Warner
Bros. Home Video | Review by Dan Taylor
Why
is that the first major film with a lead
who moonlights as a zine editor makes that
character look like a complete and total
flake? Zine publishers of the world unite!
Hell, the visually-challenged are up in
arms because Disney's live-action MR. MAGOO
goofs on a nearly blind guy. Hey! How do
you think we feel? At least nobody will
go see that movie.
Guess it's a little late to
protest, but who knew they were gonna paint
Mel Gibson's Jerry Fletcher as such an out-and-out
nutball, complete with stalker-like tendancies,
obsession with the media, and hack license
to boot? I suppose I should've seen it coming
from the trailer when Fletcher talks about
the newsletter's five subscribers (which
did elicit a knowing laugh), or when he's
seen serruptitiously dropping copies into
mailboxes lest "they" spot him.
What Jerry doesn't realize
-- and the creaky premise that CONSPIRACY
THEORY somehow makes work -- is that "they"
do exist and are, in fact,
watching him. But, while some directors
would build the paranoia throughout the
film, action pro Richard Donner kicks the
flick into high gear early on with a creepy
torture sequence and the chase is on as
Fletcher puts all his unraveling wits to
work in order to outsmart the bad guys (led
by Patrick Stewart) and watch over his living
angel, a Justice Department attorney played
by Julia Roberts.
On the one hand, I've got
a lot of complaints -- zine-editor-bashing
aside -- with CONSPIRACY THEORY. First,
there's the uncomfortable subject of its
length. We're talkin' nearly two-and-a-half
hours folks! That's David Lean territory,
not the running time we need for something
called CONSPIRACY THEORY! (The uncomfortable
part comes when my butt falls asleep by
the time Act 3 commences.)
Complaint #2 involves the
gaping plot holes that the flick falls prey
to in order to advance the story. For instance,
if Jerry is so tuned in to the many covert
operations at work in society (tracking
strips in $100 bills, the infamous "black
helicopters," etc.), why does he allow
the copy of Catcher in the Rye that
he purchases to be scanned? Every good conspiracy
theorist knows that's simply the government's
way of tracking our purchases and keeping
a close eye on which citizens are buying
what books, cds, food, ammunition, weapons,
etc. (Think I'm kidding? Check out www.disinfo.com
and do a little research.) And, doesn't
Jerry have an awfully large apartment for
a New York City cabdriver? Oh yeah, and
when does he find time to shave during this
entire ordeal...'cause when Mel's laying
on that floor at the end of the flick, he's
still lookin' like Mel, not like I do
after going three days without a shave.
And, last complaint here, why do they have
to sell us out at the end? I know the producers
were probably seeing dollar signs in their
eyes as this thing neared release, but give
the audience a teenty-weensy bit of credit.
(To be fair, a magazine article reports
that Richard Donner feels the ending used
is "less pure" than the other
ending shot, but the studio went with the
feelings of the test audiences.)
On the other hand, I quite
enjoyed CONSPIRACY THEORY. Despite its need
of a trim the story moves quickly enough
that you don't question much until it's
too late. Gibson earns added respect in
my book with an effective performance as
a crazy zine editor, so effective that you
often forget it's one of the damn handsomest
guys alive. Julia Roberts delivers her second
impressive performance in a summer of comebacks,
fresh on the heels of the (and you don't
hear me use this word too often) delightful
MY BEST FRIEND'S WEDDING, and looks to be
back on solid ground barring another MRS.
REILLY. And then there's Patrick Stewart,
creepin' everybody out as Dr. Jonas, a guy
you just know has a bunch of skeletons in
his closet.
Frankly, some of the four
star reviews I've seen for both this flick
and FACE/OFF speak volumes about the quality
of this summer's cinematic competition.
They're well-executed escapist entertainment,
and though structurally weak, light years
more enjoyable than the queer-camp of a
BATMAN AND ROBIN.
