The talented Shannon is far into the role. But with so much fear and so few words (or ideas), Curtis seems muffled, vivid but also abstract. His panic is a stark metaphor of social anxieties, of good, plain, hard-working people who feel trapped in a punishing economy. No Tea Party rallies, yet we hear the inner howl. The ending is fishy, its mix of oil, water, and wind seeming to evoke hurricane Katrina and the 2010 Gulf spill.
The two Nics — Nicole Kidman, Nicolas Cage — have made some bad movies but remain major actors, real stars. Trespass is embarrassing. Joel Schumacher’s home-invasion thriller, using an awful script, spins so many dumb twists and cheap surprises that the story disintegrates.
Cage is a diamond dealer, Kidman his wife who designed their sterile showplace mansion. Their wall safe and dishy daughter (Liana Liberato) are bait for low-life scum. Frequent, sadistic shocks arrive in closeups as creeps preen, snarl, and expose their pathetic back-stories of parental abuse, drug addiction, predatory lust, and spoiled brotherhood.
Trespass, $35 million worth of worthless, is a warning that Cage and Kidman may be entering the fall-away phase of their careers. They try hard and pull off a few valid moments, but the effort is hopeless, hapless, helpless. As drama, this thing falls somewhere beneath apes cracking bones in a cave, and the message is simple: the audience is an idiot.
Reviewed in the movie capsules: The Black Power Mixtape 1967–1975, Finding Joe, Johnny English Reborn, and Where Soldiers Come From.