Film Review: The Box

Oh. Dear. God.

The Button Unit. Yes, that's really what it's called.

I tried to see the Men Who Stared at Goats yesterday. I really did. Even going so far as to briskly walk into the dark depth of shady Cardiff to the lovely, but badly located, Chapter cinema; alas it was only to find for some inexplicable reason (read as my incompetence) that it was on earlier on Wednesdays. As my friend and I hastily awayed to more civilised climes we settled on Paranormal Activity, a decision that was at least half popular (with me). Inexplicably and somewhat suspiciously we arrived too late, so by default The Box became our poison of choice, and by it we were doomed.

I'd rather eat my own curried optic nerve than watch this long winded, directionless drivel again. Indeed as one of the few people not to be crazy over Donny bloody Darko, I didn't exactly have high hopes for Richard Kelly's latest outing - The Box. I should of known better and pitched any sense of expectation in a subterranean cave; one so dark that the flickerings of life inside have never seen light. The only thing to like about this film was that it wasn't Sunshine ("for seven years I've talked with God": can you hear my teeth grinding out there?) which like The Box is a massive waste of life. Other geninue plus points? Frank Langella's make-up, maybe, certainly his tailoring; for the duration of the film I was a Woman Who Stared at Coats.... and sighed.

As to the nitty-gritty of the picture; I'll charitably say that the first twenty minutes are interesting enough; the trailed premise of a million dollars for sanctioning the death of someone you don't know is mildly thought provoking. More so when you hear the entire cinema to a man all whooping and shouting "yes!" - that made me worry, and I thought it was the civilised bit of Cardiff!

As for the rest; oh god no. No. No. No. Oh, it's awful; mystery is throw upon mystery until the whole thing creaks with the weight of its own tediousness, and instead of being engaged, you find yourself consigned to boredom. Just when you think it can't get any worse, trust me it does; the plot takes a turn for the utterly farcical. None of this film fits together - it feels as if it's been heavily edited to deliberately remove any coherence, and yet the bits that are left in labour heavily, like a ragtag child with a particularly splodgy potato print, just to make sure you understand what someone thought was obviously a fiendishly clever plot.

The Box is really, really, truly god-awful. I can't stress this enough. If I do one good thing this year I hope it's saving someone some time and money by dissuading them from going to see this pile of steaming offal.

Put it in a box, tie it with a ribbon, and fling the whole crescendo of dull down the nearest open sewer.