Miami Vice

The movie was hard to understand, not because the plot was intricate - if there was one - but it gave you the sensation of being a retarded kindergartener with the attention span of a toothbrush.

There were times when you empathized with the director, producer and even the crew that held up the boom mike, because they furnished the intuition that they were threatened into making this movie - failure to comply would have ensured death. If I can tone down my discontent and absolute contempt for this sorry excuse for a movie, I can at best describe it as ghastly.

The script and the subsequent plot emerged from pieces of crumpled Work-In-Progress scraps thrown out into garbage cans by directors who were too mortified to make it into a movie. But then Michael Mann had time to kill and lives to waste and audiences to mortify with redundancy. And yes, it was a typical Michael Mann movie, a lot of time for contemplation, for those who have seen his previous works, 'The Insider' or 'Heat'. But this was way too slow and agonizing. I did contemplate though, to watch the movie in Fast-Forward.

Colin Farrell was screaming Goldilocks and Rapunzel with hair which looked as natural as a Red Indians prized scalp. I am pretty sure that he was to go in for a 'presence' look. And Jamie Foxx gave an appearance that was reminiscent of an actor who was working hard just to remember his lines. They made the Ferrari, the Bentley and the Mercedes look like props creditable of a banana peels. And if you have seen this movie, please do quench the thirst of my curiousity. I would like to know the precise time where Li Gong (Isabella) drove you up against the wall, with her sentences devoid of articles. Yes she did stay in character you may argue. Yes I do see my blood on the wall I may add.

I cannot bother to go on further why this experience was so horrid as I had acquired the attention span of a toothbrush and I can only digress now with pitiless references of this movie to new and interesting diseases. All these thoughts came in the first half of the torturous audio-visual piles. However, there should be an evolving plot, a brilliant idea perhaps to a perfect end, as there was the other half of hope to develop, an artifact of amusement. But hope has always been a sin.

A Stage, nay, it was a military institution where all the players were merely following orders, speculating when they would get their next pile of millions of dollars. You could actually picture this when Mr. Foxx was trying to multitask on remembering his lines and put up an appropriate facial expression to match the mood. He was a long way off, probably off in a yatch in the Pacific. And I would have no remorse if he had drowned. To make it interesting let us add Mr. Farrell in the equation and rewind to him making man-love to Mr. Foxx when they had their lungs filled with salt water. You see, not only do I digress but I sin.

I have already had a word with God and he won’t give me my two hours back. Save yourself, retribution is at hand.

Not once did the movie imprison my imagination or sent my pulse racing. It did not present any prospect to me to be wide eyed, or give a jaw dropping effect. And if that is asking for much, I broke the DVD into two.