In Time

In Time is a workmanlike dystopian haves vs. have-nots science fiction picture. 

Here’s the story: in a few hundred years, someone figures out how to halt the aging process at 25.  To stop overpopulation, at 25 a one-year counter starts ticking off on the person’s arm.  Once that counter goes to zero, the person drops dead.  As with any economic system, people separate into haves and have-nots.  Everyone seems more or less ok with this, until one man (Justin Timberlake) trips to the fact that the haves are rigging the system.

It’s a neat premise that follows in the grand tradition of science fiction as social commentary and popular entertainment.  Add that Timberlake is a likeable film actor and that both his love interest/accomplice (Amanda Seyfried) and antagonist (Cillian Murphy) know how to hit their marks, and you have a fine picture.

So, what’s the difference between “workmanlike” or “fine” and “good?”  Ambiguity.  Vision.  Creativity.  In Time feels like a low-budget third draft.  It’s all too simple and clear to be actually “good,” and the use of time as a metaphor for money stops being interesting after about ten minutes.  Toss in a future LA whose very best neighborhood appears to be the Wilshire District around 7:00 am on a Sunday and technology that’s only about $100,000 worth of production budget cooler than our own, and you wind up with “workmanlike” and “fine.”

And yet, workmanlike and fine are, well, fine.  I don’t recommend that you go out of your way to see In Time, but if dystopian haves vs. have-nots science fiction is your thing, well, have at it.

Mamma Mia!

I took three runs at MAMMA MIA! I was stuck in coach on a transpacific flight in one of those old 747s, the kind with one screen up near the front of the cabin of which you can only see about half. I actually wanted to see this movie because I like Greece, I like the cast, and I liked MURIEL'S WEDDING, which also pushed the Abba.

I made it about thirty seconds in the first musical number before I pulled my headphone jack out of the armrest. But everyone looked they were having such a good time, and the island looked so pretty, that I plugged back in for one of Meryl Streep's numbers, just so I could hear her sing. I think I lasted 45 seconds through "Dancing Queen." Yank.

Then Pierce Brosnan opened his mouth in what appeared to be agony. I plugged back in for his number. I lasted perhaps a full minute that time, but I was done.

MAMMA MIA! is like being dragged to your mom's kaffee klatch during spring break. It's like going along with your wife on a "lunch with the girls" so she can share a part of her life with you. It's like being forced to listen to your sister cry over her latest breakup as you, she, and a friend of hers drive down an interminable highway. If you're a guy, you don't belong. You know you don't belong. Everyone's trying to make you feel like you do belong, but everyone knows you just plain don't. Especially you.

So don't go along. If you're a man, this movie is worse than PLAN NINE FROM OUTER SPACE. It's worse than STEALTH. It's worse than DEATH RACE 2000. Tell your mom to have fun at the kaffee klatch. Tell your wife you'll be having beer and wings with the guys. Tell your sister to drop you off anywhere and tell someone to send water.

Just don't subject yourself to this.