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"A wild ride to nowhere" -- Boston Weekly Dig

THE CONSTANT GARDENER
A wild ride to nowhere
DAVID WILDMAN

It’s probably not a good thing when you leave a film in the throes of a schizophrenic disagreement with yourself, and the side that loved it had the weaker argument.

In the case of The Constant Gardener, the part of my brain that likes to gobble the candy of big, beautiful swooping camera angles, gorgeous scenery and any anatomical part of Rachel Weisz was swept away. At one point, this wistful inner wimp caused my hand to write breathlessly, “You almost want it to be more than a movie.”

The other part is me is embarrassed to be sharing a brain with this wuss.

Because, you see, when it comes down to it, The Constant Gardener is just a freaking movie, with a plot and characters and all that stuff. A very normal, fairly predictable little flick. But, boy, does it look good. This film reminds me of catching some ravishing woman’s eye from a distance: Suddenly emboldened, I cut my way through the crowd to meet her, my heart pumping faster as I get closer. Then after three minutes of conversation I find out she’s brain-dead. Or a Republican. Or both.




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