The Million Dollar Hotel

Synopsis: FBI special agent Skinner (Mel Gibson) is called into to investigate the unexplained death of Izzy Goldkiss at the Million Dollar Hotel in Los Angeles. Amongst its inhabitants are Tom-Tom (Jeremy Davies) and Eloise (Milla Jovovich).

In 1988 Wim Wenders made Wings Of Desire, a then refreshingly different, albeit somewhat pretentious, art-house film set in Berlin starring Peter Falk and Bruno Ganz. It was a huge success and elevated its director to the status of Significant Artist. In 2000 the Significant Artist has made a very boring, very pretentious film set in Los Angeles starring Mel Gibson and it won't be successful.

The Million Dollar Hotel is one of those films that about five minutes into it you suspect it's going to be a long ride and you start looking for some glimmer that will brighten the journey. I looked for two hours but it didn't get any brighter.

Visually the film is clever. There's a wonderful opening sequence, lots of fluid crane work and craftily-lit and framed shots suggestive of an urban dystopia. But as for anything else, forget it.

Adapted by Nicholas Klein from a story he co-wrote with Bono (which should be enough to induce serious misgivings The Million Dollar Hotel is an existentialist detective story wanting to present an underclass of outcasts who've been failed by the mental health system as a critique of mainstream society (imagine One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, but take out Murphy and Nurse Ratchett and insert a fractured love story between two complete nit-wits.

The essential problem with The Million Dollar Hotel is that it's a mish-mash of clichés. From the copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude that Eloise clutches, to the many-candle lit sax player seen through the apartment window, to the antics of the street crazies (is this the best work that Amanda Plummer can get these days?), we've seen it all before. The pointless script is dull and contrived, the acting is awful. Mel Gibson is unconvincing but Jeremy Davies and Milla Jovovich are just painful. And what's worse, you've got to listen to U2 music. So when you're at the ticket counter and your companion says "I hear the new Jim Carrey movie is pretty good" take heed, my friend, take heed.

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