You can only criticize bad filmmaking so many times; you can only cite shallow, undeveloped characters, weak plot lines and general theatrical nuisance until one movie review starts to run into the next.
If you've seen any "epic-esque" film in the last 20 years, you've definitely seen The Four Feathers. Undecided as to what it should focus on, the issues of imperialism, cowardice and personal honor are mashed into a mush of Heath Ledger. The only shame is that a truly beautiful and realistic sand-enveloped battle scene is wasted in such a blend of nonsense.
Feathers' endless flow of mediocrity could barely entertain a 12-year-old. George Dubya would like it--especially the imperialistic invasion scenes.
Unfortunately, I kept a journal during the film:
Ten minutes in: Hey! This movie is The Patriot! Forty-five minutes in: Deprived of oxygen and entering a state of Raisinette-induced narcosis. High from sniffing the drool-caked Sour Patch Kid residue from the floor, I see purpley stars. Sixty minutes in: It's all clear to me now--I am an econ major. I want to be an investment banker.
I love Duke.
Then, my extended narcosis transported me to the realm of Heath Ledger.
Me: Hullo Heath, what can you tell us about your new movie, The Four Feathers?
Heath: I'm this guy named Harry who is a soldier and he, like, doesn't want to fight for some reason. His dad gets mad at him and his friends think he's a dweeb and they go to war and fight and stuff. I come and save them and get my girlie back. I forgot what happens but there is this really cool battle scene that would be amazing if it were in a real movie. I rule.
Me: After you showed much promise in Monster's Ball, do you have any regrets about reverting back to the same character you played in The Patriot?
Heath: Yo man, don't waste my flava cause I gots me a beat:
Well if you want me, then this is what I'll give ya,
A little bit of old scripts mixed with some Heath Ledger.
Me: If you rap anymore I'll kill you.
Heath: I'm hot. I rule.
Me: Anyway, seeing that you're a dirty Aussie, don't you hate the British Imperialists portrayed in the movie?
Heath: Arrrr! Shut your bloody trap, you damn yankee sepo.
Days later, the poison's wearing off, and I find myself slowly waking from a Heath-induced coma.
I have been ravaged; my essential self no longer breathes.
Editor's Note: The "I" grade stands for: Incomplete, lacking any redeeming cinematic quality.
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