The Sentinel

As soon as I started writing this commentary, I found I had forgotten the name of the movie I just saw. It is just that kind of film. Imagine “In the Line of Fire” crossed with “The Negotiator” and you have precisely the entire premise of this movie.

Directed by Clark Johnson (“S.W.A.T.”,”Iron Eagle II”) and written by George Nolfi (“Oceans Twelve”), “The Sentinel” is not a thriller, it’s not a drama, it’s not even a decent crime story. It’s a “star” movie. Note that 50 percent of the theatrical poster’s visual space is occupied by the names of the four main cast members, including Michael Douglas who was an actor once upon a time. The movie begins in the fashion of about 85 percent of suspense flicks these days, with video footage to beat into our heads that someone is being watched, and jarry collages of blurry photos and death threat scribblings and what sounds like mumblings of a madman, presumably the insane person who wants to kill the president. What’s funnier than the play-with-all-the-knobs approach to the title sequence is the fact that it has absolutely nothing to do with the film. You’ll discover why if you’re truly bored enough to see it.

We must, absolutely must, continue the title sequence showing Secret Service agent Pete Garrison (Michael Douglas) working out. It’s not only because his dedication to the Presidential Detail—”I wake up every day at 4am!”—arises in a cliché exchange with Agent Breckenridge (Kiefer Sutherland) later on while he’s a chief suspect in an assassination plot. Michael Douglas, now 61, needs to push whatever sex appeal it is his booking agents (and the public) think he possesses. I don’t care, and neither should you. On with the story…

After some sweeping camera shots of various D.C. landmarks, chiefly just the ones that every twelve-year old can recognize (which reinforces my opinion that the studios have a lower opinion of the average moviegoer’s intelligence than I do), and a mandatory Michael Bay-style cinemasturbatographic shot of binoculared, armed rooftop agents, Agent Garrison arrives at the White House, clearing their security checks.

It’s amusing every time I see the repetitiously-employed shots of feds sitting around looking at twenty screens with such immensely-stylized (read: purposeless) graphics and animations in their computer databases. What could possibly be funnier? That all their passwords are dictionary words that could rather quickly be cracked by what those in the internet security profession refer to as “brute force”—i.e. using a fast computer to randomly generate passwords. Quite ironic, considering brute force is the primary technique that the Secret Service uses to break the security on computers seized as evidence. But nevermind.

The Secret Service has a mole, but no bonus points for guessing it’s not Garrison. Come on. They cast someone whose plays nothing but beleaguered protagonists. You should be ashamed if you didn’t figure that out by now. No, Garrison is just the guy bonking the President’s wife. I’m not spoiling anything, trust me. It comes out rather early in the film. The suspense, or lack thereof, involves how Garrison will juggle finding the real assassin without blowing the lid on his affair with Mrs. Ballentine (Kim Basinger).

Breckenridge is played as the sensible agent who trusts the science of competent forensics over gut instinct only so the plot can have an artificial twist. His new rookie, Jill Marin (Eva Longoria), serves two purposes: Prominently displayed cleavage and obedient follow-through on whatever every male agent tells her to do. Clarice Starling she’s not… she hasn’t the slightest intriguing insight to offer, even if the male egos think it’s not her place to do so. The male egos that made the movie hadn’t really thought of any other role for her than PR for ticket sales.

President Ballentine (David Rasche) is largely a non-entity, a MacGuffin that gets shuffled here and there by the Secret Service. I thought maybe there’d be a deeper subplot involving the wife and the affair, but all Kim Basinger does on screen is worry and whimper and wait for her Secret Serviceman in shining armor to come save her.

The film descends several times into shootout-at-the-Bad-Aim-Corral. The hit men involved have impeccable aim when taking out dispensable agents, but their sharpshooting skills, for which they’ve unquestionably been hired, seem to go awry only when taking aim at movie stars. One scene in which the hit man takes a hostage in a mall is rather peculiar. He’s aiming his gun at one of several agents. Why Garrison doesn’t simply shoot him is beyond me. The gun is not aimed at the hostage. Give yourself a cookie if you guessed a Darwin Award is forthcoming to one of the Expendable Agents.

The Sentinel • Dolby® Digital surround sound in select theatres • Running Time: 108 minutes • MPAA Rating: PG-13 for some intense action violence and a scene of sensuality. • Distributed by Twentieth Century Fox Film Corp.