A NY Times review of the new ‘B’ movie Identity
The second-handness of the situation, and of the characters who inhabit it, is explained — or justified, if you prefer — by an enormous, gold-plated pretzel of a plot twist that I will not divulge, lest my own head end up in someone’s clothes dryer. I should note, however, that the television commercial in which Mr. Cusack is shown in conversation with Alfred Molina comes very close to spoiling the surprise, which is odd since without the surprise the movie would have no reason to exist.
Whether it has much of a reason to exist with the surprise is another question. Once it is clear you are no longer watching the movie you thought you were watching, there doesn’t seem to be much point in going back to the movie that you thought you were watching, which is nonetheless what happens. Still with me? When the revelation comes — the moment that explains why all these panicky people are running around in the rain miles from anywhere — it does administer a pleasurable jolt. You think: “Wow. Cool.”
But the impression of cleverness, and the filmmaking dexterity that created it, fades pretty quickly, and you are left thinking: “What? Wait a minute.”
In similar fashion, once it is clear you are no longer reading the review you thought you were reading, there doesn’t seem to be much point in continuing. Nevertheless the reviewer goes on and on writing, belaboring his point. We get it. It is not even that extraordinary for Hollywood to twist a plot so badly you feel manipulated and cheated, and for the movie to go on and on even after it has exhausted its one trick. Off the top of my head, there was M. Night Shyamalan’s critically acclaimed (largely because he fooled everybody so?) Sixth Sense several years ago, which probably did it much better than this.