative. We don't see the final shooting. There's a high overhead shot of a dead body lying atop a live one. And the dead body never springs back to life! The camera is often hand held and it wobbles, and this has become such a cliché, especially in dumbed-down action movies, that it's a little irritating, but here the camera's movements are modest and appropriate to the setting -- a jolting subway train, for instance.
I like the thing. Smoothly done.