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Originally posted by Randall

Tarsem's new one -- and to whoever it was who pre-disliked M. dot Strange simply because of his nom, right back atcha; I haven't cared for single-named artists since Topol, and that includes Madonna, Sade, Enya and especially McG -- looks far better than it sounds, and indicates that a magnificent picture is tantalizingly within reach, once the director can find the right material to pull the wide-angle lens out of his ass and concentrate on the story.

However, Mr. Singh [let's get real here] is a master of oversaturated colors, unutterably fabulous settings [the desert is a minor trademark], and dreamlike slo-mo; you know, the stuff they love on MTV. He got into flicks on the basis of REM's "Losing My Religion." THE CELL was another [and better] bravura eyefest. But this one tries to tip reality [1915 L.A.] against fantasy [the tall tales a drugged-out former stuntman tells an adorable little girl]. Del Toro nailed this visual dichotomy in PAN'S LABYRINTH to much greater effect because he was telling a far more resounding story on a far grander scale. Here, Mr. Singh travels to 18 different countries to say, "Look how clever I am!" It's gorgeous but dimwitted, a beauty pageant contestant which folds in the verbal events. The postmodern "suddenly-yanking-us-back-to-the-hospital" trope is overdone the third time it's presented, and is only a PRINCESS BRIDE wannabe in the first place.

This guy is an amazing visual stylist. Can we please find a piece that will use his talent to dramatic effect, and a hard-nosed producer who will tell him, "no"? Guillermo?

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