Susan Granger’s review of “THE BONE COLLECTOR” (Universal Pictures)
This is yet another urban thriller about a sadistic serial killer. Denzel Washington plays a bedridden, suicidal, quadriplegic forensics expert and best-selling author who teams up with a former fashion model-turned-rookie cop, Angelina Jolie, to capture an imaginative murderer with a penchant for cryptic clues. And each killing is uniquely horrific, just like in “Seven.” Inexplicably, the NYPD uses Washington’s SoHo loft as a base of operations while Jolie acts as his eyes and ears, exploring the grisly crime scenes, describing them to him, and following his instructions precisely. “You’ve got to saw her hands off at the wrist line! I’ve got to have those cuffs for prints!” he barks into her cell phone from his motorized bed. As his devoted nurse, Queen Latifah imbues the role with a special sassy quality, while the stereotypical supporting characters include Ed O’Neill, Mike McGlone, Luis Guzman, and Michael Rooker as Washington’s former boss. Utilizing Jeremy Iacone’s clichŽ-ridden, uneven screenplay, adapted from the novel by Jeffrey Deaver, director Philip Noyce (“Clear and Present Danger,” “Patriot Games”) cleverly keeps the cinematic tension taut as the hapless victims are buried alive, scalded by steam or devoured by rats. But the final confrontation between the immobilized Washington – using “one finger, two shoulders, and a head” – and the deranged killer is utterly preposterous. Angelina Jolie is woefully unconvincing, particularly when she’s crying, and her pouting lips have been so puffed up with some kind of silicone concoction that they look ludicrous. On the Granger Movie Gauge of 1 to 10, “The Bone Collector” is a dopey, diabolical 6. It’s basically a grisly, gruesome whodunnit.
