Hereafter

After a good run of well received films, Clint Eastwood’s latest film as director, Hereafter, breaks that run in spectacular fashion. Hereafter is pretty abysmal from start to finish and people who enjoy the many factual errors contained in Eastwood’s films will have a field day here. The worst (best?) being a tour guide at Charles Dickens’ London abode mentioning his novel “Edward Drood”. Huh? You really think someone would pick up on these things when reviewing the rushes (or whatever the equivalent is these days). Or are they too scared to approach The Man With No Name? Anyway I digress, which is, ironically, what happens with the screenplay to this film, which goes off in tangents, leaves many story lines hanging and comes to a limp conclusion. Principally a story about life after death we follow three main characters, a French woman (Cécile de France) caught up in the tsunami, a kid from London, who loses his twin brother and Matt Damon, a former spiritualist who can speak to the dead, but has long since retired doing readings. The three story lines eventually interact, but the film gets off to such a bad start it never really recovers. Taking an actual disaster, in this case the aforementioned tsunami is always walking a tightrope in films if building a storyline around it, but in this instance it really is unnecessary. de France is caught up in the disaster, appears to drown and then comes back alive. Couldn’t this have been depicted in a swimming pool or something? It’s bad enough anyone wants to relive such a disaster anyway, but this is done with such cheap and awful special effects it’s pretty insulting to the memories of the thousands that died. A similar error of judgement occurs later on with a tube bombing. That’s entertainment folks! There are some bright moments (a collection of dodgy spiritualists raise a wry smile) but the message of the film is never really clear. Damon himself actually does a good job up to a point, but even he seems to realise what a mess he’s in and is coasting long before the baffling finish. The worst bit is the portrayal of Europe though and Eastwood’s depiction of London, all shot through with some very murky filters. It’s so depressing you’re amazed that there aren’t suicide booths on the corners of the streets. The weather is grim, the people look miserable, they wear dull clothes and act as if just being alive is a punishment handed down from above. As for the accents, they are ridiculous, bordering on the farcical. The worst cockney Charles Dickens-esque mumbling possible ever committed to celluloid. What I don’t get is surely Clint must have noticed that people in England don’t speak like that when he spent months filming in the country? (or indeed the many times he’s been here over the years) This isn’t the rantings of an Englishman either as Eastwood also manages to make Paris look as appealing as an abandoned mid-west steel town. Paris, for goodness sake! All I can say is wait for this to come out on DVD. Then don’t rent it.

The OC Film Sting Final Verdict
What could have been half decent is lost amongst some dire direction and acting. Arguably Eastwoods worst film either in front of or behind the camera. Rating: 2/10.