Peter Kettle This Clint Eastwood directed film, 'Mystic River', is based on the brilliant novel by Dennis Lehane. The word 'stunning' gets overused but the performances by the cast were little short of that. Sean Penn and Tim Robbins deserved their Oscars; Kevin Bacon and Laurence Fishburne; Marcia Gay Harden and Laura Linney; and a knockout range of fine American actors prove again how deep is the talent in the American movie business. Eastwood's no nonsense direction pushed the narrative along with concision and craftsmanship; he is a master of the subtle 'who did what' drama, such as this, and I bet it came in under budget and on time. (IBDM says $25m budget, box office $157m). My wife and I were gripped by this story of a generation growing up and coalescing later in a Boston suburb. The real Mystic River is seven miles long. It lies to the north of Boston and flows approximately parallel to the lower portions of the Charles River. It flows from the Lower Mystic Lake and travels through the Boston-area communities of Arlington, Medford, Somerville, Everett, Charlestown, Chelsea, and East Boston. The river joins the Charles River to form inner Boston Harbor. And that brought me to Robert Lowell and his Charles River poem, for no good reason other than the sheer quality of the original book, this film and that wonderful poem... All three are superb.

Majikat Mystic River isn't just a whodunnit, it's a crime that effects the town and it's past. With excellent performances from an all star cast, probably Sean Penn's best performance ever.It's a dark mood kinda film, but certainly one of a kind!

classicsoncall One thing is certain, this film would not have passed muster under the Production Code of the 1930's and 40's. Not only does it show someone getting away with murder, but it also involves a lawful authority complicit in the knowledge that a former childhood friend did it. I thought this was a masterfully constructed story until it got to those final revelations. One might consider all the interconnected relationships between the various characters to be stretched beyond credibility, but while the story was taking place none of it seemed forced. The opening sequence with the three principals as young boys went a long way to explain the emotional pain Davey Boyle (Tim Robbins) went through his entire life. For his own wife (Marcia Gay Harden) to believe that Davey killed Jimmy Markum's (Sean Penn) daughter demonstrates how fragile their own relationship had become. What bothered me about the story were twofold. When Jimmy actually admits to his wife Annabeth (Laura Linney) that he killed Davey - first, I couldn't believe he did that, and second, her response was to make him feel better about it. No revulsion, no disgust, it was simply out of character to a normal human reaction for that kind of admission. The other problem was Sean Devine's (Kevin bacon) reaction as a police detective. One can only assume, because no clear motivation was offered, that Sean felt Jimmy had gone through enough with the death of his daughter, and at a time he was dealing with his own marital problems. But that really doesn't cut it. His gun-hand gesture to Jimmy at the community parade was really bizarre, I just don't know how to process that.So this may not have been a clear directorial win for Clint Eastwood, but it was a valiant try. Not being a fan of Penn or Robbins, I can appreciate the Oscar wins in their respective categories, I thought they were well deserved. I just would have hoped for a little more thought put into the final outcome to temper the crimes committed with a more appropriate lawful resolution. You don't need a Production Code to convince viewers that there was something off-kilter with the way things turned out.

mdiazf-23880 The plot is twisted and implausible to the point where the movie becomes boring and disappointing. I find no trace of sanity or nobility, no beauty, no hint of redemption for any of the characters throughout a movie that unsuccessfully attempts to be profound and originally dramatic.But it's impossible to admire any of the characters, and the ones that perhaps may deserve compassion, are treated unjustly, disrespectfully and grotesquely. Indeed there is something repulsive and disquietingly grotesque behind the moral premises of the story. One perhaps could forgive the inadequacy of such amorality in a story where haphazardness looks plausible, natural, spontaneous and uncontrived. But in such an absurd and unbelievable story one can only conclude that the dramatist is sick, or perhaps just gullibly read too much of Nietzsche.