Identity has the wild unpredictability of the essential horror film, set at a timeworn motel in the middle of nowhere. The only guests have only stopped there because of the same freak accident. Alas, it falls through every cliché trapdoor on the blueprint, entirely preventable ones, too, ones that won't open unless you consciously open them, and its wild unpredictability is relegated to merely an offshoot of its absurdity. We still have fun, and, yes, it is still eerie sometimes, but it too much wants to be our friend. It has a star-studded cast of actors we love, the way it gets to its mindblow twist is through a ridiculous and completely avoidable contrivance in dialogue and moreover, the score is too often superfluous, signaling what we are supposed to feel, and as a consequence we don't have to feel it if we don't want to. The film would have been much more effective, far-fetched points and all, if the tension were allowed to grow genuinely rather than be explained by the underscoring.
It has been too long since we've seen the unbelievably sexy Rebecca DeMornay in a mainstream film. Had her performance in The Hand That Rocks the Cradle not been a wake- up call for filmmakers, the very kind that like to makes movies like this? Ray Liotta can by now play this kind of role in his sleep. Alfred Molina is hardly a part of the action and does not get to have the kind of fun as he does with so many other roles, but that is no matter for us simply to joy in seeing him. There is also the character actor John C. McGinley in a high- strung dramatic role, having never before been boring anyway. So this seemingly ambitious psychological thriller has star power which results in our immediate enjoyment instead of our deep involvement.
Yes, we are truly wondering how this and that could possibly happen, or who could possibly be responsible, and if so, how? Its script is one step away from being ludicrous with cheap pseudo-impressive buy-offs, but depending on the audience, one could either take the bait and be wowed or laugh out loud at its final unraveling, which is what I did. Basically, you can see that the certitude lies in the hands of a skillful enough director, and, with a world of better direction than James Mangold's, this could have been a lot better.
It has been too long since we've seen the unbelievably sexy Rebecca DeMornay in a mainstream film. Had her performance in The Hand That Rocks the Cradle not been a wake- up call for filmmakers, the very kind that like to makes movies like this? Ray Liotta can by now play this kind of role in his sleep. Alfred Molina is hardly a part of the action and does not get to have the kind of fun as he does with so many other roles, but that is no matter for us simply to joy in seeing him. There is also the character actor John C. McGinley in a high- strung dramatic role, having never before been boring anyway. So this seemingly ambitious psychological thriller has star power which results in our immediate enjoyment instead of our deep involvement.
Yes, we are truly wondering how this and that could possibly happen, or who could possibly be responsible, and if so, how? Its script is one step away from being ludicrous with cheap pseudo-impressive buy-offs, but depending on the audience, one could either take the bait and be wowed or laugh out loud at its final unraveling, which is what I did. Basically, you can see that the certitude lies in the hands of a skillful enough director, and, with a world of better direction than James Mangold's, this could have been a lot better.