Pollack's thrills need no translation

The Interpreter, the latest from Sydney Pollack, packs the punch and thrills of a Dan Brown novel without the obvious plot holes and far-fetched endings. Sylvia (Nicole Kidman), born in the fictional African country of Matobo, works as an interpreter for the UN, where she overhears an assassination plot against the dictator of her native country. Keller (Sean Penn) is the Secret Service agent in charge of investigating the threat, as well as Sylvia and her checkered past. A bombed bus, several dead bodies and a lot of sexual tension later, we’re left wondering if the lame romantic subplot between Sylvia and Keller was really necessary. The complicated political plotline would have been enough to keep this thriller afloat.

Kidman, with her beautiful blonde hairdo, looks as young and pretty as ever. As for Penn, he does what he does best: grieve. After morose turns in Mystic River, 21 Grams, et al., Penn has firmly established himself as the premier mourner in Hollywood. That Penn’s detective character is disillusioned, divorced, and despondent should hardly be a surprise—you’ve seen this character before, in Man on Fire, Assault on Precinct 13 and practically every other action/suspense movie ever made. If only the film had included a scene of him drinking away his sorrows in a seedy bar, that would have really nailed home the point. Oh wait, it did. Would it kill Hollywood to give us a thriller with a happily married leading male?

Perhaps I’m being too harsh—The Interpreter is a very smart, effective thriller. The plot avoids any major pitfalls while always keeping us guessing and never becoming implausible—a hard feat for any suspense film to accomplish. The terrifying moments and tense thrills never stop, especially when we follow a suicide bomber around New York wondering where he’ll decide to strike. The topic of the film, centering on genocide and its causes, solutions and repercussions, is especially salient to current events, such as the situation in Sudan.

In a particularly evocative scene, Sylvia tells a story of a custom in her homeland: one year after a murder takes place, the villagers tie up the murderer and throw him in a river. The family of the deceased has the option of saving him and getting closure through forgiveness, or letting him die and living forever with their heartache. “Vengeance is a lazy form of grief,” Sylvia explains. Very well, but the audience would have gotten the hint without being didactically told again and again that violence is wrong. Though The Interpreter provides over two hours of non-stop entertainment, some audiences may be turned off by the incessant fawning over the UN and the clear liberal agenda of the filmmakers (ahem, Mr. Penn).