You know how it is. One day you’re a sweet, chubby seven-year-old, inappropriately dancing at a beauty contest to unite your dysfunctional family in a heart-melting indie classic. The next, you’re a peroxide blonde teen running around in your bra as a psychopath tries to scalp you in the latest brain-dead vehicle created just to remind audiences that Halle Berry exists.
Puberty’s rough.
Now, if once-Little Miss Sunshine Abigail Breslin wants to be seen as an adult(ish) actress, the 17-year-old has every right to take more mature (English to Hollywood translation: ‘sexualised’) roles. But in such an awful film? The Call begins promisingly, as kidnapped Breslin rings emergency operator Halle Berry from the trunk of a moving car. Berry, traumatised by her unwitting role in the murder of a young girl six months earlier, has to keep level-headed while coming up with inventive ways to help Breslin.
Initially, the call gimmick is handled brilliantly, as Brad Anderson (The Machinist, TV’s Fringe) utilises his skill for high concepts and suspense-building pace. Berry and Breslin also fare well, emoting through their claustrophobic confines of a boot and office chair.
However, the sexual politics are hugely problematic, as is the laughable plot. Berry’s earlier fatal distraction is caused by her boyfriend while an opening scene goes to painful lengths to establish Breslin as a virginal “Good Girl”. Next time, Abigail, keep the clothes on and call your agent instead.