Movie Reviews

Review in a Hurry:  Beautiful criminal lovers (Salma Hayek and Jared Leto) shoot, swindle and screw their way through the personal ads while detectives (John Travolta and James Gandolfini) try to nab them. An A-list cast in B-movie territory is fun, but the lurid story is, sadly, as taut as a pool of fresh, gushing blood.

The Bigger Picture:  It's important to know that Lonely Hearts, which is about two detectives (Travolta and Gandolfini) who chase down two venomous serial killers (Hayek and Leto), is based on a true story. It's even more important to know that writer-director Todd Robinson is the grandson of Elmer C. "Buster" Robinson, who is portrayed by Travolta.

I'll get to why that's so important in a minute. First, cat-and-mouse crime stories—Thelma & Louise, True Romance—are best when we get to see the relationship between the criminal and the crime stopper become more twisted and morally complex with every frame. Lonely Hearts isn't so much a tapestry as it is two blankets thrown in a basket together. There is the story of Robinson, a detective who is mourning his wife's suicide when he should be doing his job. Then there is the story of Hayek and Leto, two gloriously pretty people who find widows in the personal ads, scam all their money and murder them cold.

Two great stories, neither of which really needs the other. But come on, who doesn't want to watch a cast like this play noir dressup, in this beet-red-lipstick world of cornfields and three-piece suits and bantering detectives? So you watch, and keep watching, constantly switching gears. Now I care about Travolta and his need to solve the crime. Wait, now I am stunned at Hayek, how sick is this crazy bitch, anyway? It's an exhausting back and forth, but well worth it because of the campy, horrific story.

Robinson, I think, was the wrong pick to tell this story. His grandfather is a peripheral character, yet he's also the lead. The real story here is about vulnerability. Leto plays a great snake charmer, and Hayek, who pretends to be his sister, simmers each time she watches him woo another victim. Always, he must prove his love for her by shooting the victim.

That's some gloriously sick psychodrama, but it's more psycho than drama. So much time is devoted to gazing at Travolta on his somewhat predictable journey to peace. Another director would have said, Screw the facts, let's make Bonnie and Clyde off meds and out for blood. Robinson, unfortunately, wants to pay tribute.

The 180—a Second Opinion:  Twenty minutes into Lonely Hearts you'll check your watch and wonder, What is the damn point? Serial killers are bad—duh. And bad people can be pretty—duh. An hour and 10 minutes later, you'll be wondering the same damn thing.