In Theaters: The Box

Kelly seems to want it that way, or has been forced to say so after letting too many personal indulgences (had he seen The Fountain?) get in the way of what could have been a gripping, satisfying if somewhat inscrutable sci-fi thriller. "There are some things left intentionally unanswered, open to interpretation," said Kelly's producing partner Sean McKittrick, gifting the filmmakers with a massive loophole that doesn't account for the positing of so many confused questions. The Mars landing, random zombie cult nosebleeds, disfigurement, widespread government (or alien!) surveillance, a God complex, Sartre agonizing, rapture-esque indoctrination, What's Happening!! -- it's all here, tossed together with aplomb (although some segments are dead boring) and dressed in a cadence that sometimes seems so earnest it must be ironic and then other times vice versa.

Characters have self-consciously halting exchanges, speaking almost exclusively in sci-fi clichés: "What is it to really know someone?" Walter asks. "Do you know me?" "Better than you know yourself," Norma replies, practically choking on the sentiment. Later, Steward intimates that he is an agent of a higher force, and these tests will continue until greedy wives stop pushing the goddamn button (and it is only women shown doing the deed, and who must then be killed). "If you can't sacrifice your desires for the greater good," Steward says, "you will become extinct." But then what is extinction when there's such a glorious afterworld in store, one James gets to sample -- he finds it to be "a warm embrace, a place where the sidewalk ends and despair is no longer the governor of the human heart."

Listen, I love a Shel Silverstein reference as much as the next child of the 80s, but my patience with Kelly's noodling ended almost exactly when this one was dropped. Enough with the slow pushes, the turgid dialogue, Cameron's opaque mugging, Marsden's noble cheekbones, the Herrmann-esque strings, and Langella's admittedly badass, CGI-ravaged face. The burden of sorting through a narrative and an aesthetic as ambitiously cross-bred as Kelly's has to be a fair share between director and viewer -- one whose terms are negotiated continuously and on a case-by-case basis. The development of that symbiotic, problem-solving relationship comprises much of the pleasure and intimacy of the cinematic experience; it saves you from just being a putz out there in the dark.

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