Okay, here's the deal. I rarely go to shopping malls, right? Mainly 'cause the closest one to Carver Point is about 45 miles away, but, to be honest, I just don't dig 'em. Too many stores selling the same crap, stale processed air, the funky smell of cinnamon reeking from whatever gourmet coffee store is brewing up one of those godawful double-mocha-half-caf-latte-chino things, who needs it? That being said though, I must confess that one of my favorite things to do in life takes place in malls.
Anybody out there ever heard of those "magic eye" pictures? Those big posters done up with those silly gobbledy-gook abstract paintings of nothing, with the hidden stuff in 'em? Folks, this here is one of the all-time great inventions known to man. Not 'cause they're esoteric or aesthetic or any other sort of New-Age adjective, no, no. These things are great because of what they do to people's minds.
I could spend hours watching these boneheads who stand there, trying to see the hidden picture in these things. They'll stare so long their eyes cross. Turn their heads this way and that, bend their knees, get real close, back way up, whatever it takes to see the secret. I saw one guy stand sideways to the picture and try to use his peripheral vision. I watched a lady stand with her back to the thing and spin around real fast, like she was trying to catch the picture before it scampered away. People'll completely forget about where they are, who they're with, and what planet they're on, all trying to see the stupid picture.
It'd be one thing if the secret of life was spelled out behind all that abstraction. I mean, c'mon, it's usually just some smiling kitty or a flock of geese flying. Or, if you're real lucky, you might get a buddha squattin' on a throw rug. To me it's not worth a migraine and a case of Visine. I can get the same effect by watching scrambled pay-per-view after a six-pack of Heineken. This whole magic eye fad has progressed to the point that I'm beginning to believe some of them don't even have hidden images at all. Heck, who's gonna admit that they can't see it? I bet if you went to a mall and gave some college professor a ten spot to stand in front of the flag of Japan and rub his chin, he could get a whole flock of morons to stand behind him, rubbing their chin too, saying "I see it!" "Yeah, me too!" "Sí, yo también!"
And I gotta news flash for you, friends. Hollywood is a firm believer in the "magic eye" theory. And the theory is that we, the moviegoers, are the staring idiots, and we'll believe anything they tell us. No matter how abstract or ugly or downright bad the movie is, they'll sell it like it's a masterpiece, 'cause they know someone out there will shell out coin for it. Is there any other explanation for Smokey and the Bandit II, Over the Top, or Batman and Robin? "Keep watching, folks. You'll see the good movie hidden in here...."
Well, the latest con man to run into our little mall and set up a booth is Barry Levinson, with his new film Sphere. Folks, this thing has a high-dollar cast, it has Michael Crichton's name all over it, it's a big sci-fi extravaganza. But guess what? It's a big bunch of nothing, dressed up like a big bunch of something. It's like a big Christmas present that has been sitting under the tree for a month, all shiny and inviting and exciting, and finally, you tear through all the glitter and bows and shiny fancy paper, and...it's a pair of brown socks from Aunt Claire.
The story runs on the idea that a strange craft has been found deep in the ocean, and a crew of scientists, led by Dustin Hoffman, are going to dive down and explore it. Apparently, it's a 300-year old alien spaceship, and it's still just a-tickin' away down there, or, more accurately, a-hummin'. Inside the ship, the crew finds a huge floating ... SPHERE (hey, that'd make a good title for a movie.) This sphere begins to have a strange effect on the rest of the crew, namely Sharon Stone, Samuel L. Jackson, and Liev Schreiber.
I would go on with the plot description, but I can't. Not because I don't want to give away some big secret, but because the rest of the plot is a confused mess of bungled twists and blimey details that I'm sure are supposed to explain themselves but don't. The spaceship may or may not be an alien craft. The sphere may or may not be some evil entity. The scientists may or may not be in love with one another. Who knows? Who cares?
I just can't believe this movie even exists in this form. Director Barry Levinson should be mortified that his "dream" of doing a science fiction movie turned out this silly. For about thirty minutes, we get typical Levinson storytelling, tight exposition, awe-inspired discovery, lots of scenes where silence works as words. Then, it's like somebody turned on the "goofy switch," and the whole movie goes straight to Ty-D-Bol. We get world-class scientists doing and saying the silliest stuff imaginable. We get special effects and attempts at supernatural scares that are so cheesy they should be poured over nachos.
Even the simple creature effects are terrible. There's a scene with a woman getting killed by a jellyfish that's so clumsy it had the crowd I was with in hysterical laughter. C'mon, Barry! Even Ed Wood would've called Take 2 on that crap. Oh! Let's not forget the "attack of the 40-foot squid" scene that never even bothers to show us one picture of the stupid squid! Stock footage from Disney's Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, stuff they cut out of Deep Rising, maybe a picture of Jabba the Hut's tail, show us something that at least attempts to look like a squid, for Pete's sake!
Hoffman has never looked so out of place in a film in his life. At least in Outbreak, he had a sense of righteousness that escorted his character through the story. His mission here, it seems, is just to try his best to not look too dumb. Ditto Samuel L. Jackson. Throwing attitude from inside a diving helmet just don't pay off. I hope this doesn't knock Sweet Sharon back the three steps she picked up from her Casino Oscar nod. She hasn't worked in over fifteen months, and this was no way to come back. All three are plodding through a script that should have been washed in hot water and dried on "high," so it'd shrink up and lose the fluff.
It absolutely amazes me that Levinson and Hoffman were doing this while they were shooting Wag the Dog. Wag took, what, two days to shoot and came out brilliant. This phlegm ball took over three months plus, and looks like a cow pasture smells in summer. Notice that there's not a lot of talk show action coming from the cast, not nearly as much as you'd figure from a movie with such juice behind it. That only says volumes about how everyone involved feels about this movie. I absolutely refuse to believe that Levinson, Hoffman, and the rest of the bunch are so powerful and feared that nobody felt the need to stand up at a studio screening and say, "Hey! Wait a minute! This thing sucks worse than a White House intern!" (Oh, wait. I'm talkin' about Warner Brothers' studio executives. Statement retracted.)
The end result? A sloppy, soggy mess that never should have been let out the studio gate. Folks, save your dead presidents. Go to Ray's Rent-a-Flick and get The Abyss. Or, if you're really desperate, there's this poster store at the mall....
Image copyright Warner Bros.
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