Spielberg's Gist
Watching Tom Hanks in The Terminal, directed by Steven Spielberg, is like seeing him in Cast Away; stranded, alone and, when he finally makes a connection, there isn't much point. At least Mr. Hanks' character in Cast Away is rescued—which is not necessarily so in Mr. Spielberg's latest picture.
The Terminal, which is occasionally thoughtful and humorous, feels like it's under construction. Hanks, as an eastern European traveler snagged by Stanley Tucci's airport bureaucrat, is affable during his extended stay but his journey is uninvolving.
Beginning with Hanks using broken English, and one wonders why he would travel to a place where he is certain to be lost, the set up for the movie's only conflict is contrived and, worse, lightly comical. The prospect of airport staff refusing to find an interpreter for the foreigner, whose country is in turmoil, leaving him languishing in confusion, is ridiculous.
Hanks wanders for days, then weeks, then months, living on ketchup packets and crackers, and Mr. Spielberg deftly uses this strange predicament to define the character. Recalling Wilson the soccer ball in Cast Away, Hanks carries a peanut container, which may hold the key to his mysterious mission. He's a good person who insists on living by the rules and, for a while, Mr. Spielberg tells his most intimate tale since before Schindler's List.
Then, suddenly, miscast Catherine Zeta-Jones takes center stage. She does her best as a homewrecking airline hostess—among her conquests is Michael Nouri, a fine actor who is reduced to shots of the back of his head—but she comes off as an insecure, heartless tart. The notion of a middle–aged immigrant who can't speak English and a hot to trot stewardess is as enticing as a seat in coach.
The contest of wills between Tucci and Hanks doesn't work either. Tucci's Homeland Security official is a genuinely bad person and using him for comic effect backfires. He knowingly does harm to virtually everyone in the airport. He's not a worthy foil to Hanks; he's merely a monster and his cruelty is not a laughing matter. In one scene, Tucci denies a distraught man the medication that may save his dying father.
This is Spielberg's attempt at stark humanism and there are some moving moments. The most important scenes—a wedding, a romantic dinner and a nightclub climax—are unearned. Spielberg sacrifices reality to a vague sense of goodness that he never fully expresses in human form.
With scattered references to Napoleon, egoism and the contrast of living by rules and just following orders, the script by Sacha Gervasi and Jeff Nathanson nets some insights. Groping for something to say about America as the land of the free—with newcomers as her brightest promise—the writers avoid heavy-handedness.
Though Hanks is saddled with a conflict, affair and purpose that lack passion, he is convincing. But the most intriguing person is Gupta the maintenance man, played with honesty by Kumar Pallana (The Royal Tenenbaums), who inexplicably hates Hanks. He is slowly transformed into a friend.
That Gupta the janitor is the movie's most consistent character is The Terminal's primary problem; he is more amusing and powerful than the alienated traveler is. By the time the credits roll, it is his—not Hanks'—fate that makes an impression. What happens to Gupta suggests that, if life is waiting, as The Terminal's tag line proposes, it is barely worth the wait.
The Terminal, which is occasionally thoughtful and humorous, feels like it's under construction. Hanks, as an eastern European traveler snagged by Stanley Tucci's airport bureaucrat, is affable during his extended stay but his journey is uninvolving.
Beginning with Hanks using broken English, and one wonders why he would travel to a place where he is certain to be lost, the set up for the movie's only conflict is contrived and, worse, lightly comical. The prospect of airport staff refusing to find an interpreter for the foreigner, whose country is in turmoil, leaving him languishing in confusion, is ridiculous.
Hanks wanders for days, then weeks, then months, living on ketchup packets and crackers, and Mr. Spielberg deftly uses this strange predicament to define the character. Recalling Wilson the soccer ball in Cast Away, Hanks carries a peanut container, which may hold the key to his mysterious mission. He's a good person who insists on living by the rules and, for a while, Mr. Spielberg tells his most intimate tale since before Schindler's List.
Then, suddenly, miscast Catherine Zeta-Jones takes center stage. She does her best as a homewrecking airline hostess—among her conquests is Michael Nouri, a fine actor who is reduced to shots of the back of his head—but she comes off as an insecure, heartless tart. The notion of a middle–aged immigrant who can't speak English and a hot to trot stewardess is as enticing as a seat in coach.
The contest of wills between Tucci and Hanks doesn't work either. Tucci's Homeland Security official is a genuinely bad person and using him for comic effect backfires. He knowingly does harm to virtually everyone in the airport. He's not a worthy foil to Hanks; he's merely a monster and his cruelty is not a laughing matter. In one scene, Tucci denies a distraught man the medication that may save his dying father.
This is Spielberg's attempt at stark humanism and there are some moving moments. The most important scenes—a wedding, a romantic dinner and a nightclub climax—are unearned. Spielberg sacrifices reality to a vague sense of goodness that he never fully expresses in human form.
With scattered references to Napoleon, egoism and the contrast of living by rules and just following orders, the script by Sacha Gervasi and Jeff Nathanson nets some insights. Groping for something to say about America as the land of the free—with newcomers as her brightest promise—the writers avoid heavy-handedness.
Though Hanks is saddled with a conflict, affair and purpose that lack passion, he is convincing. But the most intriguing person is Gupta the maintenance man, played with honesty by Kumar Pallana (The Royal Tenenbaums), who inexplicably hates Hanks. He is slowly transformed into a friend.
That Gupta the janitor is the movie's most consistent character is The Terminal's primary problem; he is more amusing and powerful than the alienated traveler is. By the time the credits roll, it is his—not Hanks'—fate that makes an impression. What happens to Gupta suggests that, if life is waiting, as The Terminal's tag line proposes, it is barely worth the wait.
