A recent issue of the Onion contained an insightful interview with \Election"" director Alexander Payne, in which he was asked to share his opinion on what constitutes a true independent film. Payne said he would classify an independent film as any in which ""you feel the director, not a machine, at work""-a purposely broad definition that virtually associates the quality of any film, mainstream or otherwise, with the creative presence of a talented director. From this, we can label financial hits such as Sam Raimi's ""Spider-Man"" films and Alfonso Cuaron's ""Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban"" as imaginative studio productions with independent spirit and generic movies like ""Gone in 60 Seconds"" and ""Armageddon"" as uninspired, machine-processed flotsam. And since director Brett Ratner is one of the blandest filmmakers currently working, his new insipid heist/caper comedy ""After the Sunset"" is the very antithesis of original, independently crafted entertainment.
""After the Sunset"" stars a grizzled Pierce Brosnan and a sultry Salma Hayek (who gives the most cleavage-centric performance since Jennifer Love Hewitt in the ""I Know What You Did Last Summer"" movies) as Max and Lola, retired jewel thieves living off of their spoils in the Bahamas. However, bumbling FBI agent Stan (Woody Harrelson), who has apparently been duped by the pair for just shy of a decade, flies into town to harass them. It seems there is a docked cruise ship with a hugely valuable diamond on board, and perhaps Brosnan's lackadaisical retirement is merely a cover for his ""biggest score yet"" (which has to be most blatantly overused heist movie clich?? ever).
The majority of the running time neglects any logistics or planning of the heist itself, since Ratner instead chose to focus on the stale banter between the principle actors (the screenplay feels like it was written by an eighth grader trying to sound like Elmore Leonard) and linger longingly on the exotic locales. Brosnan, a veteran of this type of role, phones in his performance while Harrelson, ever the consummate comedian, milks any laughs he can out of his shoddily written role. Don Cheadle, who co-stars as a local gangster, looks embarrassed and apathetic, especially since he gets significantly less screen time than Salma Hayek's breasts. Speaking of Hayek, it is disheartening to see an actress of her caliber go from Oscar-nominated brilliance (""Frida"") to the kind of sub-par, purely sexualized role usually doled out to a well-endowed flavor-of-the-month starlet like Eva Mendes.
This isn't to say ""After the Sunset"" is one of the worst movies of the year, but it is a supreme waste of time and talent. Thanks mostly to Harrelson, there is an adequate amount of one-liners and zingers that keep the film clipping along quickly, though many of them are unfortunately fueled by homophobia and sexism. The filmmakers' reliance on homophobia unintentionally generates a gay subtext that, if it were any more pervasive, could have turned ""After the Sunset"" into a kooky love story between Brosnan and Harrelson (especially since Hayek and Naomie Harris' love interest characters seem shoehorned in).
As with most derivative entertainment, the faint pleasures ""After the Sunset"" offers feel diluted from other infinitely better movies. Brosnan's charm is more evident in ""Thomas Crown Affair"" and the underrated ""Tailor of Panama."" Hayek's body is exploited more effectively in ""From Dusk Till Dawn"" and ""Desperado,"" and Harrelson's affable comedic talents are on fuller display in ""Kingpin,"" ""The People vs. Larry Flynt"" and ""Wag the Dog."" ""After the Sunset"" is another mediocre trifle that cements Ratner's reputation as more of a panderer than a director; it is the lackluster foil to dynamic, exceptional mainstream cinema like Soderbergh's ""Ocean's 11.\
