Thursday, February 22, 2007
The Constant Gardener
The Netflix sleeve for The Constant Gardener states, “This tale of political intrigue…” The sole intrigue was how many other obvious plot points could be made before the film's final longed-for conclusion. In this poorly written, badly directed movie nothing matters because you just don't care. Rachel Weisz apparently took the part because she thought that any role that had a halo welded to her skull would be good for her career. She was right, she is up for an Oscar. As much as you could actually force yourself to attend to her performance it was fine, as was Ralph Fiennes. This movie is a supporting proof that actors are not the most important element in a movie — it is the director and the script. Weisz could have given the performance of the century and the movie would still sink in its own self-regard.
The cynical calculation in many attempts at art making is that if the artist chooses a subject that proves his or her goodness that no one would dare criticize the movie because it would be like being against The Good. With no effort to develop the characters, to surprise, to involve, this is a movie that asks you only to approve its good intentions, and by extension, disturbingly, asks the audience to approve itself.