"Hollywood Homicide" is dead on arrival.
Hollywood finds nothing more enrapturing than itself, and "Hollywood Homicide" is the industry's latest exercise in cinematic self-love.
Meet buddy cops Joe (Harrison Ford) and K.C. (Josh Hartnett). Oh, wait, you already have, at least a thousand times: Joe's the grizzled veteran. K.C.'s the rookie who can't shoot straight. Joe's meat and potatoes. K.C.'s vegan and probably lactose intolerant. Both of them moonlight: Joe brokers real estate on the side. K.C.'s a yoga teacher and aspiring actor. This is meant to supply the film's humor as the characters open their cell phones during a car chase or gunfight to sell a home and/or screenplay. The first time, this gag could be charitably described as "unfunny." By the 100th time, I was begging the concession stand to sell me a cup of Drano.
Joe and K.C. investigate a nightclub murder while parrying with an internal investigator pursuing them on trumped-up corruption charges. The story inches glacially along as director Ron ("Play It to the Bone") Shelton imbues his characters with motivations that are about as subtle as blows to the head: Joe's dating his adversary's ex; K.C. discovers that the bad guy killed his father.
The climactic chase scene looks like it was filmed from atop a double-decker bus by a passing tourist. Amazingly, Shelton provides a television helicopter pilot to narrate the action as it happens, in case the audience fails to comprehend such visuals as "man run down street with gun." Near the end, the helicopter narrator blurts out, somewhat desperately, "I've never seen such drama in Hollywood before!" which was the only point during this movie when I laughed -- and a bitter laugh it was. "Hollywood Homicide" is dead on arrival.
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