As an enduring populist entertainer, Steven Spielberg is only rivaled by Alfred Hitchcock in the history of cinema. And if my screening audience for THE TERMINAL is any indication, he hasn’t lost his touch. Boy, did they eat it up. Laughing—loudly, and at length—in all the right places and awwwwing at each appropriate cue, they absolutely loved it. So what movie was I—an accused Spielberg-apologist—watching? For every laugh guffawed or every tear dropped by my fellow audiences members, I could only summon classic complaints by Spielberg’s harshest critics.

Things open quickly enough, briskly entering the story with a brief yet clever title treatment, and not a note from normally ever-present John Williams for at least fifteen minutes—if not more. Spielberg, known for his grandeur, establishes an intimate tone that is maintained throughout. It’s a more classic approach, like Billy Wilder, and so it’s easy to see why Spielberg—a film buff’s film buff—was drawn to it. But by favoring cuteness over credibility, THE TERMINAL ends up being far too fantastical—even for Steven Spielberg.

The film is loaded with potential, namely the laundry list of Oscar winners (some multiple) in key creative positions. Yet with so many ringers, THE TERMINAL ultimately fails in just one area, but it’s a big one: the screenplay. With two screenwriters working from a story by another, a “too many cooks in the kitchen” inconsistency defines this narrative hodgepodge. The collective result is a story with a lot of nifty individual scenes and ideas that are forced together. Each little contrivance, when assembled as a whole, simply equals one big one, and not even the talents of Tom Hanks (in what may be his most quintessential Jimmy Stewart role yet) and Catherine Zeta-Jones can legitimize them.

But one senses from Spielberg’s tone that he doesn’t even want them to. Indeed, it’s as if the film basks in its unlikely stream of events simply because they’re all so, well, adorable. The “that would never happen” moments pile up one upon another until the entire premise collapses under the weight. It’s one thing to stretch authenticity in, say, Hook, but in a premise that is completely grounded in reality the events and their progression need to be as well, and they aren’t in THE TERMINAL.

Worse yet, allowances could still be given for unlikelihoods if character motivations were clearer, but yet again the screenplay offers little in that regard. Where it does, the motivations are weak bordering on the imperceptible. In both fundamental plot-lines—Amelia’s (Zeta-Jones) quick fall for Viktor Navorski (Hanks) and Airport Director Dixon’s (Stanley Tucci) heartless pursuit of the same—what drives the characters in their pursuits is virtually inexplicable, other than the film simply needs them to do what they do.

Viktor’s annoyances—which result from him being trapped in the airport due to unique circumstances—are so minor that Dixon’s resulting obsession for his demise is head-shaking, even for an anal-retentive by-the-book honcho on a power trip. Amelia’s near-instant attraction to Viktor, a foreigner, completely goes against how her philandering/non-trusting character is established. No discernable (let alone believable) reason is provided for why she falls for this complete stranger. Except, of course, that he’s Tom Hanks and the movie needs her to. Various other subplots involving peripheral characters are equally implausible, motivated by nothing other than sentimentality—a Spielberg trait that he normally masters rather than succumbs to (as he does here). It all may elicit smiles, but how can anyone buy any of it?

In spite of it all, Spielberg remains a master craftsman and, on that note, The Terminal is indeed masterful. The backlit glow—a hallmark of Spielberg’s decade-long collaboration with DP Janusz Kaminski—beautifully aluminates otherwise familiar settings, plus the photographic choreography through the massive set is extraordinary. Michael Kahn’s editing flows magically, creating tempos and, subsequently, moods (both fast and measured) that every filmmaker would do well to study. If nothing else, THE TERMINAL is an impressive example of how to make a great movie.

Tom Hanks has his charms, Zeta-Jones has her looks, the film boasts superior artistry and execution, and some moments are truly inspired (a security camera’s roving eye is an ingenious recurring bit)—but it still doesn’t work. It doesn’t work on such a grand scale that one has to assume Spielberg didn’t want it to. What he’s made, rather, is a film steeped in sappiness. It’s something from a bygone era that doesn’t fit, or work, in our own. I still don’t know if I can honestly say Steven Spielberg has made a bad movie (how’s that for being an apologist?), but THE TERMINAL rivals 1941 as his personal worst.

-- Jeff Huston

Review text copyright © 2004 Mixed Reviews & the author. All rights reserved. Reproduction of text in whole or in part in any form or in any medium without express written permission of Mixed Reviews or the author is prohibited.

Back To Top | Home | Archive | E-Mail Harvest