In The Sentinel the president (David Rasche) faces a whole new threat: the Secret Service. One of its most respected agents Pete Garrison (Michael Douglas) is assigned to take care of the first lady (Kim Basinger) and does he ever! He has an affair with her which while utterly absurd sets the real story in motion. He receives steamy photos of the two in a blackmail scheme that he learns is part of an assassination attempt on the Prez for which he’s being framed. The agent spearheading the investigation David Breckinridge (Kiefer Sutherland) grows skeptical of Garrison whom he thinks had an affair with his wife. Before long Garrison’s on the lam in true “it wasn’t me it was the one armed guy” fashion. He’ll stop at nothing to clear his name and bring the bad guy(s) to justice even if it means hooking up to the Internet from a gas station (?) via his Dell computer the tech brand apparently most trusted by the Secret Service. Michael Douglas is back and…the same as ever. He loves to play his roles safe and it doesn’t get safer for him than the urbane almost-over-the-hill pro who yells a lot. He has a stranglehold on baby boomers who’ve stuck with him through thick and Catherine Zeta-Jones and they won’t be disappointed. Sutherland--the son of over-actors if Douglas is the father thereof--acts like he was filming on his 24 set which will make his devoted fans just as happy. The actors engage in one shouting match and it’s as engrossing as it is hilarious surprisingly. There should’ve been more of that dynamic since it’s apparently why people like these two. Eva Longoria appears in her first big movie to date and while she shows promise she’s dug herself a deep (pigeon)hole with Desperate Housewives: Fans long for a scantily clad drama queen not a docile fully clothed rookie agent. Think Sandra Bullock’s first big film role: Demolition Man. For a brief moment The Sentinel entertains us with an interesting and perhaps topical notion that a Secret Service agent with clear access to the president could be plotting an assassination. But then that’s where all the “entertaining” parts of the movie ceases of course. S.W.A.T. director Clark Johnson is at the helm here and he does up Washington D.C. Hollywood-style (in addition to giving himself a brief but important role in the film). Johnson tries to insert Sentinel into his S.W.A.T. template but S.W.A.T. for starters was R-rated and Sentinel should’ve been. When it’s not tripping over its implausibility The Sentinel trips over its predictability thanks to all of its more original predecessors from which it pilfers. And there’s so much product placement that if the film doesn’t do well at the box office we could see a ripple effect throughout the entire economy.
Sultry culinary genius Isabella (Penélope Cruz) leads an idyllic life running a seaside restaurant in Brazil with her husband Toninho (Murilo Benício) - until she finds Toninho in bed with another woman that is. Heartbroken she heads off to San Francisco and immediately finds work as -- what else? -- the host of a TV cooking show. Screwball comedy complications ensue as a prayer to a Brazilian goddess goes awry Isabella's show becomes a hit and a penitent Toninho arrives to try and win his wife back.
Perma-pouting Spanish dish Cruz ("All About My Mother") is a solid actress with an excess of on-screen charisma but she isn't particularly well served by her first Hollywood starring vehicle. Hampered by their thick accents she and hunky Brazilian co-star Benício ("Orfeu") fight their way through hokey exchanges that have no business being in English anyway. (The whole film would have gone down more smoothly in Brazil's romantic tongue Portuguese.) Of the supporting players Harold Perrineau ("The Best Man") generates the most sparks putting a surprisingly fresh spin on one of the more tired modern screen clichés: the strapping black drag queen.
Venezuelan-born helmer Fina Torres ("Celestial Clockwork") adopts the candy-shop approach to commercial storytelling packing her film with enough sexy stars bright South American colors and tangy bossa nova tunes to distract viewers from the lame predictability of Vera Blasi's script. Pinching ingredients from the Mexican food-and-sex smash "Like Water For Chocolate " the filmmakers cobble together a passable romantic fantasy in the Latin American magical-realist tradition. Too bad most of the comedy falls flatter than a Brazilian crèpe.