Faithful readers know I'm not fond of heights. That doesn't mean I object to them in movies. I responded strongly to Tom Cruise clinging to the walls of the world's tallest building in "Mission: Impossible -- Ghost Protocol." With a movie like "Man on a Ledge," however, I feel toyed with. The movie cuts back and forth between two preposterous plot lines and uses the man on the ledge as a device to pump up the tension.

Fair enough. I've played along with more than one absurd plot in my life. But how should I react when the man on the ledge doesn't take it seriously? I believe if you are standing on a 21st floor ledge in a fair wind, you take it very seriously, indeed. To be sure, the man is threatening to commit suicide, so if he fell, that would fit into his plan. But since we know he's not serious, what is this goofball thinking?


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His name is Nick Cassidy (Sam Worthington). He's an ex-cop, serving a prison term. Let outside for a day under armed escort to attend his father's funeral, he escapes from his guards, ditches his prisoner's uniform, makes it into Manhattan, checks into a hotel, tucks into a big breakfast and climbs out on the ledge.

At this point, if we're experienced moviegoers, we have a good idea he isn't going to jump anytime real soon, because then the movie would be over, get it? No, we're going to get a lot of point-of-view shots looking straight down past the toes of his shoes. Man, is he high up. He collects a big crowd, which brings traffic to a halt.

At the same time, the movie cuts away to David Englander (Ed Harris), a wealthy master of the universe whose offices are in a high rise across the street. He's preparing to unveil his grandiose scheme to erect a skyscraper. I've forgotten its name, so let's call it the Englander Tower, in honor of the Donald.

Now we cut between Nick Cassidy, David Englander and Joey (Jamie Bell) and Angie (Genesis Rodriguez). Why do I always think people named Joey and Angie are New Yorkers? I'm sure there are lots of them elsewhere. Anyway, Angie emulates the new breed of female action heroine by squeezing herself into a skin-tight latex costume that incorporates a push-up bra designed along the same lines that made the facade of the Sydney Opera House possible. Then she begins crawling through air shafts.

Across the street, a cop named Jack Dougherty (Edward Burns) arrives in the hotel room to talk down the jumper. Soon he's replaced by an NYPD psychologist named Lydia Mercer (Elizabeth Banks). Down below, on cue, the crowd chants jump! jump! while hoping to film the death on their iPhones and pick up some change from "Eyewitness News." TV news reporter Suzie Morales (Kyra Sedgwick) breathlessly covers the story. Her station's NewsChopper helpfully flies so close to the ledge that its downdraft threatens to blow Nick into a thousand YouTube postings.

How much should I reveal? I could explain the connection, if any, between the events on both sides of the street. Let me just say it's all part of a tricky scheme to steal the world's largest diamond. Therefore, Nick's role is to attract attention and tie up traffic, right? Yes, and pretend to almost fall at just the right moment so an explosion will be overlooked, and so on.

But hold on. What we have here is a master plan that absolutely depends on Nick (1) being released for the funeral, (2) escaping two armed guards, (3) getting safely into Manhattan, (4) checking into a room on the correct floor and side of the hotel and (5) not falling off the ledge prematurely, which would not only kill him but spoil the whole plan. And meanwhile, Joey and Angie have to find the world's largest diamond, which is not where it's supposed to be. Maybe it has been disguised as a diamond-plated Ferrari? No, that was "Tower Heist." And there also has to be time for the TV reporter to sum up the meaning of everything and bring about the happy ending.

You say that all sounds plausible to you? OK. But here's what I doubt. You know those big air mattresses that firemen inflate to break falls from high places? Do you believe that when it becomes urgent for Nick to be at street level right now, he would take a deep breath, get a running start on the ledge, jump into thin air and land safely after his fall of 21 floors? That's where I draw the line.

I suppose this sounds like the complaint of a crank, but I would have admired "Children of a Lesser God" more if some of its scenes had been played without the benefit of a soundtrack. If a story is about the battle of two people over the common ground on which they will communicate, it's not fair to make the whole movie on the terms of only one of them.

The movie is a love story, a romance between a young woman who is deaf and a rebellious teacher who believes she should learn to read lips and speak phonetically. She doesn't think so. She's been using sign language all of her life, and her argument is simple: If he loves her, he will enter her world of silence.

Although this disagreement is at the heart of "Children of a Lesser God," the movie makes a deliberate decision to exist in the world of the hearing. I know why they made this decision. It was dictated by the box office, but that doesn't make me feel any better about it. There is a certain cynicism at work here: Most of the people who see this movie will be able to hear, and although they may welcome the challenge of a movie about a deaf person, they aren't so interested that they want to experience deafness.

The movie uses a strategy that works well - if you accept the basic premise, which is that everything said on the screen must be heard on the soundtrack. Marlee Matlin, who plays the deaf woman, signs all of her dialogue, and William Hurt, who plays the teacher, then repeats it aloud, as if to himself. "I like to hear the sound of my own voice," he says at one point, and indeed he does such a smooth and natural job of translation that the strategy works.

But think for a minute: Hurt can hear and can read sign language; Marlin's cannot hear or (she claims) read lips, and can only communicate by signing. In many movies about two major characters, there are scenes from two points of view. In "Children of a Lesser God," the scenes between the two of them are from Hurt's point of view, and none of them are played without sound.

I'm not suggesting silent scenes where we have to guess what the sign language means. But how about a few silent scenes in which the signs are translated by subtitles, giving us something of the same experience that deaf people have (they see the signs, and then the subtitles, so to speak, are supplied by their intelligence).

The feeling of seeing Hurt and not hearing him, of looking out at him from a silent world, would have underlined the true subject of this movie, which is communication between two people who speak differently.

This objection aside, "Children of a Lesser God" is a good but not a great movie. The subject matter is new and challenging, and I was interested in everything the movie had to tell me about deafness.

Unfortunately, the love story is a fairly predictable series of obligatory scenes, made different only by the ways the characters talk to one another. I kept waiting for scenes in which Hurt and Matlin would discuss honestly the problems inherent in their relationship: If she refuses to learn to lip-read, she will be able to exist freely only at the deaf school, which means she is asking him to sacrifice great areas of his own life. Has she thought this through? We don't know.

I also don't know why the movie ignores all of the other ways the deaf have found to communicate. I am writing this review, for example, on a 4-pound, battery-powered portable computer, and I know that for many deaf people these machines represent an excellent substitute for the telephone.

"Children of a Lesser God" is not a movie about deafness, but a love story in which deafness is used as a poignant gimmick. I was reminded of such movies as "Love Story," with its dying heroine; "The Other Side of the Mountain," with its paraplegic heroine, and various other movies in which one of the lovers was blind, lame or from another planet. Most of the movies in this genre seem to treat the handicap as sort of a bonus, conferring greater moral authenticity on the handicapped character. This is a form of subtle condescension.

Despite my argument with the method of "Children of a Lesser God," I found a lot to admire, especially in the acting. The performances are strong and wonderful - not only by Hurt, one of the best actors of his generation, but also by Matlin, a deaf actress who is appearing in her first movie. She holds her own against the powerhouse she's acting with, carrying scenes with a passion and almost painful fear of being rejected and hurt, which is really what her rebellion is about.

Among the supporting characters, Piper Laurie does a good job with a thankless role as Matlin's mother. And I enjoyed the studied cynicism that Philip Bosco put into the role of the old pro who runs the school for the deaf.

It could have been more. Film is the medium of the visual and should be ideally suited to a story about a person who cannot hear, but only if the movie invites us inside that world and invites - even forces - us to an act of empathy. Making a sound movie about the deaf is a little like making a silent movie about the blind. It may be well-made, but doesn't it evade the point?

In a recent interview with The Mirror, Knight revealed: The biggest difference between a film and TV series is the budget. When you do stuff for TV, you often have to ask people to imagine it. But with a film, you can really do it. You can blow stuff up. Will Tommy be giving James Bond a run for his money?

Although the news of the film was initially confirmed by Knight in January 2021, there's been no word yet on an official release date for the film but Knight did exclusively reveal to RadioTimes.com that \"it's coming and it's soon\". 152ee80cbc

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