Desperate Measures


1.5/4

Starring: Andy Garcia, Michael Keaton, Marcia Gay Harden, Joseph Cross, Brian Cox

Rated R for Violence and Language

You know, for the longest time, I kept getting “Extreme Measures” (the much better Hugh Grant medical thriller) and this movie confused.  Both films share half their titles, and they convey similar meanings.  But one thing that must not be confused is their level of quality.  “Extreme Measures” is a solid thriller.  “Desperate Measures” is anything but.

The premise has promise.  A cop named Frank Connor (Garcia) is in an unenviable situation: his son Matt (Cross) is dying of leukemia, and the only one who can give him a bone marrow transplant that will save his life is a serial killer named Peter McCabe (Keaton).  After much pressuring and begging from Connor, McCabe agrees to undergo the procedure.  But McCabe escapes and goes on the run.  He’s racking up an impressive body count, and the police are willing to kill him in order to stop the carnage.  But Connor can’t allow that.  If McCabe dies, then his marrow becomes useless, and his son will die as well.

Most thrillers do not rank up high on the intelligence scale.  It takes too much time to explain everything, and pacing is crucial in a thriller.  Therefore, it’s the director’s job to keep the tension to a high enough level that we don’t notice the flaws.  Surprisingly, Barbet Schroeder, who directed the near-brilliant “Single White Female,” is unable to accomplish this.

The main reason why this movie is so awful is because the script is really, really bad.  The cast is first-rate, but the script makes them do some really stupid things.  For example, after an explosion, Connor steals a motorcycle and crashes through the hospital door to go look for McCabe.  Really?  Wouldn’t have it been easier, and faster, to just jump off and run through the door?  Not to mention the fact it would draw unwanted attention from the cops who think you’re helping the killer escape.  Or how McCabe is able to frighten two police dogs by hissing at them.  And of course, the good guys don’t hit the killer when he’s down (this actually happens twice!).  I’ve seen slasher movie characters smarter than these guys.

The cast is atypical, but they do okay because they’re good actors.  Garcia, who is usually more at home in dramas, acquits himself reasonably well in the action hero role.  He gets the desperation down, which really helps us accept him.  Michael Keaton is surprisingly effective as the killer, despite the fact he’s better known for romantic comedies like “Multiplicity.”  Although his southern twang fades away fairly early, his performance is effective.  Marcia Gay Harden gives the best performance (which isn’t especially surprising) as Matt’s helpful doctor.  Brian Cox is utterly wasted as Connor’s higher up.

It’s kind of hard to fault Barbet Schroeder for the disastrous result of the film.  He’s working with a horrible script, but Schroeder doesn’t seem to try to plug any holes or smooth over the rough kinks.  He plays up the unnecessary action sequences in an attempt to keep the energy level up, but it only serves to show how dumb this movie is.  This is a psychological thriller that Hitchcock would have enjoyed playing with; gunfights and stunts fit in like a square peg in a round hole.

When will Hollywood learn that being able to sell a film (good premise, popular actors, etc.) is different than making a good film.  People may be brought into the theaters, but they surely won’t come back.

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