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They don't have very nice connotations, do they? Notice how inappropriately they slither off the tongue, how unhappily they are summoned to use. For they are among the nether words. Parts of our vocabulary particularly suited for expression whence dealing with the darker side of the human condition. And they all apply handily to the chief occupation in Enemy Of The State, a glossy helping of paranoia a la mode served up in 70's thrill-genre style by action wizard Tony Scott (True Romance, Crimson Tide). Unfortunately, the movie only feigns interest in the political health of the Fourth Amendment (the right to privacy) for appearance's sake; it's really just concerned with turning Washington, D.C. upside-down with mostly mindless machinations.
The question is, does some mysterious force wish to harm Mr. Dean, the hero of our tale played by Will Smith? Remember. Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean everyone's not out to get you. And so it is with Robert Clayton Dean, the mild-mannered labour lawyer suddenly jettisoned into the challenge of his lifetime when he becomes the unwitting fly in the very dastardly ointment being spewed by National Security Agency (NSA) bigwig Reynolds. But first you must flashback to act 1, scene 1: Played with sinister aplomb by John Voight, Reynolds supervises the murder by lethal injection of the one congressman (Jason Robards, Jr.) who can block his anti-privacy bill. It's precisely the sort of storm trooper legislation that could catapult Reynolds to the director's office he so ravenously covets.
Later in the day, a naturalist probably more interested in the migratory habits of geese is shocked when he realises that his instant-on camera has inadvertently caught the congressional killing on tape. He tries to ferry the incriminating evidence to a newspaper but realising mid-stream that, alas, his own goose is cooked, valiantly manages to hand off to former law school compatriot Dean (who just so happens to be buying a gift for his wife in the lingerie store where the fleeing bird watcher has alighted). Unbeknownst to the counsellor, the tape is cached in his shopping bag. Three minutes later, the accidental spy is killed by a fire engine.
The NSA hypothesises that Smith's character has the tape, but isn't sure. So now the pressure comes to bear with a vengeance on attorney Dean. His life is torn asunder. He can't figure out why his credit cards suddenly become invalid. And who's the scoundrel who erroneously provides his wife (Regina King) with "proof" that he's re-inaugurated a love affair with the comely Rachel Banks (Lisa Bonet), a business associate whose feminine appeal almost undid his marriage a few years back?
As NSA thinking goes, the full court press will flush Mr. Average out; and even if it doesn't, he'll be completely discredited. Hence begins Mr. Dean's Kafkaesque nightmare. He loses his esteemed position with a prestigious law firm in record time. His wife won't let him in the house, and his cancelled plastic won't buy him a hotel room. He's left with one option. It's called run!
These vast inconveniences and a host of other, deadly serious mischief are the handiwork of Reynolds's crack crew of electronic privacy invaders, which includes a resident group of ultra-nerds who play flying monkey to their treacherous boss's Wicked Witch of The West. Running this ultimate video game with animated glee, they command the very latest in espionage equipment, riding herd over whoever disses the NSA.
This includes everything from spy satellite cameras that take street-level close-ups from 150 miles up to the smallest, cutest voice bugs American tax dollars can buy. Real-life folk serve as their chess pieces. Quite incredibly, per screenwriter David Marconi, it seems there is hardly a hotel room or 7-Eleven in the Western Hemisphere that hasn't been pre-equipped for electronic spying.
One hour after becoming their tape-carrying suspect, lawyer Dean is wired for sight and sound and none the wiser. He can't quite figure how the bad guys seem to anticipate his every move. But while it's traditional in American film for John Doe to prevail no matter how overwhelming the bureaucratic Goliath upon him, this variation on the theme is a mite far-fetched.
As the everyman struggling for survival and self-determination in Enemy of The State's modern allusion to Brave New World, Smith's portrayal is solid if not singular. What the film and TV star gives up in wiseacre demeanour, he almost makes up for in leading man plausibility. Almost.
Stumbling through the nefarious agency's clouds of miasma, the protagonist initially weathers the NSA's wrath both because of and in spite of himself. Perhaps it's his easygoing personality. More likely, it's just an easygoing director who allows this stretch of the imagination. But it isn't until Dean hooks up with the likes of rogue espionage expert Brill, whimsically exacted by an oddly authoritative Gene Hackman, that Robert Clayton Dean learns the real skinny. A wily curmudgeon who invented many of the gizmos and gadgets now commonly in use at the NSA, Brill harks back to a romantic, pre-Glasnost era of international intrigue which he recalls with nostalgic fondness. But sometime after the Iran hostage crisis, the agency did him wrong. Hence, the pursued has a kindred spirit to help fight the omniscient opponent.
But it isn't until the last twenty-five minutes of the movie that the Hackman-Smith synergy is finally introduced; the long-awaited plot personality is too long in coming. Prior to that, director Tony Scott's fast-paced conspiracy tale merely hurtles headlong and directionless, ostensibly one big chase scene that pays little attention to pace or plot consideration. Spinning its delirious tale of state-of-the-art invasiveness at breakneck speed, it plays more like a frantic catalogue of technical goodies than a rootin-tootin adventure yarn. Enemy Of The State will make friends of those viewers in search of a fast-paced numbing, and foes of those requiring anything more.
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