Gotchya films that spin
on corkscrew narratives –- “Manchurian Candidate” is my favorite -– succeed only
if we care about the characters and only if we dig the deep pit the screenwriters
have tossed them into. Danny Boyle’s “Trance” is all crazy turns, pulled rugs,
blown loyalties, and bad guys still gabbing after their skull has been shot off.
The shocks and surprises hit so often and so outlandishly OTT, it passes
suspense and becomes a comedic parade of drunken one-uppers. Numbness sets in. James
McAvoy works at an auction house that falls prey to a heist just as a Renoir goes
to sale. The work is seemingly lost and our hero is cracked on the skull, leading
to memory loss. The heist master (Seymor Cassell) won’t have that and when
torture fails, he hires a hypnotist (Rosario Dawson) to peer inside McAvoy’s
brain. So to speak. The headachy flash edits are frantic and too hip. The flat
characters don’t help. I really could have lived without ever hearing surround
sound of vaginal hair being shaved. Boyle, it appears, could not. And if you
can get past the firestorm finale without laughing to excess, I salute you. C
Lean on Pete
8 years ago
