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Firestorm (1998)

A Flaming Failure

A review by Michael S. Goldberger.
Copyright © Michael S. Goldberger 1999
Some movies are so bad that they're good. No such luck with Firestorm. It's just plain pathetic, a would-be thriller snuffed out by its macho ranting and gross ineptitude. Adding insult to injury, the shoddy production is even inconsistent in its level of incompetency; just when it looks like the ramshackle effort might spawn a redeeming trait, director Dean Semler's cinematic shortcoming retreats to its generally incapable ways.

Symptomatic of Firestorm's many maladies is the casting of its sports-broadcasting lead, ex-footballer Howie Long. As Jesse, the illustrious smoke jumper who ultimately goes mano y mano with a sociopathic escaped convict (William Forsythe as Shaye) in the Wyoming woods, the broad shouldered Long is a presence to be contended with. And for a while, his acting seems almost passable. But the illusion, perhaps wishful thinking in light of Hollywood's dearth of robust he-men, is short-lived.

Just as screenwriter Chris Soth's connect-the-dots screenplay mysteriously mutates from highly improbable adventure tale to violently far-fetched exploitation yarn, it becomes clear that at no time soon will a thespic epiphany result from Mr. Long's most recent career gambit.

Letting his chiselled jaw lead as he robotically trudges through all manner of forest fire and related perils, the retired footballer's gait seems to recall a style. And then it clicks. It is a role into which many a sports celebrity with a monotone delivery has been recycled. Pity is, with no one casting for Tarzan at the moment, Long is relegated to this movie's human version of Smokey The Bear.

There's a nostalgic quality to Firestorm, albeit inadvertent. Remember how adventure movies looked before computer-enhanced special effects became available, when stock footage was routinely meshed with stage action? It worked back then, accepted because it was all that existed. In 1998, the embarrassing upshot is a make-do, patchwork quilt of mismatched modes. As a result, none of the numerous forest fire scenes is particularly menacing. And the sequences depicting hero Jesse's "daring" parachute jumps into blazing hazards are so poorly configured that film editor Jack Hofstra should be offered asylum through the Federal Witness Protection Program.

Of course you don't need good special effects to make a villain believable. Just a dastardly cuss and a good script will do. William Forsythe manages the dastardly part well enough, though Chris Soth's scribing doesn't imbue the bloodthirsty lunatic with much depth. As all the principal players increasingly gain cartoon-character sensibilities, Firestorm's tension quotient is severely compromised.

Also beset with a challenging set of two-dimensional lines is Suzy Amis as Jennifer, a bird watcher first rendered innocent bystander and then madman's hostage after all hell breaks loose in the forest. Sporting her all-American, homecoming queen countenance, at one point Jennifer ministers to Jesse's painfully dislocated knee. "I need an orthopaedist is what I need," groans the high-priced fireman. "Well, I'm an ornithologist," retorts the spunky lass while additionally touting her family's Marine Corp heritage.

Also not bad with the karate chops, the multi-talented Jennifer proves a Swiss army knife of a gal. Last seen in Titanic as the romantic raconteur's granddaughter, for the moment attractive Miss Amis's career sinks to even greater depths. Her successful resurfacing is predicted.

Curiously, in the midst of all this entertainment fit for a simpleton, the killer convict's escape scheme is incongruously elaborate, which again only points up the fits and starts that characterise director Semler's blazing failure.

There's really no rational reason to see Firestorm, even if you have money to burn.

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