Presumably the makers of Paris,
a lousy neo-noir thriller that will most likely fade into obscurity, were
attempting to fuse a sense of social concern with an exciting cop drama.
Unfortunately, they’ve failed on both counts, resulting in a clumsy film that
underwhelms on nearly every level. Surely one of the primary failings of the
film is its photography, which suffers greatly from the decision to shoot
digitally. Though the images are okay looking as far as DV goes, they convey
absolutely no sense of atmosphere. Film noir without adequate mood is dreary
stuff (or perhaps stuff that’s not dreary enough), and Paris stands as a testament to that and a warning to future
filmmakers who want to attempt shooting their ambient thrillers cheaply.
If the script were stronger, it might
make up for the technical deficiencies, but Paris’
screenplayis a rather hopeless bundle
of clichés. Following generic LAPD detective Jason Bartok (Chad Allen) as he
treks down “Linda” (Bai Ling), a mysterious Asian girl, at his partner’s
urging, the movie presents a lame series of clues and cornball situations with
next to no dramatic excitement. The lone highlight in the film occurs when Karen
Black drops by for a cameo as the Madame of a bordello. The horrible
characterization doesn’t help matters much. Bartok seems to exist in a vacuum.
We get a glimpse of his blandly designed apartment and find out that he grew up
in San Diego, but beyond that he has no life, no friends, and no interests. He
completely lacks any dimensions that might endear him to the audience and Chad
Allen’s vapid screen presence doesn’t fill in any gaps. He seems way too
dumb to have either sex appeal or street smarts. He looks more like a lost
member of N’Sync than a tortured police detective. Stupidly, he gets involved
with “Linda” after she holds him at gunpoint, but before he has any inkling
why. Worst of all, her tortured past as an exploited prostitute is too much in
focus for his seduction of her to feel morally okay. A movie with smarts might
have made this emotional conflict its focus, but Paris
attempts to skirt the issue entirely with soft focus and good lighting
during the lovemaking scenes. I saw Paris as
part of the Tribeca Film Festival, but it would seem more appropriate as a
selection on that yearlong festival of films that they call Cinemax. Stephen
Frears’ Dirty Pretty Things, which
is also playing in the festival, is by no means a great film, but it combines
this movie’s thriller plot and concern for immigrant workers with infinitely
more aplomb.
Presumably the makers of Paris,
a lousy neo-noir thriller that will most likely fade into obscurity, were
attempting to fuse a sense of social concern with an exciting cop drama.
Unfortunately, they’ve failed on both counts, resulting in a clumsy film that
underwhelms on nearly every level. Surely one of the primary failings of the
film is its photography, which suffers greatly from the decision to shoot
digitally. Though the images are okay looking as far as DV goes, they convey
absolutely no sense of atmosphere. Film noir without adequate mood is dreary
stuff (or perhaps stuff that’s not dreary enough), and Paris stands as a testament to that and a warning to future
filmmakers who want to attempt shooting their ambient thrillers cheaply.
If the script were stronger, it might
make up for the technical deficiencies, but Paris’
screenplay is a rather hopeless bundle
of clichés. Following generic LAPD detective Jason Bartok (Chad Allen) as he
treks down “Linda” (Bai Ling), a mysterious Asian girl, at his partner’s
urging, the movie presents a lame series of clues and cornball situations with
next to no dramatic excitement. The lone highlight in the film occurs when Karen
Black drops by for a cameo as the Madame of a bordello. The horrible
characterization doesn’t help matters much. Bartok seems to exist in a vacuum.
We get a glimpse of his blandly designed apartment and find out that he grew up
in San Diego, but beyond that he has no life, no friends, and no interests. He
completely lacks any dimensions that might endear him to the audience and Chad
Allen’s vapid screen presence doesn’t fill in any gaps. He seems way too
dumb to have either sex appeal or street smarts. He looks more like a lost
member of N’Sync than a tortured police detective. Stupidly, he gets involved
with “Linda” after she holds him at gunpoint, but before he has any inkling
why. Worst of all, her tortured past as an exploited prostitute is too much in
focus for his seduction of her to feel morally okay. A movie with smarts might
have made this emotional conflict its focus, but Paris
attempts to skirt the issue entirely with soft focus and good lighting
during the lovemaking scenes. I saw Paris as
part of the Tribeca Film Festival, but it would seem more appropriate as a
selection on that yearlong festival of films that they call Cinemax. Stephen
Frears’ Dirty Pretty Things, which
is also playing in the festival, is by no means a great film, but it combines
this movie’s thriller plot and concern for immigrant workers with infinitely
more aplomb.