The Lost Angel (2004)

At the risk of sounding like somebody in dire need of some Ego-deflation, I am hereby ordaining a new movie-category: The Rainy-Sunday Movie.
It’s the kind of movie that’s not really good, not really bad, not really a waste of time, but not really a good use of time either. It is the sort of movie you pass the time with when you feel too shabby, hung over, tired, weary or flu-ish to watch a film that you can sink your mental teeth into. A film for when your mind is working at 65% capacity and the weather is not good enough for going out and getting something done.

This movie definitely falls into that category. It is about a religious serial killer performing an ancient satanic ritual requiring 20 subsequent murders and the female cop (heading a task force that bends the rules at will) trying to figure out what’s going on. Add an FBI-profiler, a priest with a secret and a few traumatic past experiences to the mix and hey presto: one straight to dvd-thriller.

The film takes its cue from the incomparable Se7en. Needless to say it is nowhere near up that standard (but then, name one movie in the wake of that masterpiece that was). Problem with the plot is that, in its eagerness to please everybody, there is too much stuff crammed in there. To name but a few redundancies: the harassment of a suspect, the obligatory sex-scene, a main characters’ deafness that serves no purpose, and few subplots that add nothing to the story. Also, one of the characters disappears from the story for no particular reason about 15 minutes before the end of the movie, probably because, with everything going on, there was no time to properly finish that storyline.

The chock-full script actually makes for a few nice plot holes that are unintentionally funny. There’s the monk who has taken a vow of silence but still communicates by email, the deaf priest taking confession (one has to wonder how he manages that; I immediately thought of the twice a week phone call I get in my office from a man who always complains about the same things: on my part that call consists of a series of well timed pauses, ahah’s and uhuh’s, while I am not actually listening to what he’s saying (not after the first five times anyway) and am doing something useful in the mean time).

The film would also have improved with some better acting. Alison Eastwood (daughter of) has not enough power to maker her tough girl act sympathetic. She displays only mood-setting throughout the film and that makes her character annoying rather than strong, offbeat and likable. And as the would-be baddy, C. Thomas Howell is infantile, making his villainous character a cartoon that is neither scary nor believable. But the film also features the ever dependable John Rhys-Davies and Judd Nelson, so it’s not all bad.

Unfortunately, the ending is. All through the movie you are enticed into figuring out for yourself what is going on here, only to be hit by a surprise that is completely illogical and consists of something you could not possibly know. That might make you feel a little screwed (and not in a good way).

However, the thing that ultimately somewhat absolves this movie is the fact that it does not aspire or promise to be more than it is and therefore it neither surprises nor disappoints. Next time you have the flu (and there are no Carl Hiaasen books to re-read) this movie will do you fine.

Be Sociable, Share!

•