Film Review: The Informers

Having been holed up in bed for much of the past week with a nasty flu (no, not that flu), I’ve jumped on the opportunity, more like seized it by the neck and wrestled it to the floor, to plant myself in front of my laptop screen and brush off my inner film buff. Given I’m in Bangladesh, this is a little more difficult than I’d like, I have been at the mercy of the film collection inside my home, which had been built over about five years by various volunteers. Hence, the genres vary wildly.

This is my excuse for watching The Informers. I can’t think of a better one. Oh wait, yes I can. The cover said something about screenplay by Brett Easton Ellis, and who doesn’t have a soft spot for Pat Bateman? I’ve learnt my lesson though, having sat through what can only be described as the Worst Film I Have Seen All Year – and I’ve seen He’s Just Not That Into You, (enough already with the sexy minx Scarlett! Enough!) so I have well-established credentials in that department.



On the upside, it was a brilliant advertisement for why you should never get botox. Kim Basinger and Billy Bob Thornton looked so ridiculously plastic (I know they were supposed to, but still) I couldn’t help but shudder every time they came on screen. And then there was the cute-but-whore-like blonde bombshell who contracts the big one as a result of her morally bereft lifestyle of sex, drugs, and 80’s hairspray. And the drug dealing boyfriend who drives a Ferrari. And Winona Ryder whose annoying, scratching voice was much better suited to awkward coming of age characters than women who (almost) have it all. And Chris Isaac playing a mix between Joy Division’s Ian Curtis (those dance moves?)and...well I don't really know who. Chris Issac!? WTF?

I know I should have stopped watching rather than continue to give up precious moments of my fleeting life to something so terrible, but I found myself trying to find some small, teensy bit of anything salvageable from the whole debacle. Of course, there was none, and I’ve been left ever since with a query over my long-held respect for American Psycho and a pledge to never, ever watch anything with Kim Basinger in it again. Sorry Kim.