Movies like "Catwoman" are the reason why I'm sad "Mystery Science Theater 3000" no longer airs. This is the type of material that begs to be talked back to--misguided at its best, and utterly laughable at its worst. I almost wish there were more of it--say, for example, a scene in which Patience Phillips (Halle Berry), the newborn Catwoman, comes up with her costume. A scene which justifies the existence of the ripped leather pants, S&M bra, bullwhip, and mask would almost have to be as delightfully ridiculous as the outfit itself. But hey, there's still plenty of silliness to go around.
This is what comic-book experts call an "origin story," so we first meet Patience before she starts getting into leather and whips--a quiet graphic artist whose cubicle is flanked by a sex-obsessed friend and a man who's the most over-the-top gay caricature since Jack on "Will and Grace." Director Pitof (isn't that a rice dish?) dresses Berry in baggy clothes and long curly hair in an attempt to convince us that one of the great natural beauties of the screen is a mousy wallflower, and has her working for that good-old standby villain, the Unethical Corporation. How do we know it's unethical? Because her boss (Lambert Wilson) speaks with a condescending British accent, and is accompanied by a shrewish wife (Sharon Stone). And indeed, it isn't long before Patience overhears the news that her cosmetics company's new anti-aging cream causes illness and scarring but (gasp!) they're going to put it on the shelves anyway, despite the protests of the resident lab rat who declares he can't support a product that turns women into "monsters." (I think he's overreacting; the woman in his file looks no worse than the "before" picture in an average dermatology clinic ad.) Patience is drowned to ensure her silence, but she washes up on shore where a bunch of fake-looking CGI cats crowd around her, and one breathes on her, causing her to open her eyes. That's cat-food breath for you--enough to wake the dead.
Sentient moviegoers will note distinct similarities between this scene and the origin of Catwoman in "Batman Returns"--and indeed, much of what follows has been cribbed from other, better comic book movies. Patience discovering her new cat-like abilities, crouching and twitching her head like a road-company Rumpleteaser and downing sushi at an alarming rate. The random thugs who get beat up by the new costumed vigilante, accompanied by R&B ululations that sound as if Mariah Carey has stubbed her toe. The woman who explains that Patience is now the latest in a long line of catwomen, accompanied by some badly touched-up pictures of women in cat masks. The love interest who complicates the protagonists double life--in this case, a cop blandly played by Benjamin Bratt. All of this could have been fun on its own terms--guilty pleasure fun, yes, but fun nevertheless. But Pitof doesn't know how to put it all together in an exciting or involving manner. Scenes feel like they're shot and edited at random, with the camera refusing to linger anywhere for more than a few seconds. I have no problems with quick cuts in the right place, but Pitof doesn't know how to use them effectively--a quiet scene between Patience and her friend (who's been hospitalized thanks to the Unethical Corporation's latest product) features the same frenetic cuts as the earlier fight scenes. Berry, bless her heart, tries to do what she can, but she's overwhelmed by the paint-by-numbers script and clumsy direction.
There's more, of course, much more. But three scenes in particular stand out in my mind: 1) During a date between Berry and Bratt's characters, it starts to rain, and Berry dashes for cover--her cat side, of course, doesn't want to get wet. This begs the question: how is she keeping clean now? Does she still use the shower? The thought of Berry washing herself as felines do is one I prefer not to think about in great detail. 2) While trying to find her "killers," Patience confronts Wilson's character--not in an empty office or deserted alley, but in a crowded theater featuring some sort of Cirque du Soleil-ballet hybrid. The police show up, and a chase scene ensues backstage--all while the performance continues. If there was a potentially dangerous criminal in the theater, don't you think the cops would stop the show? 3) Later on,Patience is imprisoned (for a crime she didn't commit, of course), but this doesn't stop her--she uses her cat-like flexibility to slide in between the bars of her cell. Mystic powers or no mystic powers--unless cats have the ability to shrink their skulls, this should be impossible.
This is what comic-book experts call an "origin story," so we first meet Patience before she starts getting into leather and whips--a quiet graphic artist whose cubicle is flanked by a sex-obsessed friend and a man who's the most over-the-top gay caricature since Jack on "Will and Grace." Director Pitof (isn't that a rice dish?) dresses Berry in baggy clothes and long curly hair in an attempt to convince us that one of the great natural beauties of the screen is a mousy wallflower, and has her working for that good-old standby villain, the Unethical Corporation. How do we know it's unethical? Because her boss (Lambert Wilson) speaks with a condescending British accent, and is accompanied by a shrewish wife (Sharon Stone). And indeed, it isn't long before Patience overhears the news that her cosmetics company's new anti-aging cream causes illness and scarring but (gasp!) they're going to put it on the shelves anyway, despite the protests of the resident lab rat who declares he can't support a product that turns women into "monsters." (I think he's overreacting; the woman in his file looks no worse than the "before" picture in an average dermatology clinic ad.) Patience is drowned to ensure her silence, but she washes up on shore where a bunch of fake-looking CGI cats crowd around her, and one breathes on her, causing her to open her eyes. That's cat-food breath for you--enough to wake the dead.
Sentient moviegoers will note distinct similarities between this scene and the origin of Catwoman in "Batman Returns"--and indeed, much of what follows has been cribbed from other, better comic book movies. Patience discovering her new cat-like abilities, crouching and twitching her head like a road-company Rumpleteaser and downing sushi at an alarming rate. The random thugs who get beat up by the new costumed vigilante, accompanied by R&B ululations that sound as if Mariah Carey has stubbed her toe. The woman who explains that Patience is now the latest in a long line of catwomen, accompanied by some badly touched-up pictures of women in cat masks. The love interest who complicates the protagonists double life--in this case, a cop blandly played by Benjamin Bratt. All of this could have been fun on its own terms--guilty pleasure fun, yes, but fun nevertheless. But Pitof doesn't know how to put it all together in an exciting or involving manner. Scenes feel like they're shot and edited at random, with the camera refusing to linger anywhere for more than a few seconds. I have no problems with quick cuts in the right place, but Pitof doesn't know how to use them effectively--a quiet scene between Patience and her friend (who's been hospitalized thanks to the Unethical Corporation's latest product) features the same frenetic cuts as the earlier fight scenes. Berry, bless her heart, tries to do what she can, but she's overwhelmed by the paint-by-numbers script and clumsy direction.
There's more, of course, much more. But three scenes in particular stand out in my mind: 1) During a date between Berry and Bratt's characters, it starts to rain, and Berry dashes for cover--her cat side, of course, doesn't want to get wet. This begs the question: how is she keeping clean now? Does she still use the shower? The thought of Berry washing herself as felines do is one I prefer not to think about in great detail. 2) While trying to find her "killers," Patience confronts Wilson's character--not in an empty office or deserted alley, but in a crowded theater featuring some sort of Cirque du Soleil-ballet hybrid. The police show up, and a chase scene ensues backstage--all while the performance continues. If there was a potentially dangerous criminal in the theater, don't you think the cops would stop the show? 3) Later on,Patience is imprisoned (for a crime she didn't commit, of course), but this doesn't stop her--she uses her cat-like flexibility to slide in between the bars of her cell. Mystic powers or no mystic powers--unless cats have the ability to shrink their skulls, this should be impossible.