The Cell

THE CELL

Rating: C
The Cell is all about bizarre imagery. The plot is stretched, twisted, and otherwise contrived for the sole purpose of leading us through a visual tour of the mind of a serial killer. But once we finally get there, the filmmakers reveal an astonishing lack of imagination. Instead of the imagery of Buñuel, we get the empty disappointment of Al Capone's vault. Add to this the fact the production design shamelessly rips off Coma and Coppola's Dracula at the same time, and you've got yerself a very mediocre movie.

As with every other movie out of Hollywood this year, there's a serial killer on the loose. Each one seems to be weirder than the next. This guy (Vincent D'Onofrio) has metal rings permanently embedded in his back which allow him to suspend himself over his dead female victims and do strange things to their corpses. You really don't want to know the specifics, and if you do you should probably consider an appointment with a good therapist. I couldn't help wondering how he could reach behind himself to attach chains to the rings in the center of his back, but people routinely tell me I'm too concerned with details.

As part of his modus operandi, the killer videotapes his victims as they're trapped in a tank slowly filling with water. This is one really screwed up serial killer we've got here. Anyway, when killer boy goes into a coma, there's still a victim somewhere on the verge of being drowned, since the flooding/videotaping is on an automatic time clock. Did I mention this plot was contrived?

Enter Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Lopez to try an experimental process which allows her to enter the mind of the comatose killer. And here is where the movie falls flat on its face. The imagery is bleak, as you might expect for the mind of a serial killer. But it's bleak-boring for the most part, rather than bleak-macabre. There's one scene where a horse is suddenly given the kitchen magician treatment (slice and dice) that almost works, and a shot where the killer's head slowly rolls up out of a pool of water which is effective imagery, but the rest is pretty unimaginative. My dreams are better.

Late in the film, Lopez violates the cardinal rule of mind-melding when she "reverses the feeds" and brings the killer's conscience into her mind. Whenever a movie lays down a rule which "must never be broken," you can bet your Maseratti that come climax time the hero will do just that. But director Tarsem Singh really blows a golden opportunity here. Rather than the sunlight and cherry blossoms he shows us populating Lopez's mind, he should have had huge phallic symbols all over the landscape. Admit it - it would have been pretty funny.