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August 21, 2002

One Hour Photo

** 1/2 stars (out of four)One Hour Photo movie review

Parties and panty raids, secrets and lovers. If you want to be forgiven, see a priest. But if you don't want to forget something, check your memories at the one-hour photo. Either way, the evidence can be just as intimate... and just as damning. That's the gist of Mark Romanek's unsettling One Hour Photo, where involuntary confessions develop in the darkroom and an obsessive photo clerk takes it upon himself to set things straight.

Haunted behind wire-frame glasses and an inexplicable orange crew cut, Robin Williams creates Sy "the photo guy" Parrish in the third of his recent, well-publicized bad-guy roles (Williams also embraced his dark side in Insomnia and Death to Smoochy earlier this year). As it turns out, the three characters aren't so much "bad guys" as "not-so-good guys," with Williams playing misunderstood but well-meaning men in each of the films. Here, he's a meticulous photo handler searching for images to overwrite the photographic memories of his traumatic childhood.

Of all his customers, Sy likes the Yorkins best: Nina, Will and little Jake. On film, they look like the ideal family, always smiling. Sy keeps an extra copy of every one of the Yorkins' prints. It never crosses his mind that the Yorkins themselves might not be content with all the pictures they've taken, that he could be holding on to memories they've since let go. This one makes Mommy look silly -- rip! -- another memory forgotten. Sy keeps them all, wallpapering his empty apartment with visions of a better life... until an errant roll of film ruptures his fantasy and sends him into a vengeful fury.

One Hour Photo offers Williams a whopper of a character, to which the manic Oscar-winning actor responds with remarkable restraint. Inarticulate and soft-spoken, Sy Parrish remains an enigma, hidden behind occasional facial tics and a wounded smile. Meanwhile, Romanek focuses on the under-exposed details of everyday life -- the squeak of sneakers on linoleum, Muzak playing cheerlessly over tinny store speakers. We'll never understand the dimensions of Sy's personal purgatory, though Romanek captures his surroundings so completely you can almost smell the photo-processing chemicals in the air.

[as featured on Moviefone.com]

Posted by Peter Debruge on

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