Wow, I feel like I haven't seen a movie since my pre-Oscar marathon. More importantly? I feel like I haven't missed a damn thing. This has been one dreary spring, and I am not just talking about rain in Los Angeles. So, I'm somewhat happy to announce that I have caught two of the "summer" season's early offerings. First, a trip behind the scenes at the UN with Nicole Kidman, and then a little vacation in SIN CITY.
In THE INTERPRETER, Silvia Broome (Nicole Kidman) does her interpreting at the United Nations, where we learn that there are 6 official languages. Luckily for the plot, Silvia also knows at least 1 obscure African language (I've seen it spelled "ku" elsewhere, but I can't resist using "coo," so I won't) that just happens to be the obscure African language used to discuss a death threat against the leader of some made-up African country that is not in any way supposed to resemble Zimbabwe. No! It's not! It's Motubo and he is NOT Robert Mugabe. So stop thinking that! Where was I? Oh, right, Silvia leaves her flute in her translating booth during an evacuation, goes back to get it late that night, overhears the death threat in "coo," calls the cops, they send the Secret Service, the Secret Service sends a heartbroken rugged cop (Sean Penn) and his wisecracking partner (Catherine Keener), they first suspect Silvia then respectively become attracted to and feel sorry for her, then decide she's not lying, then find out she is lying, about a lot but not, probably, about the death threat. Oh, and a there's a big explosion in the middle somewhere. Oy. It was enough to make your head hurt. But at the same time, very enjoyable.
It's not as if this movie is so thrilling or so cutting edge or so politically controversial -- I mean, it uses a blonde ex-pat and her family'' fate to stir up sympathy for murdered Africans. And it's not as though they had to make up an African country victimized by an idealistic liberator turned murderous despot. Sadly, they just go begging over there, and any one of them probably would have enjoyed the publicity (stop thinking it's Mugabe!). But it's thrilling enough, and tricky enough, and political enough to hold one's interest, and besides, Nicole Kidman always looks great saving the world, although I would have liked fewer scenes wearing the gray Henley T-shirt. There's enough cat-and-mouse to her interaction with Sean Penn to keep things interesting, and there's a little hint of more-than-professional interest that may or may not be appropriate and/or amuse Catherine Keener.
And, of no small tangential interest, this is the first movie actually filmed inside the real UN, which was interesting to see, with its 60s General Assembly room and utopian "it's a small world after all" artworks.
The movie won't make John Bolton happy, what with its emphasis on international relations, the rule of law, and freedom achieved through forgiveness; plus, the UN building survives the action with all its floors intact. Also? This movie is proof that the Patriot Act does not apply to blondes, especially tall, very pretty blondes. Because Silvia lied so many times and so many ways to the Secret Service that if she were swarthy, or a guy, or vaguely Middle Eastern, she'd have been off to Guantanamo faster than her roots would grow out. Finally? Memo to director Sydney Pollack: one cameo is cute, after that, it's obnoxious.
And speaking of too much, there's SIN CITY, a movie that is so stylistically gorgeous and full of hot, killer hookers; a lasso-wielding Jessica Alba; and lots of Clive Owen that I just wanted to like it. But it had to go too far. The noir genre is built on flawed heroes and the bad they have to do to achieve dubiously good ends, and SIN CITY is no exception. But I have to object to the way it revels in the sadistic and cruel crimes perpetrated against its female characters; it was like a black-and-white, super graphic marathon of LAW & ORDER SVU, and like that tiresome show, it got old. I liked the guy characters and their ethical quandaries; I liked the women who survived by their wits and way with closets full of Victoria's Secret and Pink Pussycat leftovers (especially Rosario Dawson and Devon Aoki, former Chanel model); I even appreciated the twisted evil of the bad guys. There was just too much...depravity, if that's the word. The movie is based on a series of graphic novels by co-director Frank Miller, and all I can think about them is, ew. And you don't want your teenager reading them. As with African despots and the made-up Motubo, there's enough plain old evil in the world without the mythical Sin City to add to our woes.