FilmBlather.com

"Take comfort in knowing you never had a choice."

Interesting how good Tom Cruise can be, and how bad. Just last winter, in my review of The Last Samurai, I wrote that "Cruise crushes this movie under his weight, pushing everything interesting to the fringes of the frame." I opined, too, that his best performances have come in films where this is acceptable -- where he is the movie, and thus can dominate it without fearing the consequences. I offered an exception: Frank T.J. Mackey of Magnolia was a fiery, convincing supporting performance in an ensemble drama. Michael Mann's Collateral is another; as the sociopathic villain on a murderous rampage around Los Angeles, Cruise is scary, dangerous and nuanced. In short: dynamite. Hey, when the facts change, I change my mind.

The movie, a typically indulgent but unexpectedly Hitchockian outing from Mann, works hard to keep up with Cruise and mostly succeeds. With the deceptively skilled Jamie Foxx in the role of the sympathetic, bewildered everyman, it builds enough momentum to work as a straight-up suspenser; it does this so well, in fact, that I wished Mann would forget all about the script's attempts at thematic complexity, which essentially boil down to "Carpe Diem." Shot on video (I still can't get over seeing $20-million-a-movie stars on video), it unfolds with a sort of devious logic, as the cold, terrorizing murderer-for-hire has to come up with crafty ways to keep his increasingly desperate taxi driver hostage under control.

The taxi driver, an amiable fellow named Max, is constructed by the screenwriter to be a repository for unfulfilled ambitions. Obviously bright and educated at least to some degree (he references Clarence Darrow), he has nevertheless spent the last decade of his life behind the wheel of a cab while his long-in-the-works limo business goes absolutely nowhere. Much is made of the fact that when a beautiful woman sits in the back of his cab and seems charmed by his conversation, he doesn't make a move -- though predictably, he gets a chance to rectify that later.

All of this is rather simplistic, and much less interesting than what Cruise's Vincent does with it. The clever hitman preys on Max's failures and insecurities to keep him along for the ride, seemingly helping the guy one moment and goading him the next. It's interesting to note the point at which Max finally gets fed up -- it's not when he is handcuffed to the steering wheel or forced to lie to the police, but when they visit his mother in the hospital and she and Vincent start talking about him.

This subtle interplay between them, with Vincent testing Max's limits and Max discovering same, is by far the most interesting thing about the film, which also has a lot on the sidelines. There is a tremendous cameo by Javier Bardem as a fearsome crime lord whom Max is forced to deceive -- it's an exquisitely suspenseful scene, aided by our knowledge that Vincent is waiting just outside the door. The generally underrated Mark Ruffalo has a less successful role as a tough police officer hot on Vincent's trail; he doesn't have much of an arc, and makes some, shall we say, implausible discoveries and deductions along the way.

The climax unexpectedly kicks into action gear, with a lengthy subway chase, a creeping-in-the-pitch-blackness scene, and much hysteria over a stolen cell phone that (horrors!) runs out of battery. Mann is a skillful choreographer -- if nothing else, there's a great sense of spatial relationships throughout all this hullaballoo -- and I must grudgingly admit that his conclusion does neatly tie up the issues he's been juggling, even if I wished said issues would go away. It is not, however, as compelling as the tense, tightly wound thriller material that it follows; the ending doesn't cheat, but the sudden noisiness has to be considered a let-down.

I've been rather hard on Collateral, which in truth works beautifully for most of the way, with occasional slip-ups that barely detract from its impact. Cruise, with his bleached hair, permanently steely expression, and lithe, subtly dangerous way of moving, creates a terrific villain, the epitome of not-to-be-fucked-with. And Michael Mann works from his usual lofty heights, permitting himself all manner of cinematic excess while still crafting an efficient suspenser. This is a fine summer movie.