I'm working on a theory that there's a secret, magical, money-generating device in Hollywood called the Scriptblender.
Whenever there's a shortage of (good) ideas, or an A-list star is bored or needs some cash, a low-level assistant takes a handful of recent, moderately-successful scripts, throws them in the Scriptblender, and sets it on 'puree.
' What comes out is usually a watered-down, semi-palatable substance that is then sent off to a lesser-known director with some time on his hands, an eye for deluxe special effects, and an ear for tone-deaf, insignificant dialogue.
Usually it's someone like Roland Emmerich (The Day After Tomorrow), or Michael Bay (The Island).
In the case of Knowing, the latest sci-fi/fantasy/doomsday/spiritual-quest vehicle starring Nicholas Cage (my wife refuses to even entertain whether he's A-list or not), the concoction comes surprisingly close to appetizing.
Sadly, Alex Proyas (I, Robot; The Crow) has too much Michael Bay in him, leaving the audience visually sated, but thirsty for something emotionally meatier.
Nick Cage, insistent on slowly bleeding his own career, plays John Koestler, an M.
I.
T.
professor of something having to do with solar system randomness.
Having recently lost his wife to a hotel fire, he spends his free time raising his son, drinking himself to sleep at night, and pondering the purpose of human existence (or lack thereof).
He's a very busy man.
Eventually, the plot presents a way for John to come across a numerical code sheet that has predicted every major global disaster for the last 50 years.
Too bad the sheet has been locked under ground in an elementary school time capsule the entire time.
When John finally gets his hands on it, he must figure out a way to save the world from certain doom.
My favorite line in the movie reflects John's feelings of frustration: "How am I supposed to stop the end of the world?!" If I had a nickel...
The problem with Knowing lies in its inconsistencies of tension and pacing.
A handful of scenes (especially the crashing of a jet liner mere yards from John's truck) are truly terrifying and effective.
But, in between, we have to sit through yet another movie where Cage fumbles around awkward, flat dialogue.
His patented sudden-voice-raising and frenetic-hand-gesturing have finally run their course.
Furthermore, failed attempts at grandiose thematic elements (religion vs.
reason, science vs.
faith, and determinism vs.
randomness) fall by the wayside, buckling under the weight of modern tragic voyeurism-today's societal need to witness destruction.
The Scriptblender, mincing Deep Impact, What Dreams May Come, The Number 23, and E.
T.
, among others, has produced a story that might have been more successful in the hands of, say, M.
Night Shyamalan and Tom Hanks.
Unfortunately, Hollywood, perhaps like God, had other plans.