The Bone Collector Reviewed

ROVIN' AND RAVIN' WITH MIKE

The Bone Collector

To begin with the bare bones of The Bone Collector: a forensics expert (Denzel Washington) becomes paralyzed from the neck down. Four years later, with the help of a rookie cop (Angelina Jolie), he works on the case of a serial killer who leaves tantalizing clues that, once put together, will reveal the killer's identity. Has any real killer ever done this? Do we now have movies that imitate movies rather than movies that imitate life? Envelopes have been pushed, and this killer's methods are so horrible that I don't want to inflict even a description of them upon you. Just be warned that this film's R rating is more for its violent content and horrendous images than for its profanity.

The true horror for me is that we have seen so much of this (in Seven, for instance) that many audiences, including the one with which I viewed this film, may not be troubled by such excesses. At some point I simply shut out the horror. There was a moment, near the beginning of the film, however, that struck sheer terror in my heart. Once again, the difference between horror and terror is revealing. Horror is the feeling generated by view of the brutalized bodies of the two most unfortunate victims or the killer--a feeling, ultimately, of such revulsion that we may turn away from it altogether. Terror works on something deep within ourselves, making us play along with the effect.

Perhaps anyone who has ever lived in New York City would share my feeling of terror. When things go bad in the city, when you are in an area in which you do not feel comfortable, conventional wisdom is to jump into a cab. But this killer collects his victims by getting them into his cab, then speeding off, with the doors of the cab locked. There is a claustrophobic feeling of sheer helplessness that comes across so well early on in the film when a couple is captured in the cab that I thought I was in for a much better film than, unfortunately, The Bone Collector, turns out to be.

There is one simple problem. The film is just not believable. From Lincoln Rhyme's (Washington) high tech gizmos through the idea that the New York City Police Department would give such a case to rookie street cop Amelia Donaghy (even if she is as stunning in uniform as Angelina Jolie is) to the absurd game the killer plays, the most basic elements of the plot of this film stretch our willingness to believe it. And if we don't believe it, if we don't even want to strain enough to believe it, it isn't going to reach us.

In his bed, Rhyme has too much reason, as he out-Sherlocks Sherlock, scanning over a few pieces of trash left behind by the killer and instantly figuring out where the next victim is suffering. I expected him at some point to say "Elementary, my dear Donaghy." Donaghy, meanwhile, on a sort of umbilical cell-phone, follows his directions as if she were a robot, and that is about the extent that Jolie is allowed to act.

Meanwhile, all kinds of people pass through the film. Near the beginning, there is a very brief scene with Donaghy's boyfriend, who, as she is strapping on her bullet-proof vest and gun, quotes his therapist to her--and is seen no more. At times Rhyme's apartment gets as crowded as a subway car at rush hour. Probably the only two who stand out in the crowd are Thelma, because Queen Latifah does such a good job with a rather thankless role, and Al Bundy--not really, but Ed O'Neill is going to be stuck with that name, even when he is playing Detective Sellitto. A hawk appears at Rhyme's window at significant moments (the music points those out for us), but any symbolism it might have flies the coop when the hawk does.

Since Rhyme is quadriplegic, there are many close-ups of Washington's handsome face, which are balanced by close-ups of Jolie. Not many young actresses these days could sustain the screen presence that Jolie does in such close quarters. She reminds me of film actresses of earlier generations with the way she fills the screen and almost seduces the camera. These close-ups set the mood for much of the film, and mood is what this film does best.

In Bringing Out the Dead, New York City's streets were amazingly open, even spacious. The view of the same city in The Bone Collector is tight, crowded, framed. The murders take place in New York City's almost mythical underground, abandoned warehouses and abattoirs, closed off subway stations, and steam tunnels--crowded, dirty, spooky. A bit too spooky, sometimes, with extreme camera angles, music that jangles a little too much.

We have a trend lately of surprise endings. This trend is a problem for reviewers who want to discuss the film with you but who don't want to spoil the fun for you. So, I can't tell you very much, but I do have to say that this film deserves some sort of prize for the silliest surprise ending ever. Studios often adjust the endings of their films based on the response of preview audiences, and this stinker just smells improvised and tacked on.

For my ending, no surprise here. Washington and Jolie do their best. This film cannot help Washington's reputation (and he is getting a reputation for getting bogged down in really dreadful films), but on the other hand, for a still rising star like Jolie, this gallant effort to make the best of a dreary situation will look good on her résumé.

Films that set out to appeal to our intellect, to stimulate us to figure out who-done-it, and why, must be intellectually valid. This film fails that test. Of course, it does look good, even when its images are horrible, and so often in Hollywood, looking good is what it is all about. But, if you really like a gory film about a serial killer, you would do better to rent Seven again and wait for this on video.

No matter where you rove in cyberspace or in what passes for real life, keep your feet dry (don’t step in the blood) and your heart full of noble thoughts, not of the horrible images that this film will leave there.