Tomb Raider suffers from schlocky, incomprehensible story

Julien R. Fielding

Comic books and computer games rarely make a smooth transition to major motion pictures. For every "Batman," there exists a "Barb Wire," "Punisher" or "Super Mario Brothers."

"Tomb Raider" has moments of enlightenment, with noteworthy production design, costumes, locations and cinematography; but, overall, it proves a soulless example of Hollywood excess.

The story, which should have provided some propulsion for this film, drags it into a morass of incomprehensibility.

Lady Lara Croft (Angelina Jolie) lost her father (Jon Voight) in 1985 when he went missing on an expedition. To compensate for this loss, she has toughened herself into a high-kicking, knife-wielding, gun-toting, globe-trotting archaeologist. For light entertainment, she battles colossal computerized arachnids in a spare wing of her mansion.

But the greatest adventure of her life takes place when the planets begin to align, a cosmological event that occurs only every 5,000 years. Members of a secret society, the Illuminati, have been waiting for this happenstance, for when they employ a special key (which just happens to be hidden in Croft's house) at certain geographical locations, the power to control time will be theirs.

Can Croft beat her nemesis, Manfred Powell (Iain Glen), to the punch? Or will time fall into the wrong hands?

The story was conceived by Mike Werb and Michael Colleary, the men who gave us the equally ridiculous "Face Off" and "Darkman III: Die, Darkman, Die," and written by Patrick Massett and John Zinman, both first-time writers.

This sort of schlocky story is about standard for computer games, but for the cinema, it's embarrassing. It's made even more so when supernatural beings start talking to Croft about her father, as forced a sentimentality as ever was witnessed.

There are too many fingers in this pie, as even director Simon West gets credit for the adaptation, and this results in sloppy writing, weak pacing, a careening plot and a hollow center.

Rather than focus on a solid script, the "powers that be" decided it would be better to hawk their sponsors. So Land Rover gets some beneficial screen time, as do Pepsi and Ericsson cell phones.

The three "Tomb Raider" games also should increase sales from the film, which concentrates on what sold the game in the first place - Croft, the thinking man's sex object.

The filmmakers never disappoint her admirers. Thanks to Oscar-winning clothing designer Lindy Hemming, Croft sports the microshorts and chest-clinging shirts that have made her so popular.

And director West never misses that extra opportunity to exploit our heroine with an overly long showering scene and lots of closeups on those bee-stung lips and twinkling blues.

Because "Tomb Raider" required a more recognizable name, executives tossed the real Croft, British model Rhona Mitra, aside in favor of Jolie, who then had to work with a coach to perfect the accent. (Not that she even has that many lines.)

The irony of this is that Jolie's name was nowhere to be found on the movie poster.

This Academy Award-winner is catlike and exotically beautiful, but something about her doesn't work here. Maybe it's the winks, smiles and pouts that undermine her ferocity. Maybe it's the enhanced bosom and playful stands of hair.

Angela Bassett, Carrie-Anne Moss and Gena Davis I can accept as kicking someone's posterior; Pamela Anderson and Jolie I cannot.

Croft isn't a powerhouse of feminine energy, she's the ultimate nerd fantasy. Eidos Interactive even knew what they had when they produced a glossy picture book of the computer-generated heroine, complete with centerfold, and a table-ready doll dressed in a wet suit.

So much camera attention is lavished on Croft that everyone else gets short shrift. Noah Taylor, who plays computer and electronics whiz Bryce, has a few comic moments, as does Chris Barrie, who plays Hilary the butler. Barrie has great comic timing, as cult followers of "Red Dwarf" know, but here, he gets little time to show it.

In certain lighting situations, Glen resembles Pierce Brosnan, but he never demonstrates the same abilities. As a villain, he's all wet.

Daniel Craig, who plays rival archaeologist Alex Marrs, is thrown in as an afterthought love interest.

To heighten his sex appeal, which is relatively nonexistent, the filmmakers get a few shots of the actor sans shirt. Better luck raising the dead.

Adding Voight to the roster apparently added trivia value; he is Jolie's biological father. He adds little else.

What helps the viewer endure the longest 96 minutes imaginable are the lush settings in Cambodia and Iceland, the exquisite light work by Simon Menzies Jr., interesting production design by Kirk M. Petruccelli and an often eclectic soundtrack featuring music by U2, Missy Elliot, Fatboy Slim and Graeme Revell.

But that can't sustain the type of mindless action fanatic this type of film draws. The special effects aren't even that exceptional. Stone statues that come to life in a temple are incredibly easy to dispose of, having the menace of a slobbering kitten; and the robot Croft grapples with is merely a steroid-enhanced version of A.M.E.E. from "Red Planet."

Before becoming a feature film director with "Con Air" and "The General's Daughter," West shot commercials. On "Tomb Raider," he seems to be moonlighting.

Another summer blockbuster bites the dust.

Tomb Raider suffers from schlocky, incomprehensible story was originally published in The Daily Nonpareil on 21 June, 2001. © Council Bluffs Daily Nonpareil LLC