Director: Neil Burger
Starring: Edward Norton, Paul Giamatti, Jessica Biel, Rufus Sewell, Eddie Marsan, Jake Wood, Tom Fisher

- Reviewed by Linda

In late 1800s Austria, two teenage lovers, a peasant boy and a hoity-toity rich girl are separated by their classist elders. Fast forward to turn-of-the-20th-century sepia-toned Vienna, where the characters have—abracadabra!—aged into 36-year-old Edward Norton, and the surprisingly smokin’ hot 24-year-old Jessica Biel. He is a mysterious magician named Eisenheim, quickly gaining popularity among the Austrian masses for his visual stylings, and she is now soon-to-be Princess Sophie, whose wobbly sort-of-English-sort-of-German accent doesn’t detract from her luscious thrashability, even though it probably should. The problem is that, despite her superior level of gorgeousness, warm, pool-like eyes and (apparently) good and kind heart, she is inexplicably engaged to haughty and no-good Prince Leopold (Rufus Sewell) and he is, well, a bit possessive. When the ex-lovers cross paths and recognize each other, their emotions become all a-tangle in the same way mine did as I realized I suddenly had a movie-star crush on Jessica Biel of all people, much to the chagrin of the Prince, who wants Eisenheim's show shut down. A mysterious tragedy ensues, and the fuzz, led by frumpy Chief Inspector Uhl (Paul Giamatti), investigate to get to the bottom of the crime.

The number-one problem with having a movie about a magician, especially an old-school magician (flying doves, pulling things from sleeves, etc.) is that, as a modern movie-goer in the era of CGI and special effects, you know immediately that it is all fake. I couldn't help but sit there unmoved as Eisenheim's audience threw chairs and pulled their hair in amazement as he conjured up such visual tricks as trees growing out of pots, and dead children walking across the stage. Yeah, so? Far more impressive would have been having Eisenheim explain to the audience, onscreen and off, why he and the equally aesthetically questionable Leopold both manage to snag Sophie the hottie with such ease. I’m just sayin’. To make up for the lack of "is it real, or is it an illusion?" tension, the movie resorts to cliched movie tricks to attempt to amp up the drama. This is the type of movie where, when a character finally figures out something momentous, he looks at the sky, cackling madly, while the camera spins around him. To make a transition scene more urgent, the Philip Glass score tumbles forth in what I like to call his ubiquitous "swirling leaves" soundtrack. As characters swirl from one scene to the next, the music frankly becomes a bit exhausting. This is supposed to be an unfolding drama, not the life out of balance of Koyannisquatsi.

Paul Giamatti, who certainly looks of the era, with his twirled moustache and grim expression, struggles with maintaining an accent, along with Norton and Biel…but she’s forgiven because, you know, it’s hard enough to be the token object of desire whom the entire male cast wants to nail, let alone having to nail an accent of your own whilst doing so. So there. They all slip in and out of an odd, clipped pseudo British slash German accent, which I suppose is to fool us all into thinking that we are worldly enough to be eavesdropping in on Austrian conversations. Well, that sure as heck doesn't sound 'merican, so they must be foreign! Let's just say that none of these actors are Meryl Streep, or even Cate Blanchett, for that matter. (Hey, that sounds like a slam against Cate. It isn’t, is it? Because I’m busy defending Jessica Biel here, and don’t have the time nor the energy to add Blanchett Defense to the agenda.)

Brit Rufus Sewell, who sticks to his own accent (um, no he didn’t…he’s going for Austrian, too) because, heck, he is a foreigner by default, is the only one who looks like he is having fun, as the violent, tantrum-throwing Crown Prince Leopold. I half expected him to have such an eyeball-popping jealousy fit that his fake beard would start to peel off and hang dangling from his face while he stomped around the room in his fancy royal pants.

Ahem…Jessica Biel, resplendent in her period garb, perpetually lit with what I assume is a roomful of candles, and looking every bit the Ye Olde Maxim Magazine pin-up that she is, struggles a smidge with her role, but not enough that you’d really notice. Or care. It’s hard to pay attention to a flubbed accent or a weak performance moment when you’re gazing at someone as striking as she is. So, she’s forgiven. Since Linda seems to have left out the film’s lead, Edward Norton, in her notes, allow me to say that he is appropriately creepy and INTENSE here. If "creepy and intense" means that his lips were always pinched together in a grim line, and he would always be concentrating so hard that sweat would pour from his brow, well, I guess I agree. I wasn’t sure whether we were supposed to be afraid of him or what, so I looked to Biel’s Sophie for guidance. Sophie seemed to think he was an okay fellow, so I figured he was a good guy… despite my inclination to anticipate some heinous act of villainy from him. It’s tough to create a believably honorable and endearing character when you’re an actor with Norton’s kind of performance history. Anyway…

Yeah, uh... anyway.

I saw The Illusionist with a room full of critics who seemed as underwhelmed as I did. I found myself shifting in my chair, taking peeks at my indiglo watch discreetly (oh, yes, I know that you know THAT trick, Vickie!). I frankly found the movie, well, boring... especially as the major plot twist happens awkwardly a full halfway through the movie, throwing off the momentum of the film. The unfolding of the rest of the drama just clunks forth from there. Maybe it was just me, but I thought this movie was—ta-da!—D-U-L-L.

But, despite the movie’s flaws, one thing must be said: Jessica Biel looked GOOD. Did I mention that already? It merits re-mentioning. Were it not for her, I would have enjoyed this movie so much less so, for her, I’m grateful. And a little flushed.

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