Artfully done movies that go poof thanks to juvenile plots are so much more tragic than outright silly films. Taking Lives must’ve been among the most stunning productions of 2004, no doubt, yet it shall remain relegated to oblivion because it sets up a textured plot only to falter before the credits roll. It’s almost as if the team was so busy finessing the product they ran out of time and shipped it before it was fully done.
Angelina Jolie plays a psychological profiler from the FBI called upon to solve seemingly connected murders in French-speaking Montreal. She works alongside a couple of cardboard cops -- one a tightly wound incompetent, the other a doting ex-colleague -- to come up with desperately needed leads. Enter Ethan Hawke, an art dealer, a witness to one of the murders. An actor clearly in full command of his art, he is fascinating in long monologues. As this happens, Keifer Sutherland lurks in the shadows on street corners. He has remarkable screen presence, I’m increasingly impressed with the man and hope he bags roles with more meat in the future, but his bit here is sadly inadequate, more of a twist than a role really.
On a positive note, the film unfurls with hypnotic rhythm. The acid-jazzy score lends richly to the overall elegance. You may want to postpone your dinner though, the murders are gruesome and the director doesn’t wince in showing open cadavers. Which I thought was needless, as was an utterly skippable intimate interlude between Angelina Jolie and Ethan Hawke, tossed in for no conceivable reason because it is soon followed by an ending that feels almost like a different film. Cramped into less than 10 minutes, it all but kills the delicate cadence of the movie that preceded it, and it’s as idiotic a finale as you’ve seen in recent memory.
Net net, the film may boast top-notch production values, but as they say: give them a strong last impression and you have a hit, goof it up and you’re dead as disco. Taking Lives, for all its charm, trips and does the latter.