Starring: Ashley Judd, Samuel L. Jackson, and Andy Garcia
Directed by: Philip Kaufman
Bluntly speaking? Twisted is nothing more than a
run-of-the-studio-mill, blatantly dumb anti-thriller with smirking
talent playing waifer-thin characters who's breadth of emotion
is portrayed with oddly volatile spurts of feeling they've hung
on their sleeves. It's a heaping helping of celluloid poodle poo
goes.... Jessica Sheppard (Ashley Judd) has just made homicide
detective. Her mentor is the police chief (Samuel L.). In fact
when Jess' deranged cop father went berserk killing a few folks,
her mother, and himself, it was the chief that took the little
She's all grown up now and kickin' some butt. Well,
fighting off her fellow detectives in a 1970's pre-equal rights
in the work place version of a police headquarters. Her gruff
partner, Det. DelMarco (Andy - looking unusually greasy here kids)
immediately takes a bit of smit-juice and starts to look beneath
this horn-dog may just get a peak at her frilly Victoria collection,
because Jess' recreational sport is sex. She enjoys drinking and
picking up men in bars - off duty of course. See, she's a sex
addict - no - a woman who digs sex without the strings...you know
like a guy? But, again we are dealing with Sarah Thorp's antiquated
and generic script so women who have premarital sex have a "problem."
Yes, I said Sarah - a woman wrote this anti-woman ickety blech.
Though Thorp's males were awful typecast pigs too. So she's an
equally bashing writer at least.
Oopsie, back to our tail, err, tale...
the men Jessica's been fornicating with start showing up ddddead.
They've been brutally beaten, marked with a delicate "X"
and "signed" with a cigarette. Oh, forgot to tell you...Jess,
who's about five foot two inches, also has a vicious temper. She
likes to explode and pummel - picture Tinker Bell in a rage. She
smokes like Keith Richards, and she's continually seen downing
a bottle of wine by her sour-pussed neighbor lurking in the window.
So, naturally she's the insta head suspect. Though, if you're
watching while awake, the plot rears its head in about the second
stoopid? Yep, it is dear readers - painfully. The talent,
if one can call them that here, are horrific cookie-cutter emotions
atop moviestar faces. Andy Garcia who plays Jess' new partner
in homicide - the police division not the crime - is the
worst. He smirks and throws away his scenes like a child that
was defiantly cleaning their room during a grounding. When exactly
was this guy good? I've forgotten...
L.? Whaddya doin man? I haven't seen a waste like this since Ordinary
Decent Criminal (a film I chose not to review
stomach aches; all that talent wasted like a quart of forgotten
Thai Chicken leftovers on the second shelf.
for little Ms. Pixie, Ashley. She's always beautiful and believable
as "the tough" doll. But here the conflicting abilities
she possesses made you disconnect and start to heckle the screen.
For example? Jess can describe a guy she's glanced at - down to
his button style and sock color - but, after several nights of
"blacking-out" after sipping a glass of wine, she doesn't
for a nanosecond wonder if, perhaps, there's something
funny going on! Especially after dead men start sprouting up that
Folks, there was actual laughing in the room during its
"climatic" conclusion, and it wasn't just me...'nough
recommendation: Tosca's swell martinis and a side of Gravlax,
before you head out to see practically any other film