Genre:Crime / Drama--Starring: Edward Norton, Philip Seymour Hoffman Director: Spike Lee25th Hour is a 2002 Spike Lee film based on David Benioff's novel The 25th Hour. The cast includes Edward Norton, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Barry Pepper, Rosario Dawson, Brian Cox and Anna Paquin. Norton plays Montgomery "Monty" Brogan, a convicted drug dealer who has one last day of freedom before beginning a seven-year prison sentence.
The film begins with Brogan and Kostya saving a dog that he found abandoned in the street. And as he drives away, the opening credits roll. The film then cuts to the present (we don't know how many years it has been) and Brogan is walking the streets of New York with Doyle (the dog he saved). He goes to his old school where he meets up with his teacher friend Jacob Elinsky (Hoffman) and talks to him about the party tonight. Elinksy then calls Frank Slattery (Pepper) who is working as a Wall Street trader.
There is a moment early in Spike Lee's sloppy, sprawling love letter to post-September 11th Manhattan 25th Hour in which a character asks his inner-city high school class to analyze Andrew Marvell's "To His Coy Mistress." A rough seduction piece that served as one source material for Eliot's "The Wasteland," the poem in its way is a treatise on the slipperiness of time ("had we but world enough, and time"); the crude analysis offered by class strumpet Mary D'Annunzio (Anna Paquin) locates the spirit of the picture as faux tough street pretension of the kind familiar now to tokers of Lee's periodic joints. 25th Hour has moments of grace in being the first film invested almost entirely in the grim mélange of postures struck by the post 9/11 metropolis, but remains overlong, fatally overscored (by Terence Blanchard), and laden by a self-referentiality that unwisely harks back to Lee's lone unqualified triumph, Do the Right Thing.
Monty (Edward Norton) is a heroin dealer going up the river for seven years for his sins. Opening with his rescue of a severely beaten dog (named "Doyle" when Monty's Russian mobster thug pal turns "Murphy's Law" into a malaprop--intention in place of fatalism because of mishap), Monty's life as a well-intentioned trafficker with nice girl Naturelle (Rosario Dawson) and good pals teacher Jakob (Philip Seymour Hoffman) and stock hotshot Frank (Barry Pepper) is revisited in brief as he tries to cram as much living as he can into his last day as a free man. The suddenly ubiquitous Brian Cox turns in another effective turn as a grieving father and Paquin offers the best dirt-park Lolita since Juliette Lewis in Cape Fear.
Rodrigo Prieto's (Amores Perros, 8 Mile) brilliant cinematography is the star of the piece: his evocation of Manhattan after the blast as a washed, haunted place alive with anger and fear (and even a deeper separation) is compelling even as Lee's instinct to proselytize mixes ever more uneasily with his desire to be liked. Based on a novel by David Benioff (and adapted by the author himself), the film stays close to the text, exercising its artistic license mainly in its visuals (the beams of light replacing the two towers the most poignant) and in one case of magnification in which the racial harangue of Do the Right Thing, taken in part from the Benioff novel, is expanded into a two-minute barrage of variously ascribed "fuck you"s.
It's easy to see why Lee is drawn to this source material, his films always invested in the plight of the under-represented struggling against an unfair system while themselves embroiled in the petty fevers of race and gender. But Norton is increasingly an actor swallowed whole by his self-satisfaction and never quite finds the rhythm of his character. He lacks the potential energy he once exhibited in uneven work like American History X and Fight Club, content to float on a toxic cloud of early promise and late arrogance. Hoffman is fabulous in his ugly, naked way and Pepper, ever earnest, only really goes overboard in a scene in which it seems that everyone, dog included, was asked to go overboard. 25th Hour is always compelling, but its deadline agitation reminds too much of Kathryn Bigelow's unwatchable Strange Days.
The sadness and sense of helplessness before creeping chaos is often right, but the vehicle is too sprawling, its sense of ultimate worth too smug, and its enfeebled closing dream sequence too much the device that reminds of a better, similar device that closes Raising Arizona. An early document of the wasteland, 25th Hour has its echoes and its stings of resonance, but its story isn't equal to the precedent of parable set by Prieto's Stygian eye (from dance club as infernal garden of earthly delight to Manhattan's byways of ghost and demon). A fascinating failure, but a failure all the same.-Walter Chaw
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