A film so bad it's funny

Last weekend, a couple friends and I decided we wanted to go to the movies. For the purposes of this story, let's call these two Pin-head and Round-face. Pin-head and myself were interested in catching up on the Oscar-nominated films we had not yet seen; Round-face shot those options down because she had already seen them all.

Fine.

I half-heartedly threw out "Friday the 13th," thinking we could do worse than catching up with Jason Voorhees. Pin-head nixed that one; she doesn't do scary movies.

No biggie.

We all three agreed there were several movies that sounded considerably less appealing than walking into oncoming traffic (yes, I'm talking about you, Jonas Brothers). Thus, in the end - through no fault of our own - we had but one movie left on the list: "The International."

We weren't exactly hopeful.

"Should we check out the reviews?" Pin-head asked. I had thought about that already. "Let's not," I answered, "if we do we will probably lose interest in going." And that, you see, is where your story can differ from mine. You are doing the smart thing; you are reading this review.

"The International," written by Eric Singer, tries very hard to be a complicated story. It really is not. We have Clive Owen, playing Interpol agent Louis Salinger. We have a global bank (the international something or other) that Salinger is convinced is an organized crime giant hiding behind its corporate walls. The thing is, Salinger's right. Don't worry, I'm not ruining anything for you. Singer and director Tom Tykwer never attempt to cast any doubt on whether or not the bank is evil.

So, hero and villain. The villain just happens to be an all-powerful bank. This makes things tough on our hero, who after all is just one man. It is hard to bring down a global bank when the bank has assassins on its payroll, policemen in its pockets, and the good fortune of having potential whistle-blowers continuously meeting untimely demises.

If this is sounding enticing at all, please do read on.

Owen, a solid actor in any genre, either realized early on he had made a huge mistake in signing on or was following some truly bizarre direction from Tykwer. Giving Owen the benefit of the doubt, here's what Tykwer must have said to Owen early and often: "Okay Clive, it is critically important that you stare." Clive probably furrowed his brow and asked, "Aren't I supposed to be following the bad guys discreetly on foot in this scene?" At that Tykwer undoubtedly laughed at the silly question. "Clive, my boy! You clearly know very little about the dark underworld of global organized crime. You see, Clive, bad guys will realize they're being followed unless one simply stares obviously from a fairly close distance."

Or maybe it was at that moment Clive knew he was doomed. Either way, stare he does. From the first frame, actually. At first it's odd, but by the end of the movie - which only feels like it's three hours long - it's quite funny.

Naomi Watts! She was probably hoping I'd forgotten her. I'm running short on space, but Watts is just as bad as Owen. She doesn't get to stare at everyone, but she does get the worst of the worst dialogue, which she delivers as if she's trying to get herself sent home from the set.

Ah yes, "The International." I'll remember it fondly, mostly because of the shared disbelief Pin-head, Round-face and I can now reminisce about.

You?

You have no excuse. You just read this review.

Check out Carson's movie blog at www.juneaublogger.com/movies.