More like a blot
‘Inkheart’ should be read back into the book from whence it came
By Lisa Miller 01/29/2009
This heavy-handed adaptation of the fairytale “Inkheart” takes off promisingly enough, only to land with a dull thud. Based on the novel by Cornelia Funke, the film fails to capitalize on its most imaginative ideas.
It also miscasts perennially boyish Brendan Fraser as a grieving husband. Mo Folchart (Frasier), a single father and traveling book restorer, is a rare “silvertongue,” a person able to bring book characters to life by merely reading their descriptions aloud.
Unfortunately, Mo only learned of his gift after reading the obscure book “Inkheart” aloud to his young daughter, Meggie (Eliza Hope Bennett), allowing several characters — including one medieval bad guy — to cross into the “real” world, but taking Mo’s wife, Resa (Sienna Guillory), in exchange. Distraught Mo gives up reading aloud until he can find another copy of the rare book from which to read his wife back.
One of the characters coaxed from the page by Mo’s reading is flawed good-guy Dustfinger (Paul Bettany), who arrives with the story’s smartest character — an adorable weasel able to understand and follow Dustfinger’s complex orders. In crossing over, Dustfinger has retained the ability to produce fire by rubbing his hands, a phenomenon employed in this telling more as by-the-way entertainment than integral plot point.
Though the plot of the “Inkheart” book within the “Inkheart” movie is unclear, Dustfinger means to return to his lovely wife (Jennifer Connelly), who remains within the book’s pages, and is run through a self-development speed-course that calls for his overnight transition from cowardly imp to hero.
In both “Inkheart” stories, the villain is Capricorn (Andy Serkis). Having made the leap into our world, Capricorn is pleased with his lifestyle in a spacious, tumbledown castle replete with dungeon. In order to maintain his estate, the villain kidnaps a stuttering silvertongue whose readings produce less than perfect character crossovers. This brilliant idea functions as an oft-repeated joke, and it would be a good one if each crossover character did not exhibit the same defect.
In what appears to be an effort to raise the film’s status by associating itself with the classics, the story brings characters to life from “Peter Pan,” “Arabian Nights” and “The Wizard of Oz,” only to drop them like hot potatoes.
A similar fate befalls Helen Mirren, who plays Mo’s great-aunt Elinor, a turbaned bibliophile and fabulous curmudgeon. After shining briefly during the film’s opening scenes, she is soon dropped into a whirlwind of frantic action that no longer appreciates her unique qualities. The marvelous Jim Broadbent, appearing as author of the “Inkheart” book, is asked to wax and wane between scholar and dullard to suit the story’s needs.
Lip service is paid to the physical and romantic attributes of books, but little emotion makes its way through the clutter to reach the audience. The pleasures of our favorite reads live eternally in our hearts, and compared to such bliss “Inkheart” is barely an inkblot.
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