Robert Altman directs a John Grisham original story! Run for your
fucking lives, because if you think Grisham writes crap when it
is in book length, consider how bad one of his
"stories" might be. Kenneth Branagh gets to be a
Southern Johnnie Cochran. He is entwined in the life of Embeth
Davidtz, who last I saw in "The Fallen", and who was
every bit as forgettable there. Here, she's a troubled girl with
a wacky Dad (Robert Duvall) and - ack! - a dark secret. Branagh
has associates - Robert Downey, Jr. and Darryl Hannah - who vie
for "The Most Over-the Top Southern Accent From A Loser
Actor" Award. No clear winner there.
A double-double, who-dun-what, set-up movie set in Savannah
during a hurricane, Altman directs like he has palsy.
Periodically, his scenes simply close with a focus on some random
object, like a branch or a gargoyle or a car window, for no
particular reason. By the film's climax, Altman has dropped the
tics, opting instead for slasher flick zooms and jerk-cut
photography. Worse, his trademark overlapping dialogue is lazy,
and with so many hammy accents in competetion - during a
hurricane, no less - many times, you simply cannot hear what is
being said.
A blessing, actually. The dialogue is leaden, the performances
are uniformly bad. Branagh is particularly smelly as he sweats
through the role.
And the story makes no sense. None. Zero. Nada. Zilch.
This is shit. No 9s. Not one. Zero. Nada. Zilch.
Vernon Jordan does have two lines in a cameo. He has been better
before the cameras staking out Ken Starr's grand jury.
