The genre of "thriller" is an awkward beast. It's usually applied to films just a little too cerebral or atmospheric to be labelled straightforward "action/adventure," but too violent or odd to be accepted as straightforward "drama." Good thrillers tend to be exciting, puzzling, suspenseful...but not necessarily possessing any deeper message worth thinking about once you're out of the theater. This isn't uniformly true, of course. The Third Man is biting political commentary and a painful exploration of the conflict between affection and duty; The Manchurian Candidate is as sweaty an evocation of paranoia as ever appeared on the big screen; The Silence of the Lambs wraps a feminist coming-of-age story so brilliantly in a serial-killer flick that Demme fooled the whole Academy. Still, the exceptions are few and far in between.
Michael Mann would like Collateral to be an exception. I do believe he thinks he's making points about connection and freedom here. He's not. There's nothing truly thought-provoking in this film. What there is to enjoy is a grainy, soft-edged portrait of LA, a "high concept" plot whose interest survives a few ill-chosen meanders and a conventional conclusion, some heartstoppingly-shot sequences of violence, and convincing turns by the lead actors (if not the lead actress). It's evocative and absorbing when you're watching it. It's worth watching again. But it'd be better still without Mann's occasionally labored pretensions. You'd think that with his resume he'd be over his genre anxiety.
Posted by Sarah T. at October 2, 2004 08:46 AM | TrackBack