But that fashion disaster is nothing compared with Michael Mann's latest, in which he finally gets to over-indulge his career-long fetish for blue lighting, sunsets and beachfront homes.
There's just so. Much. Male posturing. Foxxoxxooxx and Feral look less like partners, and more like semi-finalists facing each other off in the town brooding contest. They barely speak to each other, or anyone else - in fact, the whole script must have looked like an itemised supermarket till reciept.
And Colin, Colin, Colin... when he wasn't stroking his hillbilly 'tash/goatee non-combo, or trying out a new Trans-Atlantic-American-Southern-Irish accent, he was dancing- which drew more than a few giggles from people in the cinema. Foxx at least carries his part, and his love scene, with some credibility.
And this is very much a male film, in the worst sense. The two main women characters - one Foxx's professional and personal partner, and Feral's Asian drug baron squeeze - are there purely to get in the way and put our besuited male leads in harm's way.
There are some great open cinematic shots- of both personal jets and powerboats in flight- but the hazy night-time city feel that worked so well for 'Collateral' just becomes like permanent insomnia here. Almost everything seems to take place at night, spot lit by arc lights, in the same way Bruckenheimer/Bay action pics seem stuck on permanent sunset.
Miami Vice is unashamedly all about the visuals, and obviously a pet project for Michael Mann- let's just hope he's got it out of his system and gets back to making movies with stories.
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