Hollywood adds to its pattern of dreadful returns to trashy ’90s films with “The Loft.”
The unpleasant sensational thriller — which feels like decade-old rubbish, for example, “Admirable motivation,” “Fragment” and “Broke” — takes after Jennifer Lopez’s “The Boy Next Door,” which directed “Deluded” and “Resting with the Enemy.” This one accompanies hoot-capable dialog politeness screenwriter Wesley Strick (“Cape Fear,” “Last Analysis”), like, “I take risks, particularly when holding a modest bunch of hearts!”
Five charmless miscreants are addressed by investigators after a wicked female body is discovered bound to a cot in a space. At the point when the quartet discover the body, they meet to talk about what to do before calling the police.
Vince (Karl Urban) is a draftsman, and — fortuitous event! — the “engineer” of an arrangement we see in flashback, setting up the apartment suite space for he and his buddies to bring ladies to. Chris (James Marsden), a therapist with perpetual 5 o’clock stubble, is reluctant, however Chris’ thuggish relative Philip (Matthias Schoenaerts) and Marty (Eric Stonestreet), a “chubby jokester,” as he’s called, are down with it. Luke (Wentworth Miller) is tall and calm, yet has a profound well of horndog. “We’re men,” one of the wannabe players says. “We’re all somewhat like that.”
Chris in the end gets to be included with a call young lady, Anne (Rachael Taylor), which prompts his hilariously dazed “…what?!” after she yells at him, “I’m a prostitute! I’m a whore! I f – men for cash!” Meanwhile, Vince succumbs to Sarah (Isabel Lucas), whom he meets at a gathering, and recently wedded Philip proceeds with his tom-cattin’ ways. The “chubby jokester” simply continues being a standout amongst the most unappealing characters ever put on film.
Turns develop when, in yet more flashbacks, we hear Anne’s primary customer, an “effective city councilman,” say a Latin cite — by the blondie cadaver had been a Latin expression spread in blood! Is it true that he was the executioner? Alternately shouldn’t we think about Luke, who’s been feature recording all the gentlemen’s extramarital gatherings? Philip is constantly savage, and Vince is constantly irate. They all could be suspects, and all begin to suspect one another.
“Murder on the Orient Express,” this ain’t.
“The Loft” is, be that as it may, extremely sexist in a Joe Eszterhas (“Basic Instinct”) sort of way. All the men’s wives are vixens, snobs or doormats; all the successes doe-looked at blondies with sucked-in cheeks. All the dialog is as witty as this trade: “You’re a wiped out f -!” “No, you’re a debilitated f -!”
They’re all debilitated f -s, honestly, and the performing artists are shocking while playing them. Urban is marvelous as Dr. Mccoy in the new “Star Trek” movies, however he’s unpleasantly wooden here. Marsden is an overlooked light comic (“Enchanted,” “Hairspray”), yet here is as smooth and level as an Esquire spread. Mill operator (“Prison Break”) could be Clark Kent’s sibling Pa Kent kept in a storeroom.
Whatever is left of the cast is forgettable, including the “stout jokester,” and the visuals have that metallic-ash palette so natural from late-night link flicks. Indeed the investigation scenes are upsetting, particularly when chief Erik Van Looy, redoing his own particular 2008 Belgian flick (likewise costarring Schoenaerts, in the same part), utilizes fishbowl lenses on the suspects’ cou