The Roommate directed by Christian E. Christiansen is ostensibly a remake of the 1992 film Single White Female a trashily effective thriller about a woman who gradually awakes to the realization that her Stepford roommate is a actually homicidal stalker. The Roommate’s twist on the concept is to shift the setting from Manhattan and the world of 20-something yuppies to a freshman dorm at the University of Los Angeles a fictional school whose enrollment is apparently limited strictly to models and other members of the genetic aristocracy. (Seriously they couldn’t have thrown in a few nebbish tutors or tubby teacher’s assistants?)
It’s not a half-bad idea truth be told. Dorms after all are places where emotionally undeveloped young adults are herded together and forced to live on very intimate terms with people they’ve never met where personality defects are exacerbated by chronic sleep deprivation and diets heavy on caffeine alcohol and junk food. This unfortunately is the only wrinkle of inspiration to be found in The Roommate’s otherwise rote succession of stalker-flick clichés assembled in a hasty bid to capitalize on the cresting popularity of its attractive young stars.
Former Friday Night Lights star and current Jeter conquest Minka Kelly plays Sara a perky aspiring fashion designer whose only discernable flaw is a fatal blindness to the warning signs of psycho-bitch disorder a plethora of which are exhibited by her dormmate Rebecca (Gossip Girl and Country Strong star Leighton Meester) a friendly but temperamental art student pursuing a double major in Applied Batshitry.
Sara adjusts to college life well making friends excelling at schoolwork and even finding a boyfriend an eighth-year senior named Stephen (Twilight alum Cam Gigandet looking every bit the 28-year-old). All of which proves vexing to Rebecca whose interests appear restricted to 1) Sara and 2) staring menacingly at anyone who gets near Sara.
As Sara’s social life thrives Rebecca’s jealousy and infatuation deepen and her behavior becomes increasingly disturbed. What begins with simple passive aggressiveness eventually escalates to include self-mutilation threats of violence actual violence spontaneous lesbianism (but not with Sara sadly) implied kitten torture and finally murder.
How director Christiansen manages to cycle through all of these titillating elements without producing any actual titillation is something of an accomplishment. He’s held back a bit by the film’s strict PG-13 sensibility which requires us more or less to imagine the blood that Rebecca spills but he also plays things much too straight. A film like The Roommate needs a healthy dose of wry humor to make the craziness palatable to acknowledge that yes this is pretty freaking far-fetched. Part of the appeal of Single White Female was that it knew that it was cheap and tawdry and ridiculous; The Roommate unfortunately is not quite so self-aware. No film featuring a beret-clad Billy Zane as a college professor should ever take itself so seriously.
Completely stripping Catwoman of her "Batman" connections the geniuses behind this comic-book movie--at least as bad as Spider-Man 2 is good--also stripped it of any pleasure. Neither campy a la Julie Newmar and Eartha Kitt of the old TV series nor sexy vamp like Michelle Pfeiffer of Batman Returns Halle Berry's Catwoman is well one lost little kitty in the big city. Actually she's Patience Philips--an annoyingly mousy graphics designer for a top cosmetics firm who despite her job has no fashion sensibility no self-confidence and no boyfriend. (Yeah riiiight!) She is befriended by a mystical Egyptian Mau cat which--courtesy of lousy digital effects--often looks disturbingly like Toonces and sounds like Linda Blair in The Exorcist when it meows; moreover its way of befriending Patience is to lure her into a suicide attempt--one of many plot points lacking a rationale. When Patience discovers that the cosmetics firm's villainous owner (Lambert Wilson) and aging supermodel wife (Sharon Stone) are marketing a toxic disfiguring facial cream she is killed--flushed through a drainage system into the ocean. But here comes that darn cat again to revive her as she's lying in sludge and mud. Next thing she knows she's sleeping on her apartment's bookshelf eating tuna by the caseload looking longingly at Jaguar hood ornaments as if they're long-lost relatives and jumping about walls basketball courts and whatnot faster than a speeding bullet. She also takes to wearing a pointy-eared black-leather dominatrix outfit along with too much makeup but at least no whiskers. She also starts sniffing around that foul cosmetics firm which leads to a martial-arts showdown with Stone. What the Oscar-winning Berry doesn't do regrettably is get a CAT scan to see what kind of ailment convinced her to make this lamebrain movie.
I've seen better acting on 7-Eleven surveillance videos than in Catwoman. Berry is cloying in the film's early stages when she's playing insecure lonely Patience and she's more pathetically childlike than anything else. Once she's Catwoman though she's really terrible tilting her head for endless close-ups and giving lots of wide-eyed stares meant to conjure feline curiosity but that more recall George W. Bush's "deer-in-the-headlights" gaze. The screenplay makes a few lame attempts to observe the duality of women in the way Patience changes to Catwoman but it's not there in the performance. Yet Berry's turn is a career-peak gem compared to Stone who can't decide whether to play the power-mad Laurel Hedare as a broad cartoonish send-up or as someone connected to reality. Looking like a vampiric Susan Powter and barking sarcastic lines without a hint of emotional connection to her character Stone is just awful. On the plot's fringes Benjamin Bratt does his best as a police officer (gee what else) who is both infatuated with Berry and suspects her of murder.
The one-named French director Pitof (short for "pitoful"?) supposedly is a digital-imaging expert who has worked with City of Lost Children's Jean-Pierre Jeunet but you'd never know it here. Either he doesn't know much about directing actors or maybe he only gives directions in French. The effects--especially action scenes involving a digitalized version of Berry--move at such a chaotic breakneck pace that she looks completely phony. Plus there's absolutely no sequential logic whatsoever to where Catwoman moves and when--apparently invisibility is one of her superpowers. These awkward clumsy scenes are usually accompanied by distractingly loud music. Pitof's only other directing credit is some obscure French flick starring Gerard Depardieu…one hopes Catwoman will be his last.