DOMINO (2005)

SHORT REVIEW: Remember back in the old days when they held the camera still? The camerawork is so shaky the DVD comes with a free sample of Dramamine It is difficult to establish for you how embarrassingly horrid this puddle of stink truly is for everyone involved. This may be the worst film released by a major studio last year. Director Tony Scott (The Last Boyscout, Top Gun, True Romance) is one for taking risks. As John Lanids will tell you, there’s a thin line between taking risks and being an idiot. Stopping a lawnmower with your tongue isn’t risk taking. Gargling with brake fluid isn’t risk taking. Casting Keira Knightley as the heavy in your action film isn’t risk taking – its just plain stupid. Can someone get Keira Knightley a Kit-Kat or a plate of pasta or something? The poor waif looks like she’s about to pass out. I understand that I’m supposed to listen to the marketing and think she’s hot. I say no thanks, I like women. Knightley has the figure of a twelve-year-old boy. I mention the wisp’s ninety-pound frame for a reason. She portrays Domino Harvey, a real life model who, at one point in her life, became a bounty hunter. Here’s the deal, tiny Keira is asked by the role to act tough and stand toe to toe with an assortment of mouth breathing gorillas with ponytails. Tiny Keira and her boney hips and sullen ribcage hardly cuts an ominous figure in this crowd. We are to believe tiny Keira is a threat and through her power of skill and personality to remain viable in the film’s world of seedy men. The problem we have is that this film is not a comedy. Can we do away with these ninety-pound women being tough thing? Yeah, some women can be strong and I don’t want to get into a scrap with them. Almost none of these women are breathy fashion models*. Most of these women are bulky types with mullets and plaid shirts with the sleeves ripped off. If I see another bone thin actress acting like she can kick a two hundred-pound biker around the block I’m going to scream...well, I'll actually probably just whine. In 1969, Monty Python had a brilliant sketch in which a lumbering boxer, Ken Clear-Air System (John Cleese) has a boxing match against Petulia Wilcox (Connie Booth) a girl in a cute blue dress. Basically, the bout involves Petulia approaching Ken Clear-Air System, getting hit and falling down over and over again. What was laughable thirty years ago is now continuously put out in our culture with a straight face. Since I'm complaining cursory issues involving the film, tiny Keira has herself painted in some hip hugging pants. There is a plethoa of shots of her butt cleavage - formerally known as "plumber's crack". How this look ever became fashionable, I have no idea. Listen, you may think its a good idea for tiny Keira to have her poop shute showing but there are repercussions. What works for tiny Keria may not work so well for the chubby girl down at the supermarket bending over picking up a can of chicken soup off the aisle floor. Ladies, please agree amongst yourselves that butt crack isn't the best fashion policy for a self respecting girl. Oh yeah, the crappy movie. Let's see... The film itself is abysmal. The characters are an unapproachable heap of criminals and half-wits. There isn’t a good quality to be found in anyone anywhere in this piece. No one is worthy of being put to film. The acting is stock and lifeless, but at least it matches the mundane script. The real culprit here is producer/director Tony Scott. Scott’s love of hyper-stylization sometimes works but sometimes gets in his way. In this case, Scott's stylization suffocates his film. No, I take that back. It bashes its head in, sets it on fire, drives it out the ourskirts of town and dumps its remains in a ravine. Everything in his film is dank and everyone is covered in a sheen. Apparently the whole cast sweats Vaseline. The worst of his crimes against his audience is his camerawork. I do not believe there is a single shot in this film in which the camera remains still. Every conversation, every glance, every moment is covered by sweeping camera movements, irrational close-ups and other cheap music video tricks. Here’s a clue, let’s not use a paint shaker as a tripod next time. The real question is what does Mr. Scott have against epileptics? This film’s camerawork has to induce seizures like a riding a roller coaster while wearing a helmet with a strobe light inside. I assume Scott subconsciously knew his film was horrid and tried to cover it up by making it impossible to see. Don’t watch this film. Don’t even joke about watching this film. If someone approaches you with this DVD in hand, slap it from their ignorant paws and punch them in the face. That person is not your friend and wants to hurt you. * - Except Naomi Campbell - that nutcase will bash your skull in with a lamp when you're sleeping.