From the opening image of an onrushing Warner Bros. logo to its closing clinch, "Time After Time" has the feeling of a Saturday afternoon matinée in all its silly glory. The fact the clever "Twilight Zone" concept isn't undone by the many logic holes and awkward moments has to do with the charisma of leads Malcolm McDowell and Mary Steenburgen and a script that finds room for humor and romance along with the (goofy) science fiction and social comment.
We begin in London in 1893, where Jack the Ripper emerges from the shadows after a five-year sabbatical to kill a prostitute. Meanwhile, not far away, young avant-garde writer H.G. Wells is telling a group of friends about the new time machine he has been working on in his basement, which he plans to use to visit "utopia" just three generations away. When the police come knocking at Wells' door and find the Ripper's telltale black bag in Wells' closet, one of Wells' friends has suddenly gone missing.
As another of Wells' guests is heard to exclaim: "Poppycock!" Lucky thing Jack the Ripper wasn't French; he might have escaped in the submarine in Jules Verne's bathtub.
It's easy to smirk at the concept behind "Time After Time," not to mention its bad special effects. But there's more to like here than dislike, especially as director/writer Nicholas Meyer builds up the pace after H.G. Wells touches down on San Francisco in 1979.
It turns out to be someone's utopia alright, just not Wells'. "I belong here completely and utterly," the Ripper tells Wells when they meet again, while the Ripper flips through channels of televised carnage on the hotel TV set. "I'm home. It's you that doesn't belong here." McDowell plays Wells with a welcome combination of smugness and naïveté, the comic foil as he runs up against everything from taxicab doors to McDonalds fries. The fish-out-of-water bit may go on too long, but McDowell sells it amiably enough, and makes us care for his character's plight. As a fan of McDowell's, it's nice to see him playing an atypical good guy for once, and do it so well.
Steenburgen takes the thankless role of obligatory romantic interest Amy and does wonders with it, with her offbeat "Annie Hall" delivery and way with dialogue. She's the modern girl in this story, only she doesn't realize quite how modern.
"You still maintain this is all poppycock?" Wells asks her after showing her his machine.
"That isn't the word I had in mind," she replies.
The film slips a bit with the Ripper, not because David Warner does a bad job. On the contrary, the gifted actor pulls out every bit of strange malevolence he can from the script's most undernourished main character. In his frank DVD commentary, Meyer says he didn't want to make a slasher film, and while that's his prerogative, the Ripper scenes feel almost too tame. The script feels underbaked in other ways, too, and while I won't go into any spoiler-laden details, you can see the many other comments here. Mark Dougthy and Simon Tack raise two compelling questions this film leaves unanswered.
Yet taken for Saturday afternoon entertainment, there's solid moments aplenty in "Time After Time," some funny, like Wells the atheist praying for sanctuary in a church and getting his just desserts, or his use of a nom de plume when giving San Fran police info on their latest killer. Some are just affecting, like the romantic lunch Wells and Amy have in a revolving restaurant and the moment when Amy finds a newspaper that tells her loverboy ain't the crock she thought he was.
"Time After Time" doesn't hold together terribly well upon reflection, but it is a film you will think about after, and have fun watching. And for McDowell fans like me, it's a chance to see a favorite actor for once without his horns.
We begin in London in 1893, where Jack the Ripper emerges from the shadows after a five-year sabbatical to kill a prostitute. Meanwhile, not far away, young avant-garde writer H.G. Wells is telling a group of friends about the new time machine he has been working on in his basement, which he plans to use to visit "utopia" just three generations away. When the police come knocking at Wells' door and find the Ripper's telltale black bag in Wells' closet, one of Wells' friends has suddenly gone missing.
As another of Wells' guests is heard to exclaim: "Poppycock!" Lucky thing Jack the Ripper wasn't French; he might have escaped in the submarine in Jules Verne's bathtub.
It's easy to smirk at the concept behind "Time After Time," not to mention its bad special effects. But there's more to like here than dislike, especially as director/writer Nicholas Meyer builds up the pace after H.G. Wells touches down on San Francisco in 1979.
It turns out to be someone's utopia alright, just not Wells'. "I belong here completely and utterly," the Ripper tells Wells when they meet again, while the Ripper flips through channels of televised carnage on the hotel TV set. "I'm home. It's you that doesn't belong here." McDowell plays Wells with a welcome combination of smugness and naïveté, the comic foil as he runs up against everything from taxicab doors to McDonalds fries. The fish-out-of-water bit may go on too long, but McDowell sells it amiably enough, and makes us care for his character's plight. As a fan of McDowell's, it's nice to see him playing an atypical good guy for once, and do it so well.
Steenburgen takes the thankless role of obligatory romantic interest Amy and does wonders with it, with her offbeat "Annie Hall" delivery and way with dialogue. She's the modern girl in this story, only she doesn't realize quite how modern.
"You still maintain this is all poppycock?" Wells asks her after showing her his machine.
"That isn't the word I had in mind," she replies.
The film slips a bit with the Ripper, not because David Warner does a bad job. On the contrary, the gifted actor pulls out every bit of strange malevolence he can from the script's most undernourished main character. In his frank DVD commentary, Meyer says he didn't want to make a slasher film, and while that's his prerogative, the Ripper scenes feel almost too tame. The script feels underbaked in other ways, too, and while I won't go into any spoiler-laden details, you can see the many other comments here. Mark Dougthy and Simon Tack raise two compelling questions this film leaves unanswered.
Yet taken for Saturday afternoon entertainment, there's solid moments aplenty in "Time After Time," some funny, like Wells the atheist praying for sanctuary in a church and getting his just desserts, or his use of a nom de plume when giving San Fran police info on their latest killer. Some are just affecting, like the romantic lunch Wells and Amy have in a revolving restaurant and the moment when Amy finds a newspaper that tells her loverboy ain't the crock she thought he was.
"Time After Time" doesn't hold together terribly well upon reflection, but it is a film you will think about after, and have fun watching. And for McDowell fans like me, it's a chance to see a favorite actor for once without his horns.