Talk about getting hornswoggled! With all the diesel talent in behind Christopher Nolan's "The Prestige," you'd think it would have a little more going for it than a dreadfully overlong game of "Duck season! Rabbit season!" Nolan's talent is estimable, as are the chops of his leads Christian Bale (not altogether ugly) and Hugh Jackman (not nearly hideous either). But, perhaps it's the combination of two cooks in the kitchen -- the brothers Nolan -- or perhaps poor source material that renders this movie incredible and rather tedious. Without spiling too much, it's pretty much about fingers getting shot off and David Bowie shooting electricity at a tophat. I say there, old bean -- what the fuck?
And, oh yeah, Piper Perabo's cheekbones continue to issue the worst English accent ever committed to film.
This is a tough kind of movie to get right, and Nolan even had a head start with Batman and Wolverine in his cast -- but, in the words of John Cleese's Mr. Praline, it has ceased to be.
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