By Blair Jackson
From the opening scene — a pathetic re-enactment of a supposedly “real” 911 call — “The Devil Inside” flops in a big way. Under the pretenses of being filmed as a documentary, this movie lacks both the plot and cinematography of the horror films from which it has drawn inspiration.

Though used before 1999, the handheld camera technique exploded onto the horror scene with “The Blair Witch Project.” Presented as a recovered documentary, the shaky camera, night-vision shots and a disorienting setting, “The Blair Witch Project” came together to create a terrifying cinematic experience. With a pinch of good acting — who doesn’t remember the snot drizzle of terror? — it became a classic horror film.

The shaky cam made another appearance almost 10 years later in “Cloverfield,” which offered audiences a mysterious, action-laden plot unfolding around a boy-girl story. Presently, the “Paranormal Activity” saga is making a boatload of cash on the simple cinematography and increasingly kooky plot following the haunting and demonic possession of an ordinary Jane.

The shaky cam technique was just one of many misses in “The Devil Inside” because it failed to establish a realistic setting. The purpose of this technique in horror films is to lure the audience into a familiar, everyday setting — a camping trip, a New Year’s Eve party or your home — only to drop a paranormal bomb on your sense of reality.

Why would a woman bring a camera along to document the possession and exorcism of her mother who killed three people? Far-fetched, I know, and it gets increasingly convoluted. I am going to go ahead and give you a spoiler alert, although nothing could actually spoil this already rotten movie.

About 20 years after her mother kills three people during an exorcism, the main character, Isabella Rossi (Fernanda Andrade), goes on a quest to reunite with her mother, who was mysteriously taken to Rome and placed in a psychiatric facility.
The reasoning behind her desire to meet her mother again is skimmed over, and the film ultimately presents an oversimplified I-just-need-to-know-and-I-need-to-know-now explanation, instead of delving into the psychological ramifications of either being the daughter of a woman who suffers from severe mental illness or demonic possession.

It turns out the Catholic Church has a school for exorcism, so Isabella and her cameraman crash the class, which is located somewhere in the Vatican City, and viewers are introduced to the two other supporting characters and arguments surrounding the legitimacy of possession.

When Isabella meets her insane mother, Maria Rossi (played by Suzan Crowley), the elder Rossi displays a variety of typical possessed routines such as talking in different accents, cutting upside down crosses into her skin and screaming like a banshee. At times, Crowley’s acting borders on hilarious, but even then doesn’t quite enter the realm of bad, which makes it painfully mediocre to watch.

Isabella recruits two of the priests she met at Exorcism 101, Ben (Simon Quarterman) and David (Evan Helmuth), to help her evaluate her mother. It is then revealed that these two renegades are performing exorcisms as a side project, aiding those rejected by the Catholic Church who have fallen through “cracks in the system.” Here lies the original hook of the story: These are unauthorized exorcisms, done outside of the Catholic Church’s jurisdiction in a kind of back-alley, vigilante undertaking.

Filmmaker Michael and Isabella tag along for an exorcism. (Y’know, just to make sure it’s legit.) I’ll spare you the play-by-play, but you can expect contortion, crawling up the walls, blood spatters and vaginal bleeding — nothing new to anyone who has watched “The Exorcist” or “The Exorcism of Emily Rose.” If you haven’t seen these movies, by the way, go rent both of them instead of watching “The Devil Inside.”

The priests’ rejection and disapproval of the Catholic Church is possibly the most unrealistic aspect of the film. The idea that Catholic priests would record exorcisms not only in blatant contradiction to the Church but also as a means of protest, serves only as a plot device to make sense of the idea that audiences are witnessing an actual exorcism.

Jason Miller’s performance as Father Karras in “The Exorcist” is a balanced, intriguing portrayal of a man of God faced with human failings and doubt. “The Exorcist” captures the heat of that battle, while “The Devil Inside” tunes in after the battle has been lost.

Who lost the battle is up for debate because the movie ends as a cliffhanger in one of the most unresolved scenes in movie history.

I’m guessing the devil wins because David shoots himself, Isabella cuts someone’s throat, and Michael is enchanted (by Isabella’s command) to commit suicide while driving Isabella and Ben to a priest’s house.

Ha, I ruined it!
Now you don’t have to waste your money to go see it.
But I don’t feel bad, considering moviegoers across the nation are asking themselves, “Really? That’s it?” at the end of each showing of “The Devil Inside.”
Yes, please. Let that be it.
No sequel is needed. In fact, what possessed these people to make this movie in the first place?

The only things worse than Part 1 will be Part 2

By Matt Dekinder
Contributing TFW Writer

After watching what is now the fourth (!) “Twilight” movie I now know how Bond must have felt when he faced off against Blofeld, or Sherlock Holmes when he matched wits with Professor Moriarty.

“Well hello my old nemesis, we meet again.”

Look, by this point the penultimate film in the series (fully titled “The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn — Part 1”) isn’t going to sway any converts one way or the other.

You are either fully invested in the teenage love triangle of Bella (Kristen Stewart) and her supernatural boy toys, vampire Edward (Robert Pattinson) and werewolf Jacob (Taylor Lautner), or you would rather spend your time with your tongue duct-taped to the back of a speeding Greyhound bus.

There’s not much middle ground.

For me, it’s not even really about the fact that these movies are terrible no matter what metric you use: acting, directing, plotting or dialogue. The simple fact is that none of this really matters.

What I’ve come to respect and marvel at about the “Twilight” series is the undeniable cultural impact and devoted following these movies (and the books they are based on) have inspired.
I’ve spent a lot of time trying to psychoanalyze the large, primarily female audience and what exactly causes otherwise discerning and intelligent moviegoers to go gaga over this silly and increasingly ludicrous love story.

Ultimately this not only was a mistake, but a waste of time as well, because I think the appeal of these movies takes place on such a basic level that they go well beyond any kind of simple rationalization.

Take this most recent movie for example: it’s kind of amazing how little actually happens.
It begins with the wedding of Edward and Bella, then comes a honeymoon featuring a single, wooden night of romantic bliss followed by a hyper-accelerated pregnancy and a whole lot of hand wringing about Bella’s health and some moderate danger from Jacob’s pack of fellow werewolves who want to take down Bella’s unborn, half-vampire baby.
Throw in a patently ridiculous and intensely creepy resolution of the lingering love triangle and that is literally the entire movie.

I’m reminded of soap operas where you can watch the show for three weeks and in that time maybe half a day of action has taken place for the characters, if you are lucky.
The entire “Twilight” series has managed to bring the soap opera time-warp seamlessly to the big screen, as we are well over eight hours in and I’d be willing to bet a good seven and a half of those hours has been spent talking about feelings.

The point is that these movies are the perfect empty vessels for the viewer willing to do most of the work to pour in all of his or her preconceived notions of love, romance and vampire/werewolf political tensions. As much as I despise these movies, that is a parade I am not willing to rain on, no matter how much Stewart’s unrelenting sourness makes me regret my career choice. So party on Twi-hards, you have no apologies to make for your love of this pulpy, romantic saga; just don’t take it personally when the rest of us decide to party elsewhere.

As for myself, I only have to endure one more battle with next year’s grand finale “The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn — Part 2.” Only the strong survive.

“The Debt” is an example of a bungled movie. It has a fascinating premise and (for the most part) a solid cast, yet it stumbles in its execution and what could have been a taught little political thriller is instead an unwieldy clunker that at times borders on self-parody.
Because of my sunny disposition, I’ll first focus on the positive. The movie is told in flashbacks, and flashforwards and maybe even a flash-sideways or two, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

It is the story of three Israeli Mossad agents who in the 1960s travel to East Germany to kidnap a former Nazi surgeon (played with creepy effectiveness by Jesper Christensen) and bring him to trial in Israel.

The kidnapping goes as planned, but extraction proves to be more difficult and the trio is forced to hold their prisoner captive for weeks in a cramped and dingy Berlin apartment. All this sounds pretty fascinating doesn’t it?

Especially when you throw in a complex love triangle that forms between the agents Rachel (Jessica Chastain), David (Sam Worthington) and Stephan (Marton Csokas) who are trapped in this bizarre situation.

Unfortunately the movie lets all the air out of the tension of this ordeal by showing how it was resolved in the first 10 minutes of the film. As we cut to the late 1990s we find middle-aged Rachel (now played by Helen Mirren), David (now played by Ciaran Hinds) and Stephan (now played by Tom Wilkinson) as national heroes who carry some great, unspoken burden.

What I found to be frustrating is that you can see that by simply moving some elements of the story around, perhaps in a more linear fashion, that “The Debt” has the potential to be a very good movie.

I suppose most of the blame for the failure of this movie should be laid at the feet of director John Madden. I consider Madden to be a solid director, best known for helming Academy-Award-winner “Shakespeare in Love,” but here it is clear that his ambition far exceeds his skill level.

Madden retraces his own steps so many times in this movie as scenes are replayed with only the slightest details added on that you begin to feel like you’re trapped in a maze with no cheese.

The other main problem with the film is that large sections of it sag under the weight of the wooden Sam Worthington. The Australian actor, best known for his roles in “Avatar” and “Clash of the Titans,” is so out of place it would be akin to Sylvester Stallone being cast as Oskar Schindler.

When Hinds assumes the same role later in the film, I found myself thinking “Wow, David’s accent just got a whole lot more consistent and he seems to be having some sort of human connection with the people around him. Weird.”

The worst part is that Worthington distracts from yet another eye-catching performance by Chastain. She continues her white-hot meteoric rise here in 2011 that has also included striking turns in “The Tree of Life” and “The Help.”

Finally the whole movie comes down to a geriatric showdown that borders on the ridiculous, evoking more giggles than profound emotion.
“The Debt” plays out as a continual series of misfires that each on their own aren’t particularly lethal, but taken all together serve to bring down a movie with great potential.

“The Debt” is rated R for some violence and language.

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Let’s break out the war-movie checklist of familiarity, shall we? We follow a small, rag-tag unit of marines who make great sacrifices and overcome tremendous odds to win the day. Check.

We have the grizzled, battle-scarred veteran thrown in with a young group of soldiers he’s never met before. Check.

We have uber-green, young officer, fresh from the academy leading soldiers into battle for the first time. Check.

We have the jumpy private who likely won’t make it past the second reel. Check.

Lots of gritty action sequences shot with a hand-held camera to emphasize the confusion and disorientation of war. Check.

Alien invaders from outer space. Um. Hm. John Wayne never said anything about aliens. OK, so maybe extraterrestrials aren’t a part of the conventional war-movie formula, but don’t tell that to “Battle: Los Angeles.”

The best off-the-cuff description of this movie is to say that it is “Black Hawk Down” meets “Independence Day.” As far as war movies go, it is conventional to the point of being cliché, but by introducing the sci-fi element to the proceedings, believability kinda gets thrown out the window leaving you to only worry about the action, which “Battle: Los Angeles” has in spades.

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The story is fairly straightforward. Aaron Eckhart stars as Michael Nantz a staff sergeant on the brink of retirement after several decorated tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. Mysterious meteors begin falling into the oceans of the world outside of major population centers and Nantz gets thrown in with a new unit when it becomes clear the aliens on board aren’t here for Reese’s Pieces or Richard Dreyfuss.

Nantz and his marines are tasked with clearing a portion of Santa Monica of civilians before the air force bombs the invading aliens to kingdom come. Naturally the aliens prove to be a little more formidable than anyone expected.

Director Jonathan Liebesman knows his war movies and knows how to keep the focus of the movie on the soldiers themselves. He’s a little shakier when it comes to originality, the special effects and the battle sequences, which while impressive, occasionally lack clarity and threaten to leave the audience lost in the fog of war.

In the end there is not a lot here for anyone but genre fans. Hardcore sci-fi fans may be a little disappointed too, as the aliens themselves aren’t the direct focus of the movie. I’m still not even entirely sure what they looked like, other than that they were tall and had heads that looked like the wheel well of a ’57 Chevy.

But people who like gritty war movies or people who just like watching stuff explode will be more than happy as “Battle: Los Angeles” leaves you feeling charged up and ready to go. In fact, if the Marine Corps was smart they’d have a recruiter standing outside every theater in the country where this movie is playing, and maybe leave out the fact that we aren’t currently at war with the crab nebula. Hoo-rah!

“Battle: Los Angeles” is rated PG-13 for sustained and intense sequences of war violence and destruction, and for language.

The Terrifying Tale of “The Brave Little Movie Critic”

Once upon a time there was a brave, little movie critic who ventured alone into the deep, dark Cineplex. He was lured there by the prospects of seeing a classic fairy tale retold with a stylish, modern twist. Lo, for what he found instead was the bland, silly and utterly lifeless “Red Riding Hood.”

Our brave, little movie critic initially felt hopeful at the prospects of a tweaking of the original tale. Sadly such stories exist in the public domain and are free to fall into the clutches of wicked studio executives who are obligated to pay no one for their rights and use them to turn a quick buck.

It was this last little tidbit that should have alerted our hero to leave a trail of heavily-buttered popcorn kernels behind him to facilitate a hasty escape.

Alas, he was none the wiser when he took his seat and the film unspooled before him. At first all appeared to be in order as the camera swept over a vaguely-European, Medieval  village to meet up with the charming and buxom Red Riding Hood (boasting the Christian name of Valerie) played by the generally agreeable Amanda Seyfried.

The rest of the cast filled out rather nicely, with Billy Burke and Virginia Madsen as Valerie’s parents and Julie Christie as the plot-important Grandmother who lives alone in the woods.

The plot unfolded acceptably enough as the town is terrorized by the specter of a big, bad wolf who one day decides to attack and kill Valerie’s sister.

Our brave, little movie critic was even heartened at the appearance of the beloved Gary Oldman who (almost) makes any movie better just by showing up.

Alas, it quickly became apparent that “Red Riding Hood” was beyond saving even as Oldman’s Father Soloman warns the townsfolk that it is no normal wolf that stalks them, but is instead a werewolf that lives in their village.

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Against this backdrop of a flawed who-done-it, a clunky love-triangle develops between Valerie, her betrothed and bland blacksmith Henry (Max Irons) and bad-boy, tree cutter Peter (Shiloh Fernandez).

The brave, little movie critic cast the blame for this debacle at the feet of director Catherine Harwicke, who also brought the pox of “Twilight” upon the world. Here she manages to conjure up an even shallower attempt to loosen the pocketbooks of 14-year-old girls by favoring style over substance and hunky boys staring dreamily into the camera over any trace of actual relationships.

It was then that our brave, little movie critic had enough and stood and shouted into the darkness, “’Red Riding Hood,’ what horrible plotting you have.”

“The better to bore you with, my dear,” it replied.

The brave, little movie critic tried again. “’Red Riding Hood,’ what brutally stilted and unnatural dialogue you have.”

“The better to make you squirm uncomfortably in your seat with, my dear,” it replied.

“’Red Riding Hood,’ what awkward performances you have,” said the brave, little movie critic.

“The better to destroy the careers of well-respected actors with, my dear,” it said.

And with that our brave, little movie critic could only hope for a woodsman to arrive to chop an escape-hole through the back of the theater.

Alas, our hero was forced to endure through the goofy conclusion, left only to run out into the streets warning away others from wasting their hard-earned shekels on such a hallow film and pleading with the heavens for two hours of his life back.

The End

“Red Riding Hood” is rated PG-13 for violence and creature terror and some sensuality.

But I won’t do that, and not just because my editors would lock me in the secret dungeon they keep beneath the newsroom. “The Adjustment Bureau” is actually worthy of more than a simple, dismissive summarization as it stands as a strong entry into the very small science fiction/romance genre.

The movie stars Matt Damon as up-and-coming politician David Norris. When we first meet David, he is running for Senate when he has a chance, bathroom encounter with the beautiful and charming Elise, played by Emily Blunt.

The two immediately hit it off, but Elise runs away before David can get her phone number. Not long after this David quite accidentally discovers the Adjustment Bureau at work when he arrives at his office to find all of his co-workers frozen and his business partner having his head scanned by a group of fedora-wearing gentlemen.

Matt Damon and Emily Blunt in "The Adjustment Bureau"

It is revealed that the Bureau has the job of making little tweaks and changes to people’s lives in order to keep humanity on the track of a predetermined “plan.” David is threatened with total memory erasure if he reveals the existence of the group and is told he must never see Elise again as she is not a part of his chosen path.

Not one to take no for an answer, David doggedly pursues Elise even though the entirety of the universe is working to keep them apart.

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The simple fact of the matter is that this is a love story, and like any great dramatic love story there needs to be obstacles the couple must overcome before they live happily ever after. Sure David and Elise’s obstacles are a little more freaky-deaky than your typical romantic-comedy couple has to deal with, but that’s part of what makes “The Adjustment Bureau” such a fun ride.

The movie is based on a short story by sci-fi author Philip K. Dick whose work typically takes on a much bleaker outlook. Expect more smiles and warm fuzzies than you got when watching “Blade Runner” or “Total Recall.” “The Adjustment Bureau” is the directorial debut of George Nolfi who made his name as the screenwriter of movies like “Ocean’s Twelve” and “The Bourne Ultimatum.”

Nolfi makes the transition to the director’s chair quite nicely as he manages to strike the perfect tone and pacing throughout the film. The movie’s not loaded with special effects but still finds clever ways to be visually formidable and there are even a few nifty action sequences with chases around New York City through magical doorways that drastically cut the distance between Point A and Point B.

But as much credit as Nolfi deserves for pulling this movie together, equal praise should go to the cast. There is a certain nobility to the members of the Adjustment Bureau (peopled with such fine actors as Anthony Mackie, John Slattery and Terence Stamp) that makes you sympathetic to their cause, even as they are trying to squash true love.

Damon and Blunt have the requisite amount of chemistry as Blunt strongly makes the case that after a few minutes of flirting you would easily be willing to defy heaven and earth for her as well.

As far as sci-fi flicks go, “The Adjustment Bureau” isn’t exactly mind-blowing; but it does receive points for being heartwarming and romantic, which is a frontier few science fiction movies have boldly gone before.

The Adjustment Bureau is rated PG-13 for brief strong language, some sexuality and a violent image.

Depp’s voice alone is enough to throw things delightfully off-kilter, as proven in the pitch-perfect, computer-animated film “Rango.”
I guess the best way to describe “Rango” is to imagine taking four-parts Spaghetti Western, one-part “The Lion King,” two-parts “Chinatown” and three-parts “Blazing Saddles”; dumping it all in a blender and pressing “puree.”

Depp plays the titular character Rango, a bug-eyed, squiggly-necked pet chameleon whose lonely existence is spent in his aquarium putting on dramatic, one-man productions for no one in particular.

Suddenly fate, in the form of a vehicular mishap, leaves Rango alone along the side of a blistering highway in the middle of the Mojave Desert.
He receives mystic guidance from an armadillo aptly named Roadkill (Alfred Molina), to head deep into the desert to a town called Dirt.

Once there he finds all manner of varmints and critters in a town that is quite literally drying up, as water is scarce and becoming increasingly harder to come by.

Completely out of his element, Rango decides to assume the role of a rough-and-tumble frontiersman and thanks to a lot of false bravado and a little luck he thoroughly convinces the townsfolk – to the point they make him their sheriff.

Tasked with finding out what happened to the water, Rango crosses paths with the requisite Western character-types. There is the mayor with murky motivations in the form of a leathery-old turtle (Ned Beatty), the no-nonsense love interest Beans (Isla Fisher) who is a newt trying to hold onto her family farm, the cynical kid looking for a hero (Abigail Breslin) and the dastardly, no-good villain, Rattlesnake Jake (Bill Nighy).
“Rango” was directed by Gore Verbinski who helmed all three “Pirates of the Caribbean” movies, which were basically big cartoons in their own right. Say what you like about the dude, but Verbinski certainly can put together an action sequence and “Rango” is chock full of them.

What is typically the case with animated films is the actors deliver their lines alone in a recording booth, but Verbinski rather unconventionally assembled the entire cast in one place and recorded them acting out their lines.
While this method doesn’t exactly revolutionize the medium, it does subtly improve the interaction between the characters and makes conversation between a chameleon and a horny toad seem as realistic as is possible.

When all is said and done, “Rango” is a delightfully strange little movie that effectively offers up a nice little “it’s OK to be yourself” message. Be aware that it might be a little on the dark side for very young children and it adopts a tone that is more amusing than laugh-out-loud funny.

Visually though, the movie is nothing short of spectacular and avoids the 3D craze proving that plain, ol’ two dimensions can still be eye-popping.

And really, who better than Depp to play a chameleon suffering from an identity crisis? It’s like his entire career has been summed up in one goofy little reptile. The only way they could ever hope to top it would be to get Mel Gibson to play an emotionally-unstable kangaroo. I guess we’ll just have to wait for the sequel.

“Rango” is rated PG for rude humor, language, action and smoking.

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“Hall Pass” is rated R for crude and sexual humor throughout, language, some graphic nudity and drug use.

By Mat DeKinder

“Cedar Rapids” is one of those rare comedies that simultaneously aims for highbrow and lowbrow hilarity, and then manages to hit both marks.
It is a tale of innocence lost. It’s got poop jokes. And it happens to be the funniest movie of a young 2011.
Tim Lippe, as played by rising comedy star Ed Helms, is a rube of the highest order. He lives in the small town of Brown Valley, Wisconsin and works for Brown Star Insurance – a company name with the comedic subtlety of a seventh-grade boy.
Tim is devoid of vices, friendly, timid and dates his old sixth-grade teacher (Sigourney Weaver, still foxy after all these years). He’s practically begging for a real-world wakeup call.
The call comes unexpectedly when Tim is asked by his boss (Stephen Root, who instantly makes any movie better) to deliver a presentation at an insurance conference in the “big city” of Cedar Rapids, Iowa.
We chuckle as Tim is blown away by such exotics as air travel, rental cars and an African-American roommate, fellow insurance agent Ronald Wilkes (Isiah Whitlock Jr.) who turns out to be even blander than Tim.
Fate and hotel overbooking saddles Tim with a second roommate, the relentlessly obnoxious Dean Ziegler (as played by comedic-force-of-nature John C. Reilly). It’s almost strange to think that Reilly was once best-known as a dramatic actor because he might be the funniest guy working in Hollywood today.
Dean, or “Deanzie” as he likes to be called, is a fountain of scatological jokes and offensive comments, but he also boasts a strong sense of loyalty and a surprisingly fixed moral compass.
This complexity of the characters is what makes “Cedar Rapids” more than a run-of-the-mill comedy. These are real people, granted they are painted to the extreme, but they are much more than just empty shells there to allow the actors to mug for the camera.
This may be best illustrated in the character of Joan played by Anne Heche. We’ll ignore the fact that she might be the most attractive insurance agent in history and instead focus on how this convention veteran fits right in as one of the guys.
Yet when it becomes clear that this annual trip to Cedar Rapids is the highlight of her year and an escape from a weighty family life, a sense of quiet desperation creeps into her character. Heche has never been better and because we get to know these characters so well their misadventures become all the funnier.
Independent-film veteran director Miguel Arteta takes care to inject heart into his movie, but never at the expense of the jokes. Plus, at a lean 86 minutes, the movie never gives itself time to drag, which is a cue other comedy directors could certainly learn from (I’m looking at you Judd Apatow).
I’m fully aware that my praise for “Cedar Rapids” makes the movie sound a little dry, but please make no mistake, you will laugh at this movie. A lot. And that credit goes to the cast.
Reilly gets all the best lines and delivers them with vigor, and Heche displays the chops of a seasoned comedienne. Whitlock makes for a great straight-man and his character’s professed love for the HBO program “The Wire” is funny not only because it pays off later in the movie, but also because Whitlock himself had a recurring role on the show.
But this movie is all about Tim’s journey and Helms pulls it off effortlessly. As Tim’s illusions are shattered and he succumbs to various temptations, Helms somehow manages to keep Tim’s naiveté from becoming pathetic. He winds up being a guy you root for, not someone you pity. Helms is quietly becoming one of Hollywood’s most bankable comedic actors.
Who knew there was this much fun and excitement in Cedar Rapids? Maybe if we’re lucky there will be a sequel to show us the wild times to be had in Des Moines.
“Cedar Rapids” is rated R for crude and sexual content, language and drug use.

Mat DeKinder was once described as the “Jackie Moon of film critics” by a guy named Nate.

By Matt DeKinder

Liam Neeson has stumbled onto a title not usually acquired by men in their late 50s: Action Hero. With the surprise box-office hit “Taken,” Neeson became such a dogged, blood-splattering force for good that it became clear the 21^st Century had found its Charles “Death Wish” Bronson or Clint “Dirty Harry” Eastwood.

Neeson takes up this badass mantle again in “Unknown,” yet another little solidly made, grownup thriller. While Neeson does play a decidedly different character this time around and “Unknown” features a much less direct plotline, the spiritual kinship to “Taken” is unmistakable.

Neeson plays Martin Harris, a doctor traveling to a conference in Berlin with his wife Elizabeth (January Jones). After forgetting his briefcase at the airport, Martin hops back in a taxi only to be knocked unconscious in a wreck that sends the vehicle crashing into a river.

He is pulled to safety by Gina the taxi driver (Diane Kruger of “Inglorious Basterds”) but spends the next four days in a coma. When Martin wakes up he discovers that he has no identification and that nobody, including his wife, seems to remember who he is.

In attempting to prove his identity, Martin enlists the help of Gina and former East German secret police officer Ernst Jurgen, played by venerable German actor Bruno Ganz.

Americans likely will recognize Ganz from his portrayal of Hitler in the exceptional film “Downfall,” a movie most people are familiar with thanks to various Internet clips where the subtitles have been replaced to make Ganz’s Hitler rant about everything from the Dallas Cowboys to the Republican Party.

Anyway, while attempting to reclaim his life, it becomes clear that Martin is at the center of some very sinister events, the machinations of which he must uncover or wind up dead.

Much of the first half of “Unknown” is a slow burn as Martin struggles with the frustration of losing his identity and questioning his own sanity.

You might even start to think you are watching a purely psychological thriller; that is until all the punching, car-chasing and exploding launches “Unknown” into a higher gear.

As an action flick, “Unknown” is tightly-drawn and satisfying, very much akin to what you might find in a “Bourne” movie. Spanish director Jaume Collet-Serra (who until now has been best known for directing lousy horror movies like “Orphan” and the remake of “House of Wax”) actually shows a lot of restraint by never letting the plot twists or action sequences come across as overly ridiculous.

While the rest of the cast is solid (including supporting turns by Aidan Quinn and Frank Langella) this is Neeson’s movie all the way.

His anguish and confusion take center stage until enough is enough. Then Neeson’s relentless determination takes over. I think having dinner with Neeson would be a stressful proposition, especially in a situation where you both were reaching for the last buffalo wing. Because if he wants that last wing, HE’S GOING TO GET THAT LAST WING!

Without Neeson, “Unknown” is an average movie at best, but with him an air of authenticity creeps into the film making it worthy of your time an attention. “Unknown” isn’t revolutionary or transcendent, but for action/thriller fans it’s a great way to spend two hours.

“Unknown” is rated PG-13 for some intense sequences of violence and action, and brief sexual content.

Mat DeKinder was once described as the “Jackie Moon of film critics” by a guy named Nate.