Limbo

The title, it turns out, is depressingly apt, as limbo is where most of this film's scattershot smorgasbord of characters, subplots and ideas wind up residing, abandoned and forgotten. It's John Sayles at his clunkiest and most labored, lurching haphazardly from issue to issue without regard for thematic consistency or (frankly) viewer patience; you can almost sense him just outside the frame in the most didactic scenes, making a small checkmark on a list headed LEFT-WING CONCERNS: ALASKA. A couple of corporate bigwigs who discuss the notion of the Alaskan wilderness as potential organic theme park might as well be twirling handlebar mustaches, and their greedy machinations have no bearing on anything that follows; neither do the remarkably trenchant grumblings of a handful of laid-off fish-gutters. Much is made of the fact that our moody protagonist Joe Gastineau (David Strathairn) hasn't set foot on a fishing boat in 25 years, presumably since the night of the Traumatic Past Incident That Haunts His Nightmares to This Day--yet when asked to cast his nets again, as a casual favor, he barely even hesitates before agreeing. Yet even this main storyline, following Gastineau's personal and nautical odyssey, often seems sketchy and unfocused--especially after the film takes an unexpectedly melodramatic turn and threatens to metamorphose into a dysfunctional-family sequel to The Edge. Most of the pleasures here are incidental: Strathairn's low-key charisma, Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio's lovely singing voice, stunning location photography, and an agreeably ambiguous conclusion. Optional. (M. D'Angelo)