Lost in Translation

Before Ozzy and Jessica proved that gallons of hair dye and several generations of inbreeding could still produce successful rubes with unfairly lavish houses, MTV's "Cribs" satisfied the voyeuristic cravings of the American public by giving exclusive tours of celebrity homes.

Sydney Pollack's latest film, "The Interpreter," is sort of like a sedate version of the television show in that it gives its audience unprecedented access to the United Nations (UN) headquarters in New York. But as the MTV viewers gradually learned by watching the insides of one gold-plated mansion after another, the idea of intruding into private space is actually a lot more interesting than the footage itself.

As with the film's lackluster attempt to seem appealing to the audience with the sensational novelty of its setting, the idea of creating a political thriller which examines several critical international concerns without shying away from the gruesome details is much more impressive than the resulting product, at least in this case.

Featuring an ambitious plotline that could have been more fully exploited by the filmmakers into leaving a meaningful impression upon its viewers, "The Interpreter" fails to create the emotional responses appropriate for a film of this sort.

Silvia Broome (Nicole Kidman), a citizen of the fictitious African nation of Matobo, is a United Nations translator whose idealistic confidence in the merit of the United Nations leads her to believe that her country's political strife can eventually be worn down and resolved through negotiations implemented by the global organization.

She transplants herself to the United States to work for the United Nations after her family is killed by a landmine, one of many inhumane ploys used by Matobo's president Edmond Zuwanie (Earl Cameron) to squelch opposition from political agitators and terrorists who are vying for control of the country.

Secret service agent Tobin Keller (Sean Penn) is assigned the task of investigating the credibility of Silvia's report of the assassination plot and her suspicious connections to various Matoban political figures, and much of the film is devoted to his dogged pursuit of uncovering the concealed details of her past.

What Keller eventually learns about Silvia not only becomes crucial in his agency's effort to thwart the possible attempt at Zuwanie's life but also, rather predictably, proves to affect the mental drama that plagues his personal life.

Granted, the film addresses issues that are very much in need of exposure to a public whose source for news runs the sluttish gamut of extremely selective national reports to standard tabloid fare.

But though Pollack's film thoughtfully provides the viewer with glimpses of touchy topics such as the ineffectiveness of a global police force in preventing despotic atrocities, the indiscriminate victims of genocide, the blurred distinction between a tyrannical government and one that is simply undemocratic, insurgent political armies, and the residual effects of apartheid, the film never pulls back the curtain quite far enough to fully expose the naked scars of Third World debt.

There is even more to be said of the film's inability to compensate for its weakness of the main plot with a more stimulating development between the characters of Silvia and Keller. Sure, "The Interpreter" shouldn't remind anyone of "The Bodyguard"-thankfully-and it's unfair to demand that every intentionally non-romantic relationship attempt the tricky Clarisse Starling/Hannibal Lecter alchemic equation.

But still, is it too much to ask for interchanges that don't always have to involve panning from Kidman's moist blue eyes to Penn's pained brow ridge?

It's a harsh blow to your psyche when Babyface tries to show you around his ivory palace, and you realize that you don't really want to see all of his off-white patio furniture. What is even worse is the disappointment you feel when you do want to momentarily experience a life outside your own, and you end up looking through a screen door.

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