Incendiary (2008)
A kind of British version of 9/11 that is interesting for its vision of a London-based terrorist disaster, but which is overwrought, sentimental, and sensational. It tries to temper this by making the heroine moodily (deeply) unhappy in her adultery (or unhappy enough to be adulterous), and by having the resulting relationship take on surprising seriousness.
And this is where the movie has some interest. I'm not sure Michelle William's role as the mother and bereaved is exceptional any more than Ewan McGregor is as the interloper playboy turned sensitive (and who has a really minor role). Both seem like functionary clichés. It's a serious movie overall, and increasingly sad. But it's loaded with tricks to make it catchy, including the whole unconvincing second half where an investigation takes place against unlikely odds.
The music is overbearing (drippy strings and piano), and the manipulations almost cheap (stuffed animals, pictures and movies of loved ones), almost like a quickie made-for-TV affair. Which is too bad because there are other aspects that are moving. It's a good idea to have the British visit this and try to empathize through a movie this way.
A giveaway to its motivations (and those of the director Sharon Maguire) is a voice-over at the end, as a baby is being born, that is a direct plea to Osama Bin Laden to stop training people to be violent killers. We all wish that would be so. So if this movie is just for Osama, fine. For the rest of us, it's nearly unbearably trite and shameless.
A kind of British version of 9/11 that is interesting for its vision of a London-based terrorist disaster, but which is overwrought, sentimental, and sensational. It tries to temper this by making the heroine moodily (deeply) unhappy in her adultery (or unhappy enough to be adulterous), and by having the resulting relationship take on surprising seriousness.
And this is where the movie has some interest. I'm not sure Michelle William's role as the mother and bereaved is exceptional any more than Ewan McGregor is as the interloper playboy turned sensitive (and who has a really minor role). Both seem like functionary clichés. It's a serious movie overall, and increasingly sad. But it's loaded with tricks to make it catchy, including the whole unconvincing second half where an investigation takes place against unlikely odds.
The music is overbearing (drippy strings and piano), and the manipulations almost cheap (stuffed animals, pictures and movies of loved ones), almost like a quickie made-for-TV affair. Which is too bad because there are other aspects that are moving. It's a good idea to have the British visit this and try to empathize through a movie this way.
A giveaway to its motivations (and those of the director Sharon Maguire) is a voice-over at the end, as a baby is being born, that is a direct plea to Osama Bin Laden to stop training people to be violent killers. We all wish that would be so. So if this movie is just for Osama, fine. For the rest of us, it's nearly unbearably trite and shameless.