Benicio Del Toro co-writes this gritty, granular police procedural about a murdered real estate agent. Who killed her? Her fiancé, Justin Timberlake, her soon-to-be ex-husband, or a sketchy weirdo played convincingly by Michael Pitt?
But then, heavy spoiler alert, the final act: when Del Toro comes home one night from the job, he finds signs of a break in. The pool is leaking. You think, Oh no, the killer got to his wife!
But she's not dead - she's shot at Pitt and put a hole in the pool. Pitt is there, it turns out, to give Del Toro a clue. One of those handy thumb drives with all sorts of damning digital evidence.
The real estate thing involves the cops, and drugs, and something about money laundering. Del Toro confronts the cops, at one of their homes, at nine in the morning, and a shootout ensues. End of story.
He doesn't even go after Timberlake, who instead we see golfing in a penultimate scene, then the FBI ride up in a golf cart and nab him.
Roll credits.
I mean, Jesus.
What started out as a creepy, interesting story with lots of tension devolved into a by-the-numbers "corrupt cops" trope. Granted, a lot of this was done well. The pacing feels brisk, the editing crisp. Del Toro is great, his wife played by Alicia Silverstone is great, and it was refreshing to have their marriage be healthy and functional.
The music is on point, too. The direction and camera work consists of the usual intensive continuity with way too many close ups, but that's nearly every film today.
Se7en this is not. This is Netflix doing a pretty good job of creating a serviceable cop drama with some flashes of originality that ultimately isn't brave or bold enough to not fall victim to the most pat formula resolution.
I mean, who or what was "reptile" anyway? Who even actually killed the woman at the beginning? What was the significance of her wounds - being stabbed so hard the knife penetrated bone?? What were the potential bite marks on her hand all about?? It's like the writers thought to present a great mystery but only figured out how to solve some of it.
Close, Del Toro, but no cigar.
But then, heavy spoiler alert, the final act: when Del Toro comes home one night from the job, he finds signs of a break in. The pool is leaking. You think, Oh no, the killer got to his wife!
But she's not dead - she's shot at Pitt and put a hole in the pool. Pitt is there, it turns out, to give Del Toro a clue. One of those handy thumb drives with all sorts of damning digital evidence.
The real estate thing involves the cops, and drugs, and something about money laundering. Del Toro confronts the cops, at one of their homes, at nine in the morning, and a shootout ensues. End of story.
He doesn't even go after Timberlake, who instead we see golfing in a penultimate scene, then the FBI ride up in a golf cart and nab him.
Roll credits.
I mean, Jesus.
What started out as a creepy, interesting story with lots of tension devolved into a by-the-numbers "corrupt cops" trope. Granted, a lot of this was done well. The pacing feels brisk, the editing crisp. Del Toro is great, his wife played by Alicia Silverstone is great, and it was refreshing to have their marriage be healthy and functional.
The music is on point, too. The direction and camera work consists of the usual intensive continuity with way too many close ups, but that's nearly every film today.
Se7en this is not. This is Netflix doing a pretty good job of creating a serviceable cop drama with some flashes of originality that ultimately isn't brave or bold enough to not fall victim to the most pat formula resolution.
I mean, who or what was "reptile" anyway? Who even actually killed the woman at the beginning? What was the significance of her wounds - being stabbed so hard the knife penetrated bone?? What were the potential bite marks on her hand all about?? It's like the writers thought to present a great mystery but only figured out how to solve some of it.
Close, Del Toro, but no cigar.