187 (ONE EIGHT SEVEN) (Warner Bros.) Starring: Samuel L. Jackson, John Heard, Kely Rowan, Clifton Gonzalez Gonzalez. Screenplay: Scott Vagemann. Producers: Bruce Davey and Stephen McEveety. Director: Kevin Reynolds. MPAA Rating: R (profanity, violence, adult themes, drug use) Running Time: 115 minutes. Reviewed by Scott Renshaw.
Don't make the mistake of assuming that "187" is gritty, urban classroom drama in the mold of DANGEROUS MINDS. Yes, it does deal with an inner city teacher (Trevor Garfield, played by Samuel L. Jackson), and it does deal with his attempts to get through to certain of his students. But this story isn't about the amazing power of dedicated teachers to effect change in the face of socio-economic hardships and an oppressive tie-in soundtrack. No, "187" is about a man's descent into madness. "187" is a horror movie.
At least that's what it _should_ have been. You see, it turns out that while teaching at a Brooklyn high school, science teacher Garfield found himself on the wrong end of a disgruntled student's ten-penny nail. Fifteen months later, he attempts to get back on the horse by going to work as a substitute at a run-down Los Angeles school. Unfortunately, Garfield discovers that things aren't much different from coast to coast -- every teacher fears the threat of student violence (187 is a police and gang code for homicide), and every administrator fears the threat of a lawsuit. And in his own mysterious way, Garfield sets out to guarantee that the inmates will not run this particular asylum.
Samuel L. Jackson seems pefectly clear about the critical theme of "187." For most of the time he is on the screen, Jackson generates a tension which threatens to explode at any moment. His performance is raw and haunting, like a priest experiencing a crisis of faith. You keep watching "187" because Garfield's response to his crisis is chilling and provocative: he sees his best option as becoming the devil.
Credit Jackson with an insight screenwriter Scott Yagemann and director Kevin Reynolds both lack. Yagemann's script -- full to bursting with good teachers (Kelly Rowan) and bad teachers (John Heard), good students (Karina Arroyave) and bad students -- fairly yanks the outrage out of us with pliers, dwelling on the unconscionable conditions and trite confrontations. Reynolds, meanwhile, perhaps in an attempt to create an atmosphere of surreality, opens up the film school grab-bag -- dizzying 360 degree tracking shots, blurred focus, black-and-white video footage, jittery hand-held camera work, slow motion, rust-tinged cinematography. It is a dreadfully misguided choice. Every flashy gimmick proves distancing and distracting, pulling us away from the painful reality of Garfield's life.
It's clear that the makers of "187" want to leave viewers angry and frustrated. And they succeed, though not in the way they intended. We don't need another film to drag us into the classroom to show us how bad things are. We don't need another film to lecture to us, or to try to impress us with cinematic puffery. "187" is frustrating because it had the chance to be unique, to pull us into the psyche of a man operating on sheer survival instinct. Only in a riveting climax do we ever get a chance to see Garfield in his darkest moments, as Reynolds and Yagemann create a pointless did-he-or-didn't-he mystery. This could have been the urban high school film which has been begging to be made for years, one which avoids inanely and simplistically describing that world as "gritty" or "tough." The appropriate word is "terrifying." The appropriate mood is horror.
On the Renshaw scale of 0 to 10 _really_ dangerous minds: 5.
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