Director: David Fincher
Year Released: 2002
If it weren't for Fincher's cinematic prowess, something this stale wouldn't be remotely watchable. All information you need to know is spilled out in the first twenty minutes - Jodie Foster's claustrophobia (and lack of techno-savvy), her daughter's diabetes, her marital problems, her insecurity, her financial earnings, the workings of the Panic Room itself - so that the next hour and forty minutes can be Fincher salvaging David Koepp's gratuitous, 'oh-come-now' script, surrounding everything with such dramatic flourish and CGI-heavy effects (ever want to see a camera go through air ducts, telephone lines, chairs, coffee pot handles?) that you don't have time to severely nit-pick. It's a good thing, really, that the most annoying character gets dispatched early - overacting is never rewarded, gang - but it could have been a bit shorter, really. Nice to see Forest Whitaker getting work - wish he'd pick better pictures to be a part of, however.