Directed by: James McTeigue
Starring: John Cusack, Alice Eve, Luke Evans, Brendan Gleeson
John Cusack does for Edgar Allen Poe what Robert Downey Jnr did for Sherlock Holmes, and if you think that's a good thing then please shut down your browser and never cast your eyes over this site again.
Hollywood has recently caught on to the idea that if they exploit famous literary characters they can save on paying for rights as it's all public domain material. Guy Ritchie has already desecrated the work of Arthur Conan Doyle, Edgar Rice Burrough's "John Carter" is in theatres as I write and later this year we'll get "Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter". As usual Tinseltown is behind the game with this tactic, Hammer and AIP were doing this back in the fifties and sixties, the difference is they did it well, respecting the material whilst updating it for the audiences of the times. There are few classic literary adaptations that stand up to Hammer's "Curse Of Frankenstein" or AIP's Roger Corman directed Poe series.
Here we get Cusack playing Poe in the final days of his life, the twist being a series of murders copied from the writer's own stories plaguing Baltimore. Sounds like a winner right? Well this isn't 1963 and this isn't a Hammer production. Now I'm not naive enough to think that Hammer made films out of any love of cinema, they were just out to make a quick buck. The difference between Hammer and the modern major studios is that they had a respect for their audience, something which Hollywood lost years ago.
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Cusack is a great comedy actor and that's nothing to be ashamed of, there aren't very many about anymore. As a dramatic actor he just doesn't cut it, no matter how hard he tries he's always John Cusack. Here he plays a character who was known for being abrasive and unlikable. I've no problem with a lead character being unlikable but when they are downright irritating, as is Cusack's Poe, it's hard to take. Add in the horribly pretentious dialogue and his rapid-fire delivery and it's one of the most grating performances of any year.
It's an incredibly wordy script for what is essentially a horror flick and scenes drag on while at the same time confusing the audience with badly written nineteenth century pigeon English.
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Not many film-makers would dare butcher Shakespeare but when it comes to writers like Poe and Conan Doyle, Hollywood treats them with the same respect it affords to cinemagoers, miniscule.
1/10