dir. Steven Soderbergh
writ. Kurt Eichenwald (novel), Scott Z. Burns (script)
feat. Matt Damon, Scott Bakula, Tom Papa, Melanie Lynskey
Soderbergh explodes the title of his film and earns the exclamation point with The Informant! In an adaptation that smacks of...well, Adaptation, Eichenwald's procedural novel about price fixing is twisted inside out by presenting the most unlikely turncoat in Mark Whitacre (Damon). Whitacre, while eager to appear as the well-meaning agent of truth and justice, immediately begins tripping over his own lies, clearly embroiled in the entire scam that he is supposedly unearthing. His moral radar, severely damaged or violently askew, keeps him dodging in and out of the hands of the feds, occasionally realizing his predicament before launching back into the relationship that seems to satisfy him on some level.
Punctuating the story are flashy flower power inspired title cards, playfully hinting at an era earlier than the 90s of the film (which really looks like the late 80s in dress and decor), and wonderfully fanciful musings by Whitacre about the workings of the world. These latter diversions, delivered as internal monologue, present minutiae that fascinates and baffles, potentially guiding his delusionally misguided pursuits. The speedy pace of the picture combined with these disruptive yet propulsive thoughtful moments make for a film wholly owned by Damon, in a role that shows off the range and command of an underrated talent.
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