Journey to the End of the Night

Mos Definitely not worth it

     

Few things sadden me more than watching a fine, well-directed cast struggle to escape the confines of a wretched script. Why is it so many directors think they're also scriptwriters? This reads like a suburban American teenager's vision of Sao Paolo's underworld: sophomoric, predictable, and with dialogue that, when occasionally it raises its numb skull above the mire of cliche and self-conscious melodrama, finds itself getting whacked with the incoherence stick. The "climax" is particularly dreadful, with an embarrassing pile-up of non-sequiturs and handguns, as Eason confirms his amazing lack of structural sensibility by simply killing off every character who stands in the way of his ham-handed, moralist's idea of closure. Do us a favor, MIster Eason: stick to directing, and stay away from the keyboard.

Mos Def is gradually becoming one of the finer actors working in the English language: for 99 cents, it's almost worth renting this just to watch his subtly genius morphing into a Nigerian dishwasher. But not quite. Neither he, nor all the sepia tinting in the world, can help "Journey" find its way out of the dark.