I had to turn it off, even after having suffered through a dozen commercials for Quik-Step Handiwipes and Biochecks Wheat Trim Cereal. Enough is enough.
The commercials did a much better job of brainwashing and inducing hallucinations -- my house seemed cleaner afterward and I'd lost forty pounds -- than does the voodoo cult that this movie revolves around and which is completely immaterial to the plot. (It might as well be kidnapping for money.) Slender, sassy, and nicely assembled A. J. Cook and her TV-handsome and very rich lawyer husband take a vacation on the Caribbean island of San Carlos. During a meal, handsome hubby excuses himself and leaves the table, never to be seen again until the end. He should have known better than to drink the water.
There are no ransom notes, no nothing. And, as is usual in these movies, the police response is routine and uninterested. Few people speak English. Cook rushes with increasing anxiety from one possible resource to another. The cops, an avaricious taxi driver, a private investigator. The FBI is drawn in. A special investigative team puts her in jail. She's drugged. She's kidnapped herself and almost raped by the leader of a local cult who was once a criminal but has found redemption, he tells her as he tears at her clothes.
A. J. Cook is easy on the eyes but her range is limited and she can't carry the movie by herself. She projects fear by shouting insults at whoever she's frightened of. That's how you avoid getting hurt -- you heap your calumny on the person threatening you. When she hears some unpleasant news she wrinkles her nose as if she'd just gotten a whiff of an offensive odor. There are all sorts of red herrings and twists which I won't bother to describe.
On the plus side, some nice photography of San Juan, Puerto Rico's Old Town, full of colonial architecture, much of it pink. It's not typical of Puerto Rico. If you want to see what the rest of the city and the island look like, and if you're curious enough to bother, check out Puerto Rico Real Estate on Google. Much of what's in my price range looks almost as dilapidated as this abandoned railway car I live in, but you can get used to anything.
The commercials did a much better job of brainwashing and inducing hallucinations -- my house seemed cleaner afterward and I'd lost forty pounds -- than does the voodoo cult that this movie revolves around and which is completely immaterial to the plot. (It might as well be kidnapping for money.) Slender, sassy, and nicely assembled A. J. Cook and her TV-handsome and very rich lawyer husband take a vacation on the Caribbean island of San Carlos. During a meal, handsome hubby excuses himself and leaves the table, never to be seen again until the end. He should have known better than to drink the water.
There are no ransom notes, no nothing. And, as is usual in these movies, the police response is routine and uninterested. Few people speak English. Cook rushes with increasing anxiety from one possible resource to another. The cops, an avaricious taxi driver, a private investigator. The FBI is drawn in. A special investigative team puts her in jail. She's drugged. She's kidnapped herself and almost raped by the leader of a local cult who was once a criminal but has found redemption, he tells her as he tears at her clothes.
A. J. Cook is easy on the eyes but her range is limited and she can't carry the movie by herself. She projects fear by shouting insults at whoever she's frightened of. That's how you avoid getting hurt -- you heap your calumny on the person threatening you. When she hears some unpleasant news she wrinkles her nose as if she'd just gotten a whiff of an offensive odor. There are all sorts of red herrings and twists which I won't bother to describe.
On the plus side, some nice photography of San Juan, Puerto Rico's Old Town, full of colonial architecture, much of it pink. It's not typical of Puerto Rico. If you want to see what the rest of the city and the island look like, and if you're curious enough to bother, check out Puerto Rico Real Estate on Google. Much of what's in my price range looks almost as dilapidated as this abandoned railway car I live in, but you can get used to anything.