Reviews

Out of Time (2003)

Cynthia Fuchs

The fact that Matt is a black man only makes these several lines of pursuit more complicated and more resonant.


Out of Time

Director: Carl Franklin
Cast: Denzel Washington, Sanaa Lathan, Dean Cain, Eva Mendes, John Billingsley
MPAA rating: PG-13
Studio: MGM
First date: 2003
US DVD Release Date: 2004-01-09
There's something stifling about the heat.
-- Sanaa Lathan, "Out of Time: Crime Scene"

That's the guy.
-- Hotel clerk (Eric Hissom), Out of Time

Palm trees, muggy air, house boats. In Out of Time, fictional Banyan Key, off Florida's Gulf Coast, is the sort of place where a sultry saxophone sounds right. It's dense with detailed "atmosphere" but also "out of time," as the title suggests, set apart from the usual urban hubbub, languid, a little offbeat. It's the sort of place where the police chief, Matt Lee Whitlock (Denzel Washington), spends his evenings checking that shop doors are locked, while waiting for something more interesting to pop up.

When he gets a call from Ann (Sanaa Lathan), he doesn't sound surprised. Someone's broken into her house, and okay, maybe Matt ought to head over and check it out. He does, in no visible hurry, walks up her steps, knocks on her door. The bad guy seems to be gone, but still, Matt wonders, "Did you get a good look at this fella?" Yeah, she did: "He kinda looked like you." Right, so he was good-looking? Matt presses with additional questions, and, a few more minutes of role-playing later make clear that this ruse -- the call, the supposed break-in -- is something of a routine for Ann and Matt, and they're climbing all over each other, going so far as to mention his "deadly weapon."

As unabashed as this lovers' exchange may be, it sets up the film's essential concern, namely, the many ways that a black man "looks" guilty -- whether or not anyone gets a "good look" at him. Director Carl Franklin has explored this idea before, in One False Move (1991) and Devil in a Blue Dress (1995), and this time, a stereotypically oppressive "Southern" context is only the beginning. (The original script by Dave Collard featured no characters of color; once Washington signed on, the whole picture changed.) Out of Time is as much about ignorance (as in, willful blindness and cultural prerogative) as it about misjudgments and deceptions.

This despite Franklin's own suggestion, on the DVD commentary track, that though he usually comes up with a "serious premise" for his films, he sees Out of Time as a "romp" (he discusses his attention to the color palette, the "sherbet" look of South Beach, to underscore "the heat of the sexuality"). Still, Franklin expresses his interest in "redemption," working against expectations, and working with good actors. As he tells it, "75% of getting good performances out of actors, and being what they call an 'actor's director,' is knowing an actor when you see one... to get in a room, and to do a lot of subtext investigation, to do a lot of talking about who this character is and where they come from."

While MGM's DVD includes other extras -- character "profiles," screen tests (Lathan and Dean Cain), a couple of "outtakes," and a 12-minute making-of documentary, "Out of Time: Crime Scene," where the film is described repeatedly, in terms of plot, mood, weather, location, and genre (i.e., "It's a very hot, romantic thriller," courtesy Sanaa Lathan) -- Franklin's commentary is easily its most significant resource. He spends much of it detailing the production experience: scouting and converting locations ("blowing the ceiling," "pulling the walls"), costume decisions (the coroner Chae [John Billingsley] wears shorts and a trucker's cap), negotiating compositions for a PG-13 rating (sex scenes that obscure "thrusting"), and logistical issues (whether how long it takes a phone to ring and a fax to be delivered is "realistic" or not).

Attention to such considerations no doubt contributes to the film's general economy. Generic as it may be, Out of Time is also, as Franklin says, "bouncy." And so, while Matt thinks he's on top of his situation, he's plainly not. His erstwhile high school sweetheart, Ann is currently married to ex-NFL quarterback Chris Harrison (Dean Cain), and Matt's estranged wife, Detective Alex Diaz (Eva Mendes), has recently left him. The fact that Chris abuses his wife and bullies everyone else he knows establishes an extra threat, even if Matt does possess that deadly weapon. Ann stays with Chris because, she insists, because "He needs me, I guess I feel sorry for him." It's a familiar line and Matt should know better, but it makes a weird sense for the complications he embodies; he's reluctant to commit, just as she is.

Matt's investment -- emotional certainly, but also politically, legally, and financially -- becomes more intense (and costly) when he learns that Ann has cancer, some terrible, fast-advancing type that demands immediate, experimental treatment at a facility in Switzerland. (Franklin discusses the "major problem" they faced in making Matt "committed to" Ann but also "able to gracefully recover, and actually be in love with his wife"; it was "a very difficult balance that we had to juggle," he observes, while watching Matt observe and then break in on an episode of Chris' abuse of Ann.)

When other ostensible means of funding fall through, Matt makes a sacrifice (one he thinks he can manage), stealing $485,000 in drug money from the evidence safe at his office. Such extravagant silliness makes you wonder about Matt's capacity for rational thinking (and Franklin notes on the commentary track that he was relying, "somehow," on Washington's "own integrity"). The plot turns increasingly strange. Almost as soon as he delivers the money to Ann, her house burns down, and among the smoking embers, the cops find two charred bodies (which, Franklin notes, look "extreme," but are based on his own research on "corpses that had been burned").

Now the movie turns gloomier, faster, and more predictable, as Matt finds himself framed for the murders. The script draws from previous films noirs, including The Big Clock (1948) and Body Heat (1981), in its focus on the smart but careless cop scurrying to stay a step of the cops looking to jam him up. The rest of the action occupies only a few hours in Matt's life, as he is running "out of time," now, in another way, so he's simultaneously living outside of it and inside, pursued as he pursues sources he hopes might lead to the killer.

The fact that he's a black man only makes these several lines of pursuit more complicated and more resonant. The most overt example comes when Ann's neighbor comes down to the police station to tell a sketch artist about the man she saw outside Ann's house the night the house burned down. She spots the chief across the room, and suggests he's the man she saw, the woman's daughter apologizes to the chief, saying, "Mother was raised in a different time." Meanwhile, the office staff and cops have a good laugh over this suggestion (Franklin calls it the "old adage") that all black guys still look alike to white neighbor ladies. In particular, they look guilty, an idea the film presses, carefully.

Simultaneously, Out of Time thoroughly explores Matt's masculine "performance" anxieties -- as these are and are not shaped by race. Toward this end, as he attempts to maintain a semblance of "control" over the investigation, he repeatedly runs up against macho poser Chris. Just so, they meet in a dark and empty bar, where Chris challenges Matt to confess his affair with Ann (which she has insisted he not do). Franklin reveals on the commentary that this masculinist tête-à-tête is his "favorite scene," though he removed it in the first cut ("This was like lopping off an arm when I was considering cutting this scene"). "The interesting thing about film," he extrapolates, "is that you think it's a matter of hard time. You'll say okay, that if you cut 20 seconds out of a scene, you'll feel those 20 seconds gone. Not so... 10 seconds in a movie can make it seem like it's 10 minutes too long if it's not appropriate, if it's redundant dialogue, if it's redundant action, if it somehow does not drive the story forward."

As Matt spends most of his time worrying over, tracking, and trying to understand Ann, he tends to push away Alex. Independent-minded and professional, she's not about to stay home (or even pretend to, like Ann does), and the briefly noted "history" with Matt suggests that they tussled over her career, especially as her ambition and rewards began to outstrip his. Alex appears to have a good sense of how things work, and isn't easily duped. That she's willing to be duped by her ex, or go along, even for a minute, suggests that she knows something about him that he hasn't quite grasped. She's prone to wearing tight A-line skirts and heels on the job, but her visible determination and killer stare (as well as Mendes' most convincing onscreen performance to date) make Alex engaging and complex. That the plot only calls her in to make Matt's lack of time more apparent is frustrating, but she serves her purpose and then some.

This purpose, to expose Matt's increasing anxieties and sporadic insights, does underline Out of Time's own investigation of the race and class dynamics of noir, always more intricate than they seemed on the genre's generally white surface. Guilt, suspicion, betrayal, and desire: Matt incarnates the underpinnings of a culture that remains preoccupied with that surface.

From drunken masters to rumbles in the Bronx, Jackie Chan's career is chock full of goofs and kicks. These ten films capture what makes Chan so magnetic.

Jackie Chan got his first film role way back in 1976, when a rival producer hired him for his obvious action prowess. Now, nearly 40 years later, he is more than a household name. He's a brand, a signature star with an equally recognizable onscreen persona. For many, he was their introduction into the world of Hong Kong cinema. For others, he's the goofy guy speaking broken English to Chris Tucker in the Rush Hour films.

From his grasp of physical comedy to his fearlessness in the face of certain death (until recently, Chan performed all of his own stunts) he's a one of a kind talent whose taken his abilities in directions both reasonable (charity work, political reform) and ridiculous (have your heard about his singing career?).

Now, Chan is back, bringing the latest installment in the long running Police Story franchise to Western shores (subtitled Lockdown, it's been around since 2013), and with it, a reminder of his multifaceted abilities. He's not just an actor. He's also a stunt coordinator and choreographer, a writer, a director, and most importantly, a ceaseless supporter of his country's cinema. With nearly four decades under his (black) belt, it's time to consider Chan's creative cannon. Below you will find our choices for the ten best pictures Jackie Chan's career, everything from the crazy to the classic. While he stuck to formula most of the time, no one made redundancy seem like original spectacle better than he.

Let's start with an oldie but goodie:

10. Operation Condor (Armour of God 2)

Two years after the final pre-Crystal Skull installment of the Indiana Jones films arrived in theaters, Chan was jumping on the adventurer/explorer bandwagon with this wonderful piece of movie mimicry. At the time, it was one of the most expensive Hong Kong movies ever made ($115 million, which translates to about $15 million American). Taking the character of Asian Hawk and turning him into more of a comedic figure would be the way in which Chan expanded his global reach, realizing that humor could help bring people to his otherwise over the top and carefully choreographed fight films -- and it's obviously worked.

9. Wheels on Meals

They are like the Three Stooges of Hong Kong action comedies, a combination so successful that it's amazing they never caught on around the world. Chan, along with director/writer/fight coordinator/actor Sammo Hung and Yuen Biao, all met at the Peking Opera, where they studied martial arts and acrobatics. They then began making movies, including this hilarious romp involving a food truck, a mysterious woman, and lots of physical shtick. While some prefer their other collaborations (Project A, Lucky Stars), this is their most unabashedly silly and fun. Hung remains one of the most underrated directors in all of the genre.

8. Mr. Nice Guy
Sammo Hung is behind the lens again, this time dealing with Chan's genial chef and a missing mob tape. Basically, an investigative journalist films something she shouldn't, the footage gets mixed up with some of our heroes, and a collection of clever cat and mouse chases ensue. Perhaps one of the best sequences in all of Chan's career occurs in a mall, when a bunch of bad guys come calling to interrupt a cooking demonstration. Most fans have never seen the original film. When New Line picked it up for distribution, it made several editorial and creative cuts. A Japanese release contains the only unaltered version of the effort.

7. Who Am I?

Amnesia. An easy comedic concept, right? Well, leave it to our lead and collaborator Benny Chan (no relation) to take this idea and go crazy with it. The title refers to Chan's post-trauma illness, as well as the name given to him by natives who come across his confused persona. Soon, everyone is referring to our hero by the oddball moniker while major league action set pieces fly by. While Chan is clearly capable of dealing with the demands of physical comedy and slapstick, this is one of the rare occasions when the laughs come from character, not just chaos.

6. Rumble in the Bronx

For many, this was the movie that broke Chan into the US mainstream. Sure, before then, he was a favorite of film fans with access to a video store stocking his foreign titles, but this is the effort that got the attention of Joe and Jane Six Pack. Naturally, as they did with almost all his films, New Line reconfigured it for a domestic audience, and found itself with a huge hit on its hands. Chan purists prefer the original cut, including the cast voices sans dubbing. It was thanks to Rumble that Chan would go on to have a lengthy run in Tinseltown, including those annoying Rush Hour films.

Next Page

Pauline Black may be called the Queen of Ska by some, but she insists she's not the only one, as Two-Tone legends the Selecter celebrate another stellar album in a career full of them.

Being commonly hailed as the "Queen" of a genre of music is no mean feat, but for Pauline Black, singer/songwriter of Two-Tone legends the Selecter and universally recognised "Queen of Ska", it is something she seems to take in her stride. "People can call you whatever they like," she tells PopMatters, "so I suppose it's better that they call you something really good!"

Keep reading... Show less

Morrison's prose is so engaging and welcoming that it's easy to miss the irreconcilable ambiguities that are set forth in her prose as ineluctable convictions.

It's a common enough gambit in science fiction. Humans come across a race of aliens that appear to be entirely alike and yet one group of said aliens subordinates the other, visiting violence upon their persons, denigrating them openly and without social or legal consequence, humiliating them at every turn. The humans inquire why certain of the aliens are subjected to such degradation when there are no discernible differences among the entire race of aliens, at least from the human point of view. The aliens then explain that the subordinated group all share some minor trait (say the left nostril is oh-so-slightly larger than the right while the "superior" group all have slightly enlarged right nostrils)—something thatm from the human vantage pointm is utterly ridiculous. This minor difference not only explains but, for the alien understanding, justifies the inequitable treatment, even the enslavement of the subordinate group. And there you have the quandary of Otherness in a nutshell.

Keep reading... Show less
3

A 1996 classic, Shawn Colvin's album of mature pop is also one of best break-up albums, comparable lyrically and musically to Joni Mitchell's Hejira and Bob Dylan's Blood on the Tracks.

When pop-folksinger Shawn Colvin released A Few Small Repairs in 1996, the music world was ripe for an album of sharp, catchy songs by a female singer-songwriter. Lilith Fair, the tour for women in the music, would gross $16 million in 1997. Colvin would be a main stage artist in all three years of the tour, playing alongside Liz Phair, Suzanne Vega, Sheryl Crow, Sarah McLachlan, Meshell Ndegeocello, Joan Osborne, Lisa Loeb, Erykah Badu, and many others. Strong female artists were not only making great music (when were they not?) but also having bold success. Alanis Morissette's Jagged Little Pill preceded Colvin's fourth recording by just 16 months.

Keep reading... Show less
9

Frank Miller locates our tragedy and warps it into his own brutal beauty.

In terms of continuity, the so-called promotion of this entry as Miller's “third" in the series is deceptively cryptic. Miller's mid-'80s limited series The Dark Knight Returns (or DKR) is a “Top 5 All-Time" graphic novel, if not easily “Top 3". His intertextual and metatextual themes resonated then as they do now, a reason this source material was “go to" for Christopher Nolan when he resurrected the franchise for Warner Bros. in the mid-00s. The sheer iconicity of DKR posits a seminal work in the artist's canon, which shares company with the likes of Sin City, 300, and an influential run on Daredevil, to name a few.

Keep reading... Show less
8
Pop Ten
Mixed Media
PM Picks

© 1999-2017 Popmatters.com. All rights reserved.
Popmatters is wholly independently owned and operated.

rating-image