The Panic Room Review
by Eugene Novikov (lordeugene_98 AT yahoo DOT com)April 30th, 2002
Panic Room (2002)
Reviewed by Eugene Novikov
http://www.ultimate-movie.com/
"What are they doing?"
"They're locking us in..."
Starring Jodie Foster, Forest Whitaker, Kristen Stewart, Dwight Yoakam, Jared Leto. Directed by David Fincher. Rated R.
David Fincher looked into the abyss and backed away. After the taut, nifty cleverness of The Game, he threatened to turn to ponderous Philosophy 101 filmmaking with the overrated Fight Club; he returns now with Panic Room, both his most conventional and his best film to date. We already knew him as a virtuoso visual stylist and we now know him as an incomparable master of suspense. This movie redefines edge of your seat.
In the best Hitchcock tradition, Panic Room is really a small-scale movie that carries the weight of a Titanic. There are essentially five characters and all of the action takes place within the confines of a house. But what a house: located in the best section of Manhattan, itŐs a towering, expensive, coveted property, and it is the new home of Meg Altman (Jodie Foster), a rich, recently separated woman with sole custody of daughter Sarah Altman. It has a "panic room": a veritable fortress with a six-inch steel door, its own phone line, Their first night in the house, a group of three burglars break in: the even-tempered Burnham (Forest Whitaker), who designed the security measures that the house employs, the not-terribly-bright Junior (Jared Leto), who didn't figure on anyone being in the house that night, and the short-fuse Raoul (Dwight Yoakam), who brought a gun but isn't even supposed to be there. They are looking for a tremendous amount of money hidden in the panic room, money that not even the Altmans are aware of.
Meg wakes up, grabs her daughter, and they lock themselves in the panic room, which both parties know to be impenetrable. The problem is that the phone line hasn't been connected. And the crooks lock all the doors to the house, figuring that the two have to emerge sometime. What follows is an intricate, plausible cat-and-mouse game, with its share of startling twists despite its spare, simple plot.
One of my favorite suspense-building devices is the long, elaborate tracking shot, and it just so happens that Fincher is a match for even Brian De Palma in that department. His camera zooms between stories, through coffee-pot handles and in and out of keyholes, but instead of being show-offy or distracting, the effect is both fluid and exhilirating. It's self-consciously fancy filmmaking, yes, but it serves the story; since all of the action takes place in a tight location, these unbroken shots help us get the timing of what is going on. The fact that Fincher and his cinematographers went to these lengths -- and you'll see just what these lengths are if you see the movie; I'm hardly doing it justice with my description -- is indicative of the quality of the movie.
Panic Room sets a new standard for modern suspense thrillers. I watched it in a full house, and the entire audience was putty in its hands. There is a scene where Meg must leave the panic room, get her cell phone and get back in. The intruders hear her exit and make a mad dash upstairs to catch her. The situation is as conventional as it gets -- will-she-make-it-or-won't-she? -- but Fincher kills the sound, goes into slow motion, and nearly drives me mad with tension.
This level of suspense is maintained all the way through the uncommonly well thought-out story arc. Foster is brilliant as a woman who has to revert to her raw animal instincts to survive a particularly eventful night; Whitaker is even better, touching as an engineer who resorts to burglary to pay his child support. But Panic Room isn't about character, though the ones it has are believable and well-drawn. It's about making every hair on your body stand on end, and as that, it's absolutely perfect. It never cheats, never breaks stride and never lets up. It may be a genre flick, but it's the best one in years.
Grade: A
Up Next: Sorority Boys
©2002 Eugene Novikov
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