Film Review: Alice (2022)

There are aspects of Krystin Ver Linden’s Alice that are intriguing and likable, but unfortunately these few and far between occurrences aren’t enough to eclipse the numerous instances of bad judgment.

For a film that tackles the revolutionary politics of female empowerment and black power, Alice never quite gets its footing in either arena, giving it a regrettably less-than-stellar revolutionary feel. Add to that its rather slapdash pacing and one-dimensional characterization, and things go quickly from mediocre to yawn-worthy.

However, the premise — in which a young enslaved woman in the 1850s escapes her captors, only to find out it’s actually 1973 — is surprisingly sound once you’ve settled into its outlandish nature (and given in to your inner M. Night Shyamalan). Had it been used to its full, bloody potential (think the climax of Tarantino’s Django Unchained), I’d likely be singing a different tune. As is, it simply makes do as an underused, if interesting device.

Keke Palmer (Hustlers) manages to turn in an admirable performance as the titular woman, but has her legs cut out from under her by a lack of distinguishing dialogue and her mostly deadpan co-star (Common, as an ex-revolutionary turned truck driver). She does, however, get some righteous revenge in the finale, which is probably the film’s single best moment, but, perhaps sadistically, I wanted much more bloodshed (there’s Django again).

In the end, there isn’t anything so heinous about Alice to warrant any kind of extended ire, but that’s mostly because there isn’t anything memorable enough about it to stick with you for long enough to work up any substantial feelings one way or the other.

Originally published by ASHEVILLE MOVIES.