International flop

Even Clive Owen can’t charm his way out of this disaster

The International boasts a plot line you’ve probably encountered serveral times over with stilted performances by Clive Owen and Naomi Watts to boot.
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The International boasts a plot line you’ve probably encountered serveral times over with stilted performances by Clive Owen and Naomi Watts to boot.

I don’t like having stuff stolen from me. And I would bet a lot of money that you don’t either. Two very long hours after I shelled out $10 to see The International, I was livid. Two hours and $10—rare and precious resources lifted from my back pocket (in cold blood, no less!) never to be returned again—a conspiracy of sorts brewed up by the folks at Columbia Pictures.

And conspiracy—incidentally—is what this flop attempts to be about. Agent Louis Salinger (Clive Owen), a hard-boiled British Interpol detective with a murky past, has uncovered some rather unethical banking practices at the International Bank of Business and Credit. Not that murder, shady weapons dealings and perpetuating civil wars in the third world are all that surprising coming from a bank—it’s just good business practice, right? Unfortunately, everyone that tangos with the IBBC ends up as either fish food or morgue ornaments, so Salinger’s resolve to bring the whole lot of the mobsters in is a little easier said than done.

Good thing he’s got a blond American with steely resolve on his side? Not even. Eleanor Whitman (Naomi Watts), apparently a hot shot at the New York District Attorney’s office is arguably the one detective in film history best likened to a seven-year-old playing undercover dress-up in Kmart couture. While ostensibly Salinger’s partner in the whole affair, Whitman is quickly sent off with a figurative pat on the bum and told to look after her family and leave the real international cop work for the boys without families, regular sleep cycles or a functional razor. The International essentially approximates every cop-thriller Hollywood has ever regurgitated onto the golden screen to such a degree that even Owen’s five o’clock shadow can’t salvage it. Sure, there’s a great cast of locations—Berlin, New York, Luxembourg, Milan, Istanbul—but this bevy of titillating topos merely hides the fact that this story has already been done, November’s Quantum of Solace being the most recent telling.

But can’t The International make up for its lame plot with wicked characterization? No. It can’t. Watts flounders, but dear Owen isn’t in top form either. Highlights of this awful moment in acting include Owen’s recurrent catch phrase, delivered with an appropriately vapid stare and gravelly voice that goes a little something like “sometimes you meet your destiny on the road to avoiding it.” How enlightening. To say the least, Owen poached his performance of hard-boiled.

Probably the only interesting—though decidedly half-baked—performance was that of the hit man (Brian O’Byrne) hired by the IBBC to pick off those who step out of line. The Consultant, as he’s dubbed, participates in a delightful gunfight scene with Salinger and a posse of baddies at the Guggenheim in New York. During these seven minutes of gun powder, loud noises and cultural destruction, The Consultant reveals he’s got more depth than all of the other characters combined. Sadly, however, his tiny role does not allow for much exploration of this complexity. Unless you’ve got a fetish for trite clichés, and you’ve already seen every other dim-looking flick released within the last two weeks, do not see this awful movie. The $10 for admission is better spent on a rabid pet rat and the two hours is better spent getting a root canal—on a tooth that doesn’t need one.

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