| The most twisted thing about Twisted is how phony it plays. Hard-hitting police thrillers need a smidgen of authenticity, but Sarah Thorp's script is riddled with implausible events, inconsistent characters and head-scratching twists that don't add up. Even worse is this whodunit's pitiful predictability. | Hollywood Shades
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| Jessica (Ashley Judd) has it all: rail-thin, pixie-ish beauty and the ability to overpower bigger, stronger foes. She's been named homicide inspector by San Francisco's police commissioner (Samuel L. Jackson), a no-nonsense, fatherly guy who raised her after her dad -- his former colleague -- murdered her mom and committed suicide. Years later, Jessica is still haunted by the tragedy when she gets her first gig with new partner Mike (Andy Garcia). | Her ravenousness extends to fine California wine, though not enough to explain why she keeps passing out after a few slurps in her apartment. When Jessica awakes to learn another former lover has gone to boy-toy heaven, she starts doubting herself as much as the shrink (David Strathairn) whose concerns she'd resisted. After all, her father was a killer, and she has his violent temper. Jessica savagely attacks two ill-mannered colleagues and makes a would-be rapist whimper liked a baby. | Forget charming Victorian homes. This is a menacing city of dank, foggy alleys and hard-nosed urbanites who eye each other warily. But director Philip Kaufman (who also helmed Body Snatchers) escalates the chilly aloofness to bellicose absurdity. It's bad enough that Jessica's neighbor, an elderly woman, glares sternly from her window, but the police force is riddled with contemptuous boors whose emotionalism is wildly unprofessional. |
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Yet she doesn't hold a grudge against her ex sex partners, and it's strange that anyone else would, so what's going on here, anyway? A bad plot, that's what. Jessica has questions, and so do we. Why does she -- a cop! -- confuse suspicious swoons with alcoholic stupors, then keep hitting the same bottle? How can she -- a cop! -- afford an array of slick leather jackets? And why isn't she -- a cop! -- punished for her assaults instead of drawing a collective shrug of "Chicks!" It must be because she's beautiful. In Hollywood, that forgives all. Judd has such a perplexing role to play that we can't fault her shaky handle on it. |  Wear these to cocktail parties! |
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Is Jessica masking her pain with sex, work and wine, or is she truly the tough careerist she projects? Garcia also confounds us as her sneaky partner, but that's his job. And Jackson is Jackson, bristling with charismatic command in a part that seems too small for him. The Practice's Camryn Manheim has a good cameo as a crime-lab tech-head. San Francisco fares best as a character of sorts. Shot in all its scenic splendor, it's both lovely and creepy, much as in 1978's Invasion of the Body Snatchers. |
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A grisly, soggy corpse washes up in the bay, and as fate and plot contrivance would have it, the victim is one of Jessica's one-night stands. Yes, she is one troubled gal. When Jessica isn't aping Steve McQueen's natty S.F. cop in Bullitt, wearing turtlenecks and driving a vintage black Mustang, she's channeling Diane Keaton in Looking for Mr. Goodbar, trolling for bedmates in Union Street watering holes. |
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| Are you thinking of getting engaged to be married while high in the sky in a hot air balloon? Don't forget your wedding engagement rings sunglasses and champagne glasses. |
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