This delectable fusion of New Age babble and luridly bad film-making may not "open" you up, to borrow one of the film's favorite verbs, but it might leave your jaw slack and your belly sore from laughter or retching. Based on the best-selling book by James Redfield, first (self) published in 1993, this cornucopia of kitsch tracks the spiritual awakening of an American history teacher (Matthew Settle) who, on traveling to deepest, darkest, phoniest Peru and sniffing either the air or something else more illegal. Namely what he discovers is a schlock Shangri La populated by smiling zombies who may be nuts or just heavily medicated, perhaps because they're often accompanied by a panpipe flourish and an occasional shout out from a celestial choir. Although there's a lot of talk about "energy," that quality is decidedly missing from the motley cast whose numbers include Thomas Kretschmann, Annabeth Gish, Hector Elizondo and Jurgen Prochnow, all of whom are now firmly ensconced in the camp pantheon. For those who care, the plot involves the military, terrorists and the Roman Catholic Church; Armand Mastroianni provided the inept direction while Mr. Redfield, Barnet Bain and Dan Gordon wrote the hoot of a script. In short, easily the worst film seen in 40+ years of viewing movies.
Review of The Celestine Prophecy
