Constantine Falls From Grace

Warner Bros. new DC Comic’s adaptation Constantine is probably the best $80-million anti-smoking commercial ever made. Keanu Reeves’ central character is so consumed by his addiction, so unable to quit even with the certain knowledge of imminent death and a literal trip to purgatory weighing on his conscience that I really can’t think of a better filmed depiction of the terribly corrosive power of tobacco.

Too bad the movie itself borderline stinks. Oh well, a girl can’t have everything.

Based on the acclaimed Hellblazer comic book series, freshman director Francis Lawrence’s Constantine is a mishmash of religious mumbo-jumbo and existential ideas ripped straight out of numerous other pictures from The Exorcist to The Omen to even the 1995 mess The Prophecy starring Christopher Walken. There isn’t an original thought to be found, not one idea that hasn’t been used before, and except for some really excellent visuals there’s not a thing here worth talking about.

Okay, maybe that’s probably a bit of a stretch. The story of John Constantine (Reeves), a man who knows there is both a Heaven and a Hell and that he’s slated to go headfirst into the latter, this movie sounds almost fun on paper. John’s a demon hunter, sending the minions of Hell back down to Satan every time they break an age-old ceasefire between God and Beelzebub in hopes he’ll do enough good deeds to earn his way into Heaven. But time is running out on Constantine, lung cancer whittling him away leaving him with maybe a year more to live.

But when police detective Angela Dodson (Rachel Weisz) comes to him for help investigating the mysterious suicide of her sister, John discovers the balance between good and evil, Heaven and Hell, is starting to slide in the wrong direction. Now, with the forces of darkness intent on helping Satan’s son rise and ravage the Earth, Constantine just may be the last, best hope for a humanity clueless to just how close they’re coming to total damnation.

Yeah, well, like I said, this isn’t exactly the most original storyline to pop out of the head of a Hollywood screenwriter, but, at least in this case, writers Kevin Brodbin and Frank Capello seemingly manage to mine from every religious thriller imaginable. They crib freely from each and every one of them with a wild abandon bordering on the criminal, the resulting mess of a movie enough to confound and appall even the most jaded moviegoer. In fact, a late third act twist featuring both Tilda Swinton and Peter Stormare (who it must be admitted are both wonderful) is so blatantly lifted from The Prophecy I literally slapped my head.

Not everything about Constantine reeks, however. As I said earlier, the visual look and feel of the picture is stunning. Philippe Rousselot’s cinematography, Naomi Shohan’s production design and David Lazan’s art direction are simply amazing, ranking up there with some of the best I’ve seen in quite some time. In fact, if you combine these visuals with Klaus Badelt’s awesome score and turn off all other sound effects and the insipid dialogue this would rank as one heck of a brilliant silent film.

There are a few other decent touches. Reeves (not the best actor in the world but good in low-key roles like this) and Weisz are both fine, while both Djimon Hounsou and Pruitt Taylor Vince have some great character moments as a demonically neutral barkeep and a psychic priest, respectfully. But so what? The movie is such a complete muddled waste of time and talent (and what exactly is Shia LaBeouf doing running around as a pre-pubescent cab driving geek?) and is so devoid of a single original idea all it really does is make you want to scream.

But, if you ever wanted to quit smoking, this is definitely the movie for you, the site of tobacco tar drenching the hands of Satan enough to make even the most hard-headed smoker consider buying some Nicorette. Too bad the rest of Constantine falls from grace with a thud so thundering the sound still rings in my ears over a week later.

Film Rating: ê1/2  (out of 4)