The Ruler Slap
Dr. Daniel's review of 187

under the knife

Starring Samuel L. Jackson, John Heard, Kelly Rowan, Clifton González González, Tony Plana, Karina Arroyave, Lobo Sebastian, Jonah Rooney.

Directed by Kevin Reynolds. Rated R. 118 minutes.

    Okay, here's the deal. There should be no doubt in anyone's mind that school can be a nightmare for students and teachers. There's not a day that goes by that I don't get a cold chill and a case of bird leather when I think back on some of my school memories. Poor awkward me, a film scholar trapped in the body of a third grader, schlepping spelling books and social studies handouts around all day, when my primary education was coming from Pauline Kael and André Bazin. I could reference any lesson any teacher had to a movie I had seen, and it used to drive the sisters crazy.
    Yes, I said the sisters. Ol' Doc is a refugee from the Our Lady of the Illuminated Spirit Elementary School, out Highway 19 on the outskirts of Carver Point. I was educated through my formative years by the good nuns of the Order. Through these dear ladies, I learned tolerance, patience, and a firm belief in professional wrestling. One sister in particular, Sister Linda Jean, was a dear soul who first educated me as to the ways of blinding fear and intimidation. One crisp autumn morning, she busted me for reading an old Photoplay magazine instead of Stuart Little.
    Everything after that was a blur. I remember the tattoo on the back of her hand rippled as she reached out to claw me by the scruff of the neck. I remember her snatching me out of the desk so hard and so fast I swallowed the eraser off of my Ticonderoga. I remember her ruler, one of those thick wooden ones with the holes in it, appearing in her hand. I remember her snapping that yellow monster across the palms of my hands about what seemed like ten thousand times. And I remember her bodyslamming me back into my deskchair, my head bouncing off the slanted tabletop like a hot tennis ball.
    I shook my skull to clear the cobwebs. All I knew at the time was that my throat hurt, my eraser was gone, my tie was crooked, and I couldn't make a fist for an hour. Ah, nostalgia.
    And I hadn't thought about Sister Linda Jean until I saw Samuel L. Jackson in 187. The glower was there, right out of my past, and I felt the fear creep into my palms. But, friends and neighbors, that's about all the emotion I felt until the lights came back up.
    Jackson plays Trevor Garfield, a teacher coming back to the world of education after getting a chestful of stab wounds courtesy of a student. (For those out of the Know, "187" is the police code for "homicide.") The random, mindless attack has wrecked his spirit, and he's trying to get his passion back. He's left his Brooklyn roots for the Los Angeles inner city, where he apparently plans to start anew.
    And, from there on out, lies the main problem that keeps smudging the chalk on this film's blackboard of potential. I could've bought this thing with open arms if it had stayed in this Stand and Deliver/Dangerous Minds arena. Director Kevin Reynolds, who managed to get himself kicked off the sinking barge of Waterworld, gives us the "teacher tutoring after hours" stuff, the "visit to the homes" stuff, blah, blah, blah. But, then, it dives off the deep end into this Death Wish Zone, where the "problem students" start showing up minus body parts, or better yet, outright dead.
    There are a few standout items in this movie. Most notably is Jackson himself. This guy is to acting what Cal Ripken is to baseball. He shows up for work without fail, gives 110 per cent everytime, and makes the tough play look easy. He works it all here, the stilted delivery that has become a trademark, and, especially The Look (the cocked eye stare that turned Ezekiel 25:17 into the scariest verse in the Good Book). Here, he sports a menacing look throughout, and, with those steely eyes and that harsh voice, he plays both hero and antagonist to his self-image. First-timer writer Scott Yagemann does an admirable job showing us the stalemate that most teachers are up against today: How can we teach these children when the students don't care, the administration doesn't care, and the parents don't care?
    Granting these details as given pros, I now spit out the biggest gristle in the stewpot. "Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Kevin Reynolds Cliché Festival!" My stars and garters, Kevin, have you no original thought processes whatsoever? Stealing every good scene from every good "teacher" movie does not qualify you to be a director. You even resorted to the "cute doggie" rule! Gentle readers, you know the "cute doggie" rule, right? What happens to cute doggies in movies where violence is a major player? B-I-N-G-O, was his name, oh....
    I'd love to boost this thing higher, for Samuel's sake if for nothing else. But, until Kevin Reynolds goes back to school himself, I can't give high marks to 187. It could have been, should have been, and ought to have been a better movie. Kevin flunked out of Film Theory, though, and his failure puts 187 in detention. Sister Linda Jean! Kevin's been a bad boy.