Demme and screenwriters Pyne and Georgaris have done a brilliant job of updating MC's red menace to a much broader, more insidious financial threat. The Manchuria of the title is no longer a province in China where American soldiers are programmed into commie assassins, but an investment company with an octopus-like grasp throughout dozens of countries and industries, including advanced medical research into mind control. Manchuria is clearly based on the Carlyle Group, voted #1 Conspiracy Company by Conspiracy Monthly. The Carlyle Group takes cash from its evil, money-hungry investors (including the Bush family, Saudi royalty, deposed kings, African dictators, and the Olsen Twins™) and invests it in other companies, including Halliburton, which we all know is responsible for the 9/11 Attacks™. The film is incredibly timely, though that may undercut its ability to stand the test of time. Nearly every scene has some type of media in the background alluding to current events that might be connected to Manchuria's dirty dealings. It creates a sense of creeping dread, that our entire society has been thoroughly corrupted and infiltrated by the ethos of money as the end that justifies any and all means. Which it has, but then, who besides Michael Moore really cares? I'll take my HGTV with a side of KFC washed down with a C2, thank you very much. From that concept, the story unfolds as a pleasantly off-kilter political thriller. Denzel Washington plays Ben Marco, a decorated Gulf War veteran whose memories of the battlefield don't fit his bizarre and disturbing dreams. It's hard not to think that Frank Sinatra, who played the original Ben Marco, might feel a little awkward knowing a colored man was the lead in his movie. Funny sidekick, sure. Lead? "Over my dead body." And so it is, Frank. So it is. Marco soon realizes that his dreams are the reality, and he tries to enlist the help of the man who most benefited from the war, senator Raymond Shaw (Liev Schreiber), who's just been chosen as the Vice Presidential nominee. But Shaw is controlled both by his overbearing mother (Meryl Streep), and the microchip that's been implanted in his brain by Manchuria Company scientists. The acting, as expected, is at times utterly astounding. Streep is always great, but her Eleanor Shaw is a performance of true transcendence, going far beyond even her worthy predecessor, Angela Lansbury. She has only a few scenes, but each one is totally riveting and exciting in a way that movies rarely are anymore. Not only did I personally get an erection from her acting, but the audience literally applauded every time she appeared. One man, aroused beyond control, attempted to rape the movie screen itself, and had to be carried off by ten ushers. That man was me. Washington is his usual strong, dependable self, though it was pointed out to me that, unlike some actors of true brilliance (say, Meryl Streep, pant, pant), he never really changes his physical demeanor – the way he moves and interacts in the world. Schreiber, for his part, is excellent, but the man has just about the squarest face this side of Squaresville (he and Luke Wilson simply gotta play brothers some day). Even Jon Voight, often prone to hammy outbursts, puts in a superb job. But the film ultimately fails to really connect. It's got some great icky moments showing how modern mind-control is carried out, and some definite tension, but I largely didn't care. Most of the admittedly boring character development from the original has been cut in exchange for more "excitement," but despite Herculean efforts to draw an emotional connection between Marco and Shaw (at one point, Marco literally says the equivalent of, "We have a deep connection!"), something just doesn't click. One thing I can definitely pinpoint as a problem is the music. Though the score itself is good, the use of incidental songs seemed incongruous and at times took me out of the movie entirely. Wyclef Jean is credited as having something to do with the music selections, and I'm as much a fan of his choices as I was of the Fugees … as in, not at all. It was bad enough that the opening sequence featured like five irritating "reggaeton" tracks, but the tension of a climactic scene at a political rally was totally undermined by the use of a generic pop song. Though it may have made sense contextually as the type of crappy music a political rally might use to announce victory, it was just plain bad filmmaking. I'm much more fond of silence as a means of ratcheting up tension, than pretty much anything else. But far worse than a John Williams score pumping 101 strings of emotion, this was a criminally stupid choice. Perhaps Demme is more under the influence of the corporate paycheck masters than he'd like us to believe … no? Maybe my expectations were too high, but I really wanted to walk out of this film feeling like I'd been punched in the gut with some deep revelation or new truth. But ultimately, it's just a political thriller. Granted, it's probably one of the best political thrillers ever made, but I was still left a little cold. But it's by no means as painful as the embarrassment of being banned from the AMC Burbank 16 forever. That really stings.
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