Knowing
If you can sit through the dreadful first three-quarters of “Knowing,” there’s a mildly intriguing, if poorly executed, sci-fi idea lurking at its conclusion. To be clear, that’s not a recommendation. All I mean is that a few scenes toward the end didn’t make want to stare at the walls of the theater, in hopes that something more entertaining might lurk there. Most of “Knowing” is laughable, ham-fisted and wooden, with Nicolas Cage making a bid for another worst-actor nomination at the Razzie awards. Even if you accept the whopper of a premise, not a word Cage utters is believable. He plays a widowed MIT professor — sure he does. A time capsule unearthed at his son’s school reveals a series of numbers that forecast a grab bag of disasters. Director Alex Proyas never gets on board with the whole numbers-predicting-the-future idea. Elaborate special-effects sequences amount to little more than filler — images to put in the trailer. Proyas seems engaged only when Cage’s son is stalked by a gang of tall, silent blondes who look like Norwegian hit men. They drive around in a vintage Caddy and hand out smooth black stones like pedophiles offering candy. Why? No reason. Nothing they do makes any sense even after their motive is revealed. Nonetheless, their appearances have a nervous energy that the rest of “Knowing” lacks. I’d like to say the climax is bleak and bold, but it’s also haphazard and uses shallow sentimentality to neutralize its shock value. You’re better off not “Knowing.”