he F.B.I. has caught serial killer Carl Stargher (D'Onofrio), but their problems aren't over. Just before he was nabbed, he kidnapped one more victim. He has placed his victim in the Cell, a machine that will soon drown her unless the Feds can locate her. It's going to be a little more difficult than beating a confession out of the bad guy, however. During his capture, Stargher has a seizure that launches him, full-throttle, into an irreversible coma. The vital information the good guys need is locked within the bad guy's brain.
But perhaps not irretrievably. The lead agent on the case (Vaughn) travels to a psychiatric institute that has pioneered brain-to-brain communication, in which the therapist enters the virtual mind of the patient using synaptic hookups and drugs. The lead psychiatrist of this program (Lopez) agrees to wade into Stargher's disturbing mind-swamp to obtain the victim's location. But there is danger, most assuredly. Unlike the minds of the institute's usual patients, the killer's psyche is bound to be hostile, and his reality might overwhelm the psychiatrist's.
When she enters, she wanders through the Byzantine, sadistic world of Stargher's lurid trophies, his modus operandi, his guilt and even his beginnings. She seems on the verge of a breakthrough when the fissures of the killer's psyche crack wide open and she tumbles downward into the chasm. Left with few options, and with time pouring swiftly away, the Federal agent, untrained, dons a virtual encounter suit and dives into Stargher's mind and the darkness of the human heart.
The director's sticky fingers
Tarsem (who directed the award-winning R.E.M. video "Losing My Religion") seems to have either no shame or no clue, as he thieves from a panoply of themes and artists. He clumsily dilutes the finesse of The Silence of the Lambs into an unenlightening retread of serial-killerdom. He culls camerawork from other productions without a by-your-leave. Some might give him credit for his literal depiction of the mind of the serial killer but, in truth, Tarsem rips off entities such as the nefarious "cow" piece from the Sensation art exhibit (which drew nationwide criticism for its vulgarity and lack of artistic merit). In Tarsem's lazy hands, the portion of the picture that might have most benefited from his lush music video sensibilities winds up looking like an overwrought perfume ad.
Its shameless cribbing aside, the script is horrible in a way that strains the thesaurus. Nonsensical plot elements and gimmicky silliness masquerade as original thought. The urgency of the film hinges on the police knowing that the kidnap victim will die within hours, but there's no plausible way they could know. The ridiculous gimmicks include the killer's automatic drowning machine (possibly borrowed from CHAOS or the Penguin) and a trick albino dog who helps the killer catch his victims. "Arf."
Pity the Vinces, Vaughn and D'Onofrio. They are actors of merit and subtlety (especially D'Onofrio), who sit with tied hands in this rickety cart of a film that careens madly from stupidity to boredom to inanity, pulled by the team of bad directing and purposeless writing. Vaughn has the less fantastical part, so he suffers more. D'Onofrio mostly manages. His character is more bizarre, but ultimately one shouldn't feel sorry for the serial killer because he's in a bad, bad movie. Lopez is severely limited and ill-suited to this intellectual action role. Yet her performance, as bad as it may be, is still better than the film itself.
One could probably, with a clear conscience, say something positive about the cinematography, which is crisp and lush. The costume design deserves a nod. However. This film doesn't even have shlock-appeal, and die-hard Lopez fans will probably be the only ones to enjoy it.
