The I Inside

Scott Hardie: “It was ok.”

Thank you, Roland Suso Richter, for giving the world yet another highly-stylized psychological thriller in which the hero goes back and forth in time, unsure what is real or memory or nightmare, unsure who is really who, trying to prevent the accident that ruined his life. After the modest success of "The Butterfly Effect," "Identity," "Gothika," and other films in the derivative subgenre, I'm surprised Miramax wasn't able to rush this one into theaters for a quick buck. Anyway, if I'm upset with this film, it's because, for a while there, it seemed to be going somewhere. After an intriguing prologue and brilliant opening credits sequence, the film was on the ground running, repeatedly pulling the rug out from under the hero and photographed with a glossy sheen. But its zip gradually faded away, until the limp final scene that provided little plot closure and zero emotional closure. The most interesting scenes of any movie show where the filmmakers' hearts lie, and in this one that's the electric first act. Too bad about the last one.

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