REVIEW
THE TRUTH ABOUT CHARLIE
Starring Mark Wahlberg, Thandie Newton and Tim Robbins
Directed by Jonathan Demme
Now showing
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Sometimes the first lie you hear becomes the truth you trust. Sometimes the first truth you hear becomes the lie you can't believe. And sometimes, when you replace Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn with Mark Wahlberg and Thandie Newton, a film can fail to impress.
In The Truth About Charlie, celebrated director Jonathan Demme remakes one of his all-time favourites, Stanley Donen's classic 1963 romantic thriller Charade, to fit a refreshingly restructured film style. The Truth About Charlie removes the massaging wit from the original and replaces it with an acupuncture lesson that pokes the audience's visual senses. Rarely will you find a steady shot in the remake the camera moves, pans and spins around the actors throughout the entire film.
And that is part of the film's problem while the cinematography overpowers the original, the leads do not. Wahlberg lacks the necessary moisture to remove the inherent staleness in the role of Josh Peters. Newton, while less parched, lacks the passion required for her role as Regina Lampert.
Conversely, Tim Robbins, as Mr. Bartholomew, plays the delusional straight-man role perfectly each brow movement is carefully planned and timed. Still, the role is too small to truly have any lasting impact.
The plot deals in the cards of deception, where each player shuffles their lies, and every turn reveals another red herring for those searching for the truth. At stake, as everybody tries to see what the others' cards hold, are the players' identities, a wealth of valuables and a woman's sanity.
There is a sense that Demme truly loves his subject matter, but he tries to be overly sophisticated with the formula, killing the film's effect. When the film unapologetically drags on, or tries to fool its audience, it begs the question: did Demme make the film for others to enjoy or was this solely for his own pleasure?
If The Truth About Charlie was meant as another blockbuster production to stir the masses, it has failed. If, on the other hand, the entire production was for Demme's own marked enjoyment, then I applaud him.
And Mr. Demme, if Hollywood finds out that the latter was the case and you're refused entrance to its hallowed soundstages in the future, know this: there will always be room for you in the ornate world of music videos or, if nowhere else, in Canada. |