“This is that, uh, sunset movie. We hope you, er, enjoy it,” anintern muttered to the waiting crowd just before the sneak previewof “After the Sunset.” I knew I was in trouble. “After the Sunset”is one of those bland, innocuous romantic comedies that are perfectto catch on television at 3 a.m., pass out halfway through andnever think about ever again.
But in the theater, it was near unbearable. Who would haveimagined that a staff writer from “Weakest Link” and the directorof a Mariah Carey video couldn’t get together and make a wonderfulfilm?
The room dimmed to loud whispers of, “Is this the beginning? Hasit started?” The grown man behind me yelled “hubba hubba” the firsttime Salma Hayek flashed her cleave, something he would continue todo for the rest of the film. Hayek shows her rack more times thanshe opens her mouth, and unfortunately this is the best thing aboutthe film, even for a heterosexual female like myself.
A teenaged boy to my left, perhaps in fear that I wasn’tunderstanding what was going on, meticulously walked me throughevery movement and line of every character: “He wants the diamondreal bad. She’s not gonna show her boobs.”
Max Burdett (Pierce Brosnan), retired diamond thief, is notcontent living on a tropical island with Salma Hayek and her jugsfor the rest of his life. He’s itching to steal, and because ofthis we must all suffer the story of his final heist. Can Brosnanlay his demons to rest? Can he find “happiness in the littlethings,” as his girlfriend so depressingly puts it? Will he everlearn that there is something more important in this goddamn worldthan jewels, boats and fancy cars?
I’ll spoil it for you right now: love. Love is more important.Sorry.
I met Woody Harrelson the other day at the Smith Ballroomshowing of his new environmental sustainability “documentary.”Apparently, he was very stoned, as he told me that he’s “alwaysbeen a forest in [his] heart.” Stan Lloyd (Woody Harrelson), FBIagent, Burdett’s arch nemesis and vehicle for several unfunny gayjokes, was interesting and endearing in comparison.
Judging from the relationship Stan and Max build, I’d say thisentire movie is what occurs when a screenwriter begins to starve:What happens when men on opposite ends of the moral continuum fallin love? Relevant and compelling things, that’s what – stuff no onewants to see. Add car chases and Salma Hayek’s knockers and you’vemade yourself a million bucks.
“Sold,” screenwriter Paul Zbyszewski probably whimpered,shedding a single tear.
Naomi Harris, who plays Stan’s lover, was once the hot chickfrom “28 Days Later,” but now, with the ridiculous “native” accentshe adopts for this film, she’s so permed and unrecognizable that Ileaned over to my friend and asked, “Is that the chick from ‘IdleHands’?” Oops.
I’ve already forgotten the rest of the film. There is reallynothing else to say except stay the hell away from this movie,unless Salma Hayek’s breasts are all it takes to make a film foryou. And that’s not possible, because if that’s true, you werealready at the sneak preview, scratching yourself and yelling”hubba hubba” at the screen.