3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for violence, dramatic intensity and mild sensuality
By Derrick Bang
It’s an old, old lesson: When
something seems too good to be true ... it is.
At first blush, scripters David
and Àlex Pastor have concocted what feels like a sinister medical thriller, of
the sort that put physician-turned-novelist Robin Cook on the map back in the
late 1970s. Director Tarsem Singh keeps the tone atmospheric during a first act
that raises all sorts of intriguing questions, with the New Orleans setting
adding an unsettling, almost-but-not-quite indiscernible layer of tension.
Then — also much like a novel by
Cook or Michael Crichton — things shift into a different gear, and suddenly
we’re in pure Hitchcock territory: our hearts engaged with a protagonist
pursued by shadowy unknowns, who cannot — for reasons related to his plight —
turn to official authorities.
All of which is even more
interesting because we’re not sure we should like our not-so-innocent hero.
The result is an economical thriller
that benefits from the Pastor brothers’ carefully crafted narrative. They avoid
serious mistakes, and everything holds together pretty well. And if we’re able
to anticipate a conclusion which, in the third act, seems increasingly
inevitable ... well, that’s okay. It’s the proper
way to end this story, and we exit the theater quite satisfied.
Billionaire New York City-based
industrialist Damian Hale (Ben Kingsley) has made no allies on his way to the
top, and he still enjoys crushing anybody who gets in his way. He’s a selfish,
arrogant man with no family connections, having long ago lost touch with his
activist daughter, Claire (Michelle Dockery), even though her volunteer-staffed
office is only a few blocks away in the same city.
Damian’s only real connection is
with lifelong friend and right-hand man Martin O’Neil (Victor Garber): also the
only person who knows that his boss is close to losing the one battle he cannot
win, against the cancer that is eating him alive.
But an unexpected option exists, courtesy
of a clandestine organization led by Albright (Matthew Goode), who offers a
radical form of immortality to hand-picked clients with the wealth and
resources to make it practical. Albright has developed the technology to
transfer an individual’s mind into a new, lab-cloned body. The process, dubbed
“shedding” — in a nod to the way reptiles shed their skin — can put Damian into
the body of a healthy male at the prime of life.
He jumps at the opportunity.
But the process is illegal, of
course, and the catch is that Damian Hale cannot return to his old life. As far
as the world is concerned, he has died; Albright supplies a new identity,
carefully funded by Damian’s fortune, and “Edward” begins his new existence in
New Orleans. The transition is euphoric: a fast car, faster women and the
casual vigor that comes from a well-toned body in excellent condition.
We’ve been down this road before,
most notably in director John Frankenheimer’s under-appreciated 1966 film noir thriller Seconds — boasting marvelously moody cinematography by the amazing
James Wong Howe — which finds disillusioned New York banker John Randolph
“resurrected” as Malibu-based painter Rock Hudson (unexpectedly solid in a rare
dramatic role).
Things don’t end well for that
film’s hero; we quickly suspect the same will be true here, particularly
because Damian starts having visions. Albright smiles benignly, offering the
smoothly rehearsed explanation that these are simply side-effects of his brain
adjusting to a new and wholly foreign physical form. Besides, the visions can
be held at bay by one-a-day tablets.
Irritatingly, Albright never
offers more than a week’s worth of these capsules at a time.
But Damian didn’t claw his way to
the top of the business ladder by being passive; new body regardless, he still
has his wits, intelligence and self-preservational reluctance to accept
anything at face value. On top of which, the “visions” are starting to feel
more like flashbacks, with vivid impressions of a young woman (Natalie Martinez)
and her little daughter (Jaynee-Lynne Kinchen).
And Damian can’t help wondering:
Did Albright really grow this younger,
healthier body in a lab? Or did it come from ... somewhere else?
Reynolds, having wasted his
initial 15 minutes of fame on high-concept junk such as Green Lantern, The Change-Up
and R.I.P.D., has wisely scaled back
to smarter, smaller and more thoughtful roles. He’s reasonably believable as an
“old soul” both delighted and somewhat weirded out by new skin; every so often
Reynolds glances at himself in a way that indicates fresh surprise. (“Wow ...
haven’t felt that way for a long
time.”)
Reynolds also displays enough
physical presence to sell the unexpected rough stuff that results from Damian’s
continuing search for answers.
On the other hand, he’s not
successful when trying to sell more intimate moments. Reynolds never seem
sincerely tender; there’s always an air of smug exasperation behind such
efforts, as if he assumes that people should know what he’s thinking, merely by
glancing at his rather bland features.
The British-born Goode, on the
other hand, is quite chilling. He
makes Albright the stuff of casual nightmares: a soft-spoken academic who, at
first blush, radiates calm authority and scientific brilliance ... qualities
you’d love to see in the surgeon assigned to your case. But each fresh
encounter with Albright makes Damian warier; the man’s explanations feel too
rehearsed, his manner more and more like a pose.
Singh extracts a great
performance from Goode, recognizing that truly powerful evil never needs to
raise its voice. We grow to dread any occasion that might prompt a smile from
Albright.
Kingsley is marvelous in his
brief role: note-perfect as a ruthless, rapacious businessman. Garber, always
adept at projecting warmth and compassion, is the epitome of longstanding
loyalty; Derek Luke is cheerfully laid-back as Anton, Damian’s first new friend
in his guise as Edward, when the two meet during a pick-up basketball game.
Dockery, a regular on
television’s Downtown Abbey, is sadly
under-utilized. I kept expecting the script to grant her character a larger
role in these events, but it never happens.
Martinez, a busy TV actress
perhaps recognized from Under the Dome
and Secrets and Lies, does pretty
well with a really tough part; this woman is expected to absorb a lot, and
Martinez makes it fairly convincing. Young Kinchen is cute as a bug, and a
total scene-stealer: absolutely natural in front of the camera.
Composers Dudu Aram and Antonio
Pinto deliver a moody score that amplifies the story’s unsettling tone, and
production designer Tom Foden makes excellent use of the New Orleans setting.
Albright’s lab, in particular, is inventively unusual and more than a little
disturbing.
Singh and editor Robert Duffy
keep things moving, in part to prevent us from scrutinizing broader-picture
concerns. Ultimately, this premise has the flaw that plagued The Stepford Wives and other sci-fi
conspiracy thrillers; we eventually realize that Albright’s apparently sizable
roster of continuing clients couldn’t possibly “behave” and obediently keep
silent, particularly not when, ah, “issues” keep cropping up.
Better, therefore, to assume that
Damian is one of the first to undergo the shedding process. That much
credibility, we can surrender.
Singh
cut his teeth on music videos and TV commercials, and he clearly enjoys messing
with perceived reality in his occasional big-screen efforts, both from a nasty
point of view (2000’s The Cell) and a
child’s unrestrained imagination (2006’s incredibly audacious, must-be-seen The Fall). He’s right at home with self/less — ingenious title, by the way
— and while this modest film isn’t likely to attract much attention amid its
noisier summer competition, it deserves a long and healthy home video
afterlife.
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