Spike Lee goes as
mainstream (mostly, kind of) in the off-kilter bank-robbery crime drama Inside
Man (2006) that dares be honest about all that pent-up hostility we Americans
of every stripe, color, language, religion, and tax bracket bury deep. The shit
we don’t admit to. Post 9/11. It’s sizzling, like a James Ellroy book on
screen, popping with glorious visuals, thank you cameraman Matthew Libatique
(“Black Swan”) and music men Terence Blanchard and A.R. Rahman (well before
“Slumdog Millionaire”). It’s NYC and Clive Owen has led a group of thieves into
a high-end bank to rob it, holding hostages, while NYC dicks Denzel Washington
and Chiwetel Ejiofor investigate and keep their careers; see, Denzel’s cop’s
nose maybe is unclean. Or maybe it is. The more I watch “Inside,” the more I
grove to its trickery and its commentary on America right now. Near 9 years on,
it crackles fresh. It is as much a movie within a movie as “The Game.” And who
exactly is the title character. Is it even a man? Hello, Jodie Foster. A
Thursday, January 29, 2015
Inside Man (2006)
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