by MATTHEW HAYS

Filmmaker Ron Shelton has stated that he likes the absurdity of Los Angeles. He says he finds this absurdity attractive and that’s what he’s tried to infuse his latest film with.

And certainly, there are a number of things that seem absurd about Hollywood Homicide. At best, it’s a serviceable action movie. At worst, it’s a wild misuse of a solid actor/star (Harrison Ford) and a bad attempt at recapturing the chemistry that occurred with the cop-buddy flick Lethal Weapon franchise. Certainly, the film has upset some of the norms readily available in most standard studio films: typically, studio films start out strong and then fizzle; Homicide feels like it fizzles out in its first half hour and then, suddenly, almost, almost redeems itself in its final 40 minutes. Close, but no cigar.

Ford plays a cynical LAPD officer, a jaded cop who does his job but is forced to moonlight as a real estate agent due to his desperate financial situation. He has money problems, but he’s a decent sort. He looks out for his partner, the hapless Josh Hartnett, who would rather be acting or teaching yoga to his umpteen female students, all of whom vie for his carnal attention.

The absurdity of being a cop in L.A. is something that, theoretically, would make for a great film. But Shelton isn’t exactly a subtle director, and rather than let the possible scenarios and ideas rise out of situations organically, the yuks are forced and arduous. When Ford’s cell phone goes off, the ringer is the tune to “My Girl.” When Hartnett’s goes off, it’s the tune to “Funkytown.” Whoever came up with this dual gag is undoubtedly the same genius behind all those McCain food product commercials and deserves a big, fat bonus.

Sadly, there seems to be a good movie in here somewhere, but one that drowns in all the lame-ass, failed-funny bits. There’s a stellar, lengthy car chase, that, even in an ocean of already-been-done-a-million-times chase sequences, stands up very well.

But let’s get one thing clear: Harrison Ford is not a comic actor. Though he’s clearly trying to stretch himself, it’s not working. Two years ago he tried pulling a Jimmy Stewart (whose persona successfully went from good to twisted in films that shifted from the likes of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington to Vertigo), attempting to tarnish his own golden image when he played a murderous infidel husband in What Lies Beneath. Now, he’s trying to pull a Mel Gibson, playing the older mentor cop to Hartnett. Trouble is, Ford’s concept of comedy seems to be endless mugging to the camera. It’s really not particularly funny to watch, it’s just kinda grim.

The filmmakers should have recognized Ford’s lacklustre comedy streak (which should have gone no further than his occasional one liner in the original Star Wars trilogy) and focused on making a top-notch action movie, one that pointed up the inherent absurdity of Los Angeles, as was Shelton’s initial intention. Instead, Hollywood Homicide is absurdity of the wrong kind.

Hollywood Homicide opens Friday, June 13

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