Have you ever really
embarrassed yourself? Of course you have. Everyone does, at some point
or another pull some kind of horrid manoeuvre that makes you seriously
consider abandoning your career, family, friends, etc, and entering the
witness relocation program. My point is, that once these lovely images
are stored in your mind, your brain never lets you
forget them. If I were bleeding to death, and the emergency room
doctor asked me what blood type I was, I would reply “I think it’s B. Or
maybe C. I’m pretty sure it’s a letter.” Ask me to describe the saxophone
player to whom my mother revealed my life-threatening crush at the age
of 10, and immediately I can tell you “His name is Bryan, he’s 6' tall,
he’s got blonde hair, and glasses, and sings really well.” (Just in case
Bryan reads this column, allow me to stress for the record that although
I ceased planning our future wedding when I turned 11, I do still think
he’s a very spiffy guy. I am continually impressed with his dancing abilities,
though I remain somewhat concerned about his excess of Hawaiian shirts.)
My most chagrining moments however, have always occurred on dates. Dates
involving spy films.
My own brain is always
digging up the time I attended Goldeneye on a “quadruple date” with
a bunch of my high school friends. I had finally summoned up the courage
to ask Patrick, the school’s artistic/poet/bad boy out with me, and standing
at the concession stand I was feeling quite impressed with myself, and
my obvious devastating attractiveness. That is until another friend sidled
up to me and mentioned that on the other side my date was using his spare
hand to hold hands with another girl. This was of course, a much
better
looking girl. This was Cindy Crawford, only taller.
This being a Friday night,
many of my high school’s popularity elite were in the theatre with us,
and they gathered to watch. I had absolutely no idea what to do. Should
I hit the girl? That would have been asking for a lifetime of dental problems.
She was on the school’s Rugby team. I took ballet lessons. I also had to
rule out hitting my date. The ideal move would have been to spontaneously
burst into flames and die. I have read that this sometimes happens to people.
But you never get a break like this when you need it.
After what seemed an eternity,
I turned to my date, dropped his hand and said: “Um.” Just like that. “Um.”
My brain absolutely loves to remember this.
“Way to go Jen!” it trumpets at me, when I’m stopped at red lights fourteen
years later. I mean talk about articulate.
I eventually did attend
The
Bourne Identity when I couldn’t stand not knowing whether or not one
of my favourite books had been massacred or not. To play it safe however,
I went all by myself (and yet still managed to get startled halfway through
and dump orange soda all over my light blue pants).
The Bourne Identity
is the story of lost soul Jason Bourne. When he is found adrift, and riddled
with bullets off the coast of France, Jason begins his struggle back to
health with some startling problems:
1) He has some rather
unusual tactical skills.
2) Total strangers are
trying to kill him.
3) He has absolutely no
idea who he is.
Matt
Damon (Good Will Hunting, Dogma) plays (The Bourne Identity
author)
Robert Ludlum’s super spy. I don’t have any particular quarrel to make
with Damon’s performance, save for the fact that I don’t understand why
there wasn’t more development put into his character. Damon took the adaptation
as far as it could go, but was given none of the spice of Ludlum’s books
to turn his role from the well-played hero, into an extraordinary one.
Commonplace script aside, Damon has some absolutely fantastic
moments. His switch from total bravado when he is first pulled from the
sea, to complete and utter terror when he realizes he doesn’t know his
own name is very realistically done. His character’s violent subconscious
trying to break through his amnesia induced innocence is nicely played
too. Damon adds a mature ferocity to this role, giving it a sense of credibility
that in lesser hands wouldn’t have translated onscreen.
Franke
Potente (Run Lola Run) plays Bourne’s saviour, Marie Kreutz, who
is dragged along for the ride, after a terrible run of luck places the
pair together. Potente is once again, showing off her tremendous talent.
She, like Damon, was given a banal role and makes it pop, giving Marie
spark and life that in other hands wouldn’t have been present. She plays
Marie as very charming, a girl that may have taken some false steps in
life, but is just looking for a chance to put it all together again. She
never allows Marie’s bond to Jason feel forced, and lets her be human by
permitting her to be frightened. Her work in Run Lola Run, and now
this have made me a fan. I will be following her career with great interest.
If nothing else, summer
movies are all supposed to be fun, and The Bourne Identity is definitely
that. It’s filled to the brim with great car chases, exciting fight scenes,
and thumping music. But it’s more than the typical summer movie fare in
that there’s a good story, and laudable acting. It’s definitely worth a
big screen look.
Jen
Johnston
PS: It has just occurred
to me that in an attempt to see if he would like to go and see The Bourne
Identity Patrick might have read this piece, in which I case I would
like to emphasize that I am leading an absolutely wonderful life, I have
a beautiful daughter, I get paid to watch movies, and I've interviewed
three golden globe winners, and I hope things are equally fine with you.
Four. I've interviewed four golden globe winners.