Stays on track for half the time
Review by Gerry Hill

Venue: Ster-Kinekor, Maerua Mall
Film: Derailed
Director: Mikael Håfström
Writing Credits: Stuart Beattie (screenplay); James Siegel (novel)
Players: Clive Owen; Jennifer Aniston; Addison Timlin; Melissa George: RZA
Genre: Thriller
Rating: ***½

People who like thrillers are prepared to put up with all sorts of unrealistic nonsense in the hope of a few intermittently scary moments, all in the name of drama. And so it is with Derailed, which will successfully keep us tensed on the edge of our seats, wincing at a few of the shocking plot developments. Examine those shocking moments in the cold light of day, however, and we might feel somewhat ashamed of being caught up in the moment.

The basic premise behind this thriller is solid for the first half-hour. Charles Schine (Owen) is a man labouring under too many perversities: a stressful advertising position; a wife, Deanna (George) who is an overworked teacher with little time to stroke his ego; and a daughter, Amy, who is a serious diabetic and is recovering from a third failed kidney transplant. His whole life is little, governed by an obsessive need to save money for the next operation to save his daughter. To use a “derailed” metaphor, his life is sidelined, shunting into the railway yard because a lively sex life or a meaningful marital relationship simply does not feature. Owen plays the role with a hangdog look and a mournful mien: I cannot think of another actor who could pull misery off with the same sense of understatement.

The opening scene demonstrates morning mayhem in the Schine household, where breakfast and meaningful conversation are snatched and futilely fragmented. The nett result is that Schine boards the train with no cash: his wife has snatched it along with her rushed breakfast. Enter the sexy siren of James Siegal’s novel: Lucinder Harris(Aniston) is described as “beautiful” in the book. Aniston is not a conventional beauty; her “Friends” persona, which has pursued her into a film career, is the fresh, almost preppy “girl-next-door” image. It’s difficult for any actress to sustain this in her thirties! She’s a slick brunette, with a sophisticated dress sense and a hint of plunging cleavage, but the professional poise is more striking than the wonder bra. She would not turn heads on my train.

At this point the plot is still convincing: a tired executive heading for male menopause is saved from public humiliation when he cannot find $9-00 for a train ticket for the inspector: a snappy response, the cash, and some acerbic wit from Harris saves the day for him. He is grateful and intrigued. The need to salve the wounded male ego to repay the meagre debt is an excuse to continue the opportunity for some verbal sparring: “I’m a Financial Advisor: I cheat clients,” quips Lucinda; “I’m in Advertising: I con clients,” responds Schine, almost whimsically, as if surprised that he is still capable of such repartee.

All this happens in October; by December a meeting to repay the debt has progressed to confidences over lunch, followed by intimate revelations over the clichéd candlelight dinner and musings about motel opportunities. Now the plot derails: dithering over whether or not to take the plunge into infidelity is scotched when a drab hotel just happens to be on the spot when Harris hops out of a taxi, resolving to go home to her three year-old daughter. It’s so drab and uninviting that a normal soul wouldn’t give it a second look. Harris and Schine quickly progress to a room which would have failed fashion tests in the fifties: anywhere less likely to pander to passion is hard to imagine. Hardly have they moved beyond writhing about on a bed to tearing off the first layer of clothing when the door crashes open and a thoroughly repulsive character enters with weaponry, beats up Schine facially to a pulp, and allegedly rapes Harris several times.
This could happen? This is only the beginning of a blackmailing nightmare during which any thoughts that Schine might have had about being a loser in life are thoroughly confirmed. A bad decision is compounded by many more; his wife, attractively blonde and stoic to the end, remains blissfully ignorant of every rash deal and double-dealing deception.

George gives a solid performance as Schine’s wife, Deanna, and is neatly juxtaposed to Aniston’s seductive siren, who, while not exactly sexy, offers wit and sophistication. Two other minor roles sparked up this thriller for me: the police detective, Franklin Church, who doggedly pursues the death of his nephew and RTZ who plays the nephew, Winston, an ex-convict whose jail-slang is utterly incomprehensible. His street-wise savvy borders on humorous, bringing a little comic relief into Schine’s gloomy existence.

Two lines of dialogue are catalysts for the plot. Harris snaps pertly, “Some people don’t appreciate what they’ve got.” The ironic reference points to Schine himself: he happens to have $100,000 saved in the bank for the diabetes crisis, partly contributed by his dutiful, hard-working wife, no doubt. A high-powered job in advertising is not to be sneezed at, even if he has lost his big account and, after all, he does have money to pay his blackmailer. The other clichéd line is “I’ll always be one step ahead of you,” attributable to the villainous criminal, LaRoche (Cassel) whose repulsion on screen is positively dazzling.

The complete recipe for a thriller is all there: glossy cinematography and trilling violins; steamy city streets with rain washed tarmac at midnight; dogged, determined detectives in mackintoshes with collars turned up; grimy, gritty prison interiors pulsing with a sense of menace. Some ironies, though, are too much to swallow: character realism fades away as our protagonist suddenly springs into super-hero, lurching one step ahead of his antagonist. He gets away with murder – literally. To say more than this, though, would be to spoil it all for those who enjoy a little adrenalin rush from a suspension of belief.