A Tough Cell

Perhaps the most ambitious and eccentric of this summer's suspense fare, The Cell is a disappointing case study in style overpowering substance. A by-the-book hunt for a serial killer and his hidden victims, The Cell's only intriguing twist is a detour into the killer's malevolent subconscious. The film suffers from an underwritten script that is concurrently overdirected by newcomer Tarsem Singh. You can almost imagine the former MTV video director standing like a carney outside his dilapidated director's tent, thirsty for attention and recognition above the ranks of the seedy music-video circus. But unlike the genuine article discovered in freakshow Spike Jonze, who translated music-video ingenuity into big-screen gold, Singh sticks to the visceral whiz-bang trickery of MTV only to neglect real-movie basics-starting with the plot.

What there is of it revolves around a detective (Vince Vaughn) and a psychologist/lab rat/hottie (Jennifer Lopez) zapping themselves into the brooding, volatile inner mind of a comatose sicko (a dopey and wasted Vincent D'Onofrio). Singh paints brilliantly haunting landscapes of the deserts and caverns of the subconscious; several of the scenes are arresting in their surreal, dreamlike intensity. However, while Singh sustains this creepy, suspenseful mood throughout the film, he's never able to cash in on it. The Silence of the Lambs fueled more nightmares through just a handful of scenes with Anthony Hopkins and a glass plate than this entire shlep through Jennifer in Wackoland can ever hope for.

There's some weird stuff going on here, but what it amounts to is simplistic: the murderer's inner child struggling against the inner demon, searching for redemption in Lopez, the guardian angel/Virgin Mary. For all its creepy gloom and evil preening, the subconscious is never realized as a living, organic realm, and this Cell is thus left empty-it may be a little discomforting, but it's not genuinely disturbing like the truly innovative and exhilarating romp through John Malkovich's dreamscape in Being John Malkovich.

Lopez seems most out of place. Her subtlety, surprisingly effective in the smooth Out of Sight, translates into just plain bad acting amidst The Cell's loud surroundings. In her defense, though, the role was fluffed from the start by an underdeveloped script-the most interesting thing her character does is walk around at home in scanties smoking a joint. Lopez looks good in these costumes, but what she wears to award ceremonies is ten times more interesting.

You still want to watch an egotistical director fling his stuff at the wall to see what sticks? Bring a Discman to the theater, put on some Nine Inch Nails and enjoy the show.