Desperate Measures (R) * 1/2 (out of ****) A pair of shadowy figures lurk about a dimly lit building as the opening credits crawl ever so stealthily along walls, floors, and windows. Sadly, this is the pinnacle of creativity for Desperate Measures, a routine, sometimes laughable thriller whose originality and intelligence is in inverse proportion to its overwhelming absurdity. Not that David Klass's premise is not without some tinge of freshness, albeit preposterous. After a frantic search for a bone marrow donor for his leukemia-stricken son Matthew (Joseph Cross), San Francisco police detective Frank Conner (Andy Garcia) finds a compatible match in Peter McCabe (Michael Keaton). There's just one pesky complication: McCabe is a brilliant, psychotic killer serving a lengthy prison sentence, and conducting the transplant means placing escape-prone McCabe in a situation where he easily can--and, surprise, surprise, he does. There's a germ of an interesting, if somewhat comical, idea here--the cop wants to catch the bad guy, but, unlike the other police, he wants him to catch him alive. But Desperate Measures soon settles into an all-too familiar series of by-the-book standoff set pieces where Conner catches up to McCabe, McCabe takes someone hostage and gets away, said hostage is somehow released, Conner catches McCabe again, etc. And for all the gunplay, fights, and assorted mayhem director Barbet Schroeder is able to pack into his briskly paced 100 minutes, nothing about the proceedings is very suspenseful--just tedious. Not helping things at all is the unintentional laughs that are had along the way. Quite a few of the guffaws stem from how Conner wants McCabe alive. Consider this one stupefying gutbuster: the good guy shoots the bad guy and in a standard thriller moment; then suddenly we see the two in a maudlin rushing ambulance scene, with the good guy holding the bad guy's hand, telling him he's going to make it as treacly music plays in the background. Some things are just insulting. Much is made about how Matthew only has hours to live, but for someone near death, he's awfully energetic; the final act has him running around a lot, exhibiting no signs of weakness or fatigue, and for someone whose blood has trouble clotting, a nosebleed stops rather quickly and conveniently. I'd say that the transplant could wait a few days. Make that weeks. Months even. What keeps Desperate Measures watchable is the work of Keaton and Garcia. Garcia makes you sympathize with Conner's plight, and he is able to lend the weak material some emotional gravity. Keaton is allowed to be more colorful here than he was in Jackie Brown, voraciously sinking his jowls into the psycho role. If anything is wrong with Keaton's portrayal, it's the fault of the script, which paints McCabe as nothing more than a garden variety loon. Keaton suggests something a bit more quirky and off-center (that is, if there is something "centered" about psychotic killers), but none of that gets any deep follow-through, if any at all. But any pleasures to be had with Desperate Measures are just about wiped away by the film's abrupt finale, which bears the unmistakable stench of test-screening tinkering. It's a cheap, gimmicky conclusion, which makes it the perfect capper to this dopey thriller.
Michael Dequina mrbrown@ucla.edu | michael_jordan@geocities.com | mj23@the18thhole.com mrbrown@michaeljordanfan.com | mj23@michaeljordanfan.com mrbrown23@juno.com | mrbrown@iname.com | mst3k@digicron.com
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