Taking Lives

April 17, 2004

The first victim of this serial-killer flick was Michael Pye's novel, writes Paul Byrnes.

Directed by D.J. Caruso
Written by Jon Bonenkamp, based on a novel by Michael Pye
Rated MA
Cinemas Everywhere

The art of adaptation requires much delicacy and tact, unless of course there's a star involved. In Taking Lives, that star is Angelina Jolie and her presence requires the butchering of Michael Pye's novel.

It may not be her fault; the murder of the text may have happened before she came on board. It must have happened that way, in fact, because there's no part for her in the original novel. The book is about a young Dutch serial killer who takes over the identity of his victims, starting with an 18-year-old American male student in Florida.

Years and several murders later, he takes on the identity of an art historian, Christopher Hart. The book then shifts to a character called John Costa, a curator at an art museum in London, who's sent to track Hart down in Portugal, in connection with some stolen art. Unless you change the sex of one of these two, there's not much point in sending Jolie a copy of the book.

Still, the movie thriller market is dominated by women in jeopardy, so the producers had a problem. Who the hell wants to see an all-male thriller? Of course, this is only really a problem if someone feels the need to respect the work of novelist Pye. At some point, this may have been true: why else would they have bought the rights?

This is what happened: the movie is now set in Montreal and the main character is played by Angela Jolie. Illeana Scott, an FBI profiler, is called to Montreal to assist the Quebec police in their inquiries into a possible serial killer. John Costa is now a Montreal art dealer, played by Ethan Hawke and the Dutch killer is a kid from rural Quebec, whose first murder kicks off the picture. Hart is still in the story, and still an art thief (played by Kiefer Sutherland), but whether he's the killer kid grown up we do not yet know.

I wasn't aware of these transformations as I watched the film, so it didn't matter. Only afterwards, trying to work out why it's such a mess, did I research the book. It then becomes clear why the film makes no sense: the story has been gutted for story ideas, mere fragments really, in order to achieve its real aim, which is to put Ms Jolie on screen in a role the public will pay to see. The result is the opposite of what's intended, because the public won't pay very often to see a stupid plot, no matter who plays it, even if she gets her gear off, as Ms Jolie is generous enough to do here (she seems to make a habit of exposing her magnificent bosom only in her worst movies, such as Original Sin).

The incongruous casting continues with her Quebec police cohorts: all three are played by French actors, none of whom is required to do the very distinctive Quebec French accent. Tcheky Karyo is the boss, Leclair, who calls Scott in on the case despite objections from his deputies, played by Jean-Hugues Anglade and Olivier Martinez. Not that they even speak much French. Even when talking among themselves, they prefer Anglais; only when they wish to make jokes about Agent Scott's breasts do they use French, not knowing that she speaks French, too.

Jolie's part is descended from The Silence of the Lambs, but also the forensic investigator she played superbly in The Bone Collector. This time, her character is an expert, not a neophyte, and very self-assured. She is so cool about her work, so untroubled by gore, that she eats her hotel dinner while poring over victim photos. She is so keen to get inside her quarry's mind that she lies down in the grave of the latest victim, to soak up the vibes. The killer wanted the body found, she reasons, so we know he's playing the bone collector game, leaving a trail of clues. Another victim leads to Costa, who witnessed the attack. Despite her colleagues' suspicions, Agent Scott finds herself attracted to him.

The plot turns on one unlikely twist after another, but the director papers them over with visual flourishes. I haven't seen D.J. Caruso's 2002 film The Salton Sea, but this one looks good, with beautiful locations in Montreal's old town, and lush cinematography. He uses the camera cleverly to create character, as in extreme close-ups of Jolie's lovely eyes which show how alert she is. But he's also prone to overdoing it: close-ups of her mouth, showing a sensuality that she's trying to control, are almost too much. The bee-stung lips become like pink zeppelins, and the film becomes ridiculous - a state from which a thriller can rarely recover.

This story was found at: smh.com.au/articles/2004/04/16/1082055638593.html

Original von Ness
PS: Als Kiefer geschlagen wurde und seine "Erbrech-Bewegung" machte musste ich auch noch Grinsen!