Butler's Cinema Scene

“COSMOPOLIS” My rating: C (Opening Aug. 31 at the Glenwood Arts)

108 minutes | MPAA rating: R

Because it stars “Twilight” hottie Robert Pattinson, some of his loyal tweener fans  and their moms may think about seeing his latest film, “Cosmopolis.”

Think again.

Our first glimpse of Rob-Pat as Eric Packer, a billionaire master of Wall Street, does remind a bit of his “Twilight” persona. Packer is pale, red-lipped and hides from the sun behind a dark pair of glasses. And you could describe him as a vampire, at least in the economic sense.

But beware, ladies. This film was directed by David Cronenberg, who has made a career of psychopathy (see “Crash,” “Dead Rigners,” etc.), and over its nearly two-hour running time Pattinson’s Packer has sex with several women, kills someone (for no apparent reason) and submits to the longest prostate examination in medical (and certainly movie) history.

Moreover, “Cosmopolis” is a dispiritingly leaden movie, one populated less with characters than with archtypes. People here speak in long, theatrical monologues. They might as well be wind-up toys.

It wears out its welcome long before the closing bell.

Samantha Morton

Financial whiz-kid Packer wants to get a trim from his favorite barber. But that will require a limo drive across a Manhattan in total gridlock because of a Presidential visit and the funeral of a Sufi pop star. Packer’s driver/bodyguard (Kevin Durand) warns that it will be an impossible trek, but Packer is insistent.

At least half of “Cosmopolis” takes place inside the limo, which looks less like a car than a set out of “Star Trek.” It features plush black leather upholstery, oodles of chrome, recessed lighting, a full bar and a retractable urinal (one pretty much necessitates the other). The windows turn an opaque black at the push of a button. The car is bulletproof and soundproof.

And everywhere in the compartment are high-tech computer screens providing updates on various markets around the globe. Seems that Packer has bet heavily on the yen rising (or is it falling?) and now teeters on the brink of a financial cliff.

Packer’s journey is so painstakingly slow that his office underlings are able to catch up to the limo on foot for sessions with their boss. There’s an I.T. nerd (Jay Baruchel) and a spacey woman (Samantha Morton) who seems to serve as Packer’s personal oracle. At one point a physician climbs inside to perform Packer’s daily medical checkup. That’s where the prostate exam comes in.

There’s a former girlfriend (Juliette Binoche) who engages him in screaming sex (she does the screaming; he seems barely interested). He then orders her to buy for him an entire chapel decorated with Mark Rothko paintings, irrespective of the cost.

Paul Giamatti, Robert Pattinson

Spotting his blonde, wan wife of several weeks (Sarah Gadon), Packer emerges from his limo to share a breakfast and later a lunch with her. She says he smells like sex and accuses him of infidelity. But they’re both so emotionally neutered that she can’t even work up a good case of indignation.

Meanwhile the streets are awash in anarchistic protests, with cackling madmen tossing dead rats at anyone in an expensive suit.

The driver/bodyguard receives a credible report of an assassin who has targeted Packer. Sure enough, when our man emerges briefly from his ride he’s is hit square in the puss with a cream-pie thrown by a sort of political performance artist (Mathieu Amalric). More dangerous is a former employee (Paul Giamatti) who believes killing Packer would be his life’s crowning achievement.

“Cosmopolis” is based on the 2002 novel by Dom DeLillo, who uncannily predicted the financial market meltdown and the Occupy Wall Street movement. Critics seemed to like DeLillo’s prose style but not much else, and that’s the problem with the movie, too.

Cinematically it’s interesting, with cinematography by Peter Suschitzky that manages to seem surreal and realistic at the same time. The movie smartly balances the high-tech sleekness of Packer’s limo with the grimy, lived-in streets our hero must occasionally negotiate on foot.

But there are no people here. Pattinson gives an OK technical performance, but there’s no soul there, no feeling, no emotion. And while it can be argued that this is precisely DeLillos’ point, that’s of little comfort when you’re locked in a car with a character who seems more robotic than human.

| Robert W. Butler