Well, Nick Cage is no Harrison Ford, Jon Turtletaub is no Steven Spielberg, and National Treasure is no Indiana Jones, though it desperately wants to be. Unfortunately, where the Indiana Jones series excelled (plot, characters, dialogue, and generally interesting storytelling), National Treasure is derivative, sub-par, and a disgrace to conspiracy theory. Freemasons and Illuminati are probably enduring repeated aneurisms as a result of the script that appears to have been researched by someone wearing boxing gloves.
It certainly has its moments of fun. Seeing The Wolf–I mean, Harvey Keitel–attempting to wrangle through the mess of dialogue and plot meanderings, watching the obvious and copious clues unravel from logical inconsistency, Diane Kruger playing a “document expert”, and Jon Voigt playing Jon Voigt, are all amusing in a cartoon-train-pile-up kind of way. And if Cage’s hairline recedes anymore, he’ll be combing his backside.
Cage sleepwalks through his role as Benjamin Franklin Gates, the latest of a long family line of treasure hunters who believes that the world’s greatest treasure, collected through the ages by the Knight Templars, has been hidden by the Founding Fathers, protected by a series of clues that have been hidden in historical documents, dollar bills, and national symbols and memorials–a conspiracy theorist’s wet dream, especially given the fact that the Masons are behind the entire bizarre construct. Thanks to the writers, it turns out pouring lemon juice all over a two hundred year old document will not only not adversely affect the paper, but will in fact make it indestructible, as evidenced by the fact that it gets trampled, run over, tossed and mishandled, exposed to pollution, human breath, and open air, crushed, and generally misused to the point of aggravation.
Sean Bean, in a stretching role, plays Ian, a bad guy who is trying to steal the Declaration of Independence because it holds one of the clues that leads to the fabled treasure. Gates, doing what any decent, honest American would do, steals it himself to prevent Ian from stealing it. Makes sense. Unfortunately, Gates is caught by the FBI, led by Harvey Keitel, who offers him prison in exchange for helping to catch Ian. Poor Harvey has little to work with, but he smiles through it all, demonstrating that he is, indeed, The Wolf.
Discovering clue after clue, and with no end to the movie in sight, Gates, with the help of his spunky, computer-literate sidekick Riley (Jason Bartha) and Dr. Abigail Chase (Diane Kruger, in an accent-defying role), tracks down the treasure and saves the world, or at least the audience from yet another clue that would have had me ice-picking my eyes in a desperate attempt to escape the pain.
It wasn’t just the plodding plot (which plays out like a victim of sleep disorder’s video therapy) that bothered me. The script creates and fills more holes than a Dunkin’ Donut shop. Apparently, the barest hint of technology can defeat a sophisticated security system if one utilizes alligator clips. Gates and Riley bypass it all using a couple of cameras, some alligator clips, a latex glove, and a photoshopped National Archives ID. Amazingly, they encounter nary a hitch in stealing the most high-profile document in the United States. Way to go, Homeland Security! Also, two hundred year old gunpowder encased in an ice-bound ship explodes like fresh-from-the-mint plastique. It’s nice to know at least one American product holds up after so many years.
While there are some entertaining moments, the majority of the film sinks like the Bruckheimer-driven vehicle it is. With all the money at his disposal, one would think Bruckheimer could buy a decent story. But not even a national treasure could save this lackluster effort.
Fringe Rating: out of 5