Panic Room: Review By B. Alan Orange

Code Orange Alert #37360: The Panic Room!

God must hate me. Sad, but hanging out on escalators has become more fun than hanging out with my friends. It's my fault, really. I did it to myself again. I always wind up in that same seat; a spare tire, the fifth wheel. The Orange is constantly stretched out in the back of an Oldsmobile talking to a bag while his more attractive friends kick it up a notch. Yes, they're couch dancing with a couple of hot honies inside a warm house while I'm stranded alone, in the cold, too drunk too drive on the indiscernible streets of Dana Point.

You wouldn't think an inanimate bag would have much to say. Actually, Bag never shuts up. I was kicking it with Straight Shooter on the side of a coffee mug for awhile, but he got taken away from me. Now it was just me and bag. We sat quietly, watching the stoplights change ever-so often. Then we started chatting about David Fincher's latest, Panic Room...

"Hey, Bag, have you seen the new Jodie Foster movie yet?

"No, Orange, I haven't. Should I?"

"Yes. It's actually quite good if you can overlook the Macaulay Caulkin overtones. It's as if John Hughes, disappointed with the direction of Home Alone 3, wanted to take the franchise in a whole new direction. He sought out the darkest bastard he could find, and turned the material over to him without conviction. Fincher even gives the previous films a wink by having Forest Whitaker call Dwight Yoakam "Joe Pesci". I sh*t you not. For an Ashland trained box office ticket taker, Fincher really excels at pulling this series out of turn-around. I applaud him for what looks to be the best Home Alone movie yet."

"It sounds kind of gimmicky."

"Sure, okay. But Panic Room never pretends to be anything more than what it is. The premise is low-key, but it's really David's unique look in tone that edges this piece towards perfection. He's a master camera stroker. He takes ideas explored in his previous films, such as going inside a phone jack or tracking through a brain synapse, and he executes those ideas in new, inventive ways. Pretty much, the whole house is a CGI'd cartoon, yet it never looks or feels fake. In doing this, Fincher is able to take the camera places it otherwise couldn't go."

"Can you call her Chodie Foster in your review?"

"Bag, that's not nice."

"I don't get it, though. Why'd she lock herself in that room? Haven't they proven in court that it's impossible to rape someone with a penis?"

"Bag, I'm ashamed of you."

"I kid because I love."

"Rape doesn't even play into it. These guys break into the house because there's something they want inside. The movie stays pretty vague about what it is until the right moment. Sitting there, you're constantly thinking, 'Okay, I've seen the trailer, Jodie and her kid are locked in the room. How much longer can this movie go on? What could they possibly do next to keep this thing humming?' It's fun in that way. It feels as though the characters are making decisions on the spot. Never, in the course of its running time, are we aware of any plot conventions or predictable, generic elements of contrivance. It's fresh and ready to serve."

"My dad used to have a Panic Room. He kept wetting himself. Eventually, he found out it was just a leaky can of concentrated grape juice. Then, one day, his bottom dropped out. After that, he wasn't much use to anyone. Anyway...There's got to be something you didn't like about the film. You haven't liked any films lately. You're a critic Hitler. A f*cking sh*t-f*ck cinema snob. You know, you made a little girl cry."

"I did? When? Where? Was it my face? It was my face, wasn't it?"

"No, the poor thing came across your Shipping News review. Calling Judi Dench a free donut provided by the Free Masons. She's a dame, you nasty c*nt."

"You just reminded me of something. When Dame Judi and Kevin Spacey..."

"Remember that part in Pay It Forward? Ah, I laughed for days, and I'm just a bag."

"Are you talking about when little Haley Joel Osment gets stabbed to death. Hilarious stuff, huh?"

"That was pretty funny, but I'm talking about Spacey's big teary monologue to Helen Hunt, when he's on the porch, and suddenly you realize...He's only got one eyebrow. HA! I kept rewinding, and laughing. Some pretty funny sh*t, there."

"Back to what I was saying: In the pantheon of things you never want to see on the big screen, The Shipping News gave us Judi pissing in a hole full of rock salt. Early on in Panic Room, we're treated to Jodie taking a well-deserved tinkle in the toilet. Why is this the sudden trend? Is the gesture now a broken taboo? I don't want to watch another actress urinate ever again, unless it's Meg Ryan or Gwyneth Paltrow, and they're doing it between two parked cars on a well lit street."

"Are you a double-standard man? Kevin Kline pees standing up in Life as a House, you never mentioned that. A lot of guys have peed in full view of the camera's lens. Why are you breaching this subject with me, now?"

"I'm against any kind of on-screen defecation."

"You bring up an interesting point, though. Do we see Jodie pee the same night she's locked in the Panic Room?"

"Yeah."

"Then it's justified. That's why she never has to go the whole time she's locked in that room. Because she went beforehand. Now, people coming out of the theater wont be able to ask, 'How come she never has to go to the bathroom the whole night?' Am I right?"

"The little girl never has to go to the bathroom."

"Orange, that's also a moot point. In a stressful situation, your body will throw up its own defense mechanisms. The bladder will hold its tongue, overlooking the urge to yell out, 'I need a drain.' So that the brain can stay focused on staying alive."

"I don't think Jodie is all that stressed, and this is my one major gripe with the film. She may skitter about in fright, but I think she's having fun. If you purchase a house equipped with a Panic Room, you're doing so because you secretly hope that someday, you'll be able to use it. From the moment she sees this fortified bunker, I'd bet money that she constantly daydreamed about the exact events that happen in the film. It would be like having a toy you could never play with. She wants what happens to her. Fincher never explores that idea. Jodie's lucky, she gets to put her Panic Room to good use the first night she and her daughter are in the house. How often does that happen?"

"Are you sure that's a little girl? I've seen the ads; sure looks like a little boy to me."

"No, Bag, she's definitely a little girl; albeit with a very unflattering haircut. I'll bet you ten dollars that she grows up to be a very fetching woman."

"I'm a bag; I don't have ten dollars...Ooooh, stoplight change. That's the most excitement you've seen all night."

"Shut up, Bag."

"So, how's Jodie? I haven't seen her kicking it around the block for awhile. Didn't she go crazy, or something."

"You're thinking of Tatum O'Neal. Miss Foster is her usual competent self. She held my weakening attention span for a good two hours. The whole cast is stellar. Forest Whitaker is more likable than I've ever seen him, and Dwight Yoakam is a hoot, even if he does keep a mask pulled down over his face most of the time. I did have a bit of a problem with Jared Leto, though. He's acting in a whole other movie; oblivious to the tone Fincher has set forth here. His pitch is well above everyone else; the boy soaks his vocation in cheese. The guy's a bit over-the-top and too theatrical for my taste. His bits and pieces seem glaringly obvious when compared to the more realistic performances being nailed down by his peers. This is what happens when pretty boys go bad. And what's up with his tight weave in cornrows? He looks and acts like Zippy the Wigger. This dude's got a country road to go before he'll be able to tip the talent of Brad Pitt, whom he seems to be stealing personality from. Aside from this minor annoyance, I highly recommend Panic Room."

"Well, if I don't find myself in the trash within the week, maybe I'll scoot over to the 26 and check it out."

"Good for you."

"Hmm."

We sat in silence, staring down at the intersection. We hoped to see the stoplight change once more before sunrise. I shared some spaghetti leftovers off the dashboard with Bag. Sauce dripping from his hole of a mouth, he turned towards me with a smile, "What do you say I climb on top of your head and we go stand on Jodie's porch? I can scribble 'John Hinckley' across my bag-front in black sharpie."

"Bag, that's just wrong."

We sat in the car. And then we continued to sit in the car...