The Bourne Ultimatum: A

Of cinematic genres there is much debate: which produces more quality films? which is home to the most money? which spawns the most acting careers? And of answers there are plenty as well - almost more than there are questions. Yet one of the broadest genres of film is also the most definitive; the one that critics dare not question; the form of filmmaking that lies as fundamental to all others: the thriller. Since our most prominent visual form these days is filled with more explosions and sassy black men than it is nail-biting suspense, it would seem a strange statement. But look closer and one would find that every sequence of uncertainty, or every knock on a door at midnight, or even that horrific phone call in Scream is derived from the art form pioneered by Hitchcock with Strangers on a Train; the one were we as an audience experience filmmaking first hand, in a rush, and are dazzled by the experience of not knowing and waiting to find out.

Well, let me just say, that though the thriller may change shape through the decades, it is far from dead. And furthermore, it has perhaps experienced its crowning achievement (or at the very least, one heck of a poster boy) in Paul Greengrass' pumped-up The Bourne Ultimatum; a film where amnesiac super-spy, -assassin, and just general -badass Jason Bourne (Matt Damon) finds closure in a cinematic marvel. Not only does Ultimatum leap over the bounds of a conventional thriller, it nearly renders them obsolete. Consider: in a "normal" thriller the protagonist almost always is rendered "defective" by some unknown event (e.g.: Paycheck) that he and/or she must then go spend 90 minutes kicking butt in order to discover. Once that secret is exposed, the explanation hardly ever make sense (again, like Paycheck). But here, with Greengrass' camera carving up the scenery and the action into a million jagged pixels of pumping narrative and cold fear, the hero works in service of the story (and the screenwriter, Tony Gilroy, works in service of it, serving up a miraculously coherent adventure). Such then it is that these 111 minutes race by, so eager are we to discover the grand final denouement - those relaxing final seconds where we finally catch our breathes.

Because catching one's precious oxygen during the running time is nearly impossible. Leaving out the Major Plot Points (though, obviously, Bourne does "come home" - whatever that means), the travails and tribulations of America's new super-amazing-killer-with-a-conscience aren't something to shake a stick at. He races over the lands of no fewer than four countries and three major continents; engages in life-or-death struggles with no fewer than half a dozen armed men (and at different times & locations too!); and holds no fewer than five terse phone conversations. Our hero has, needless to point out, his work cut out for him.

But don't think he's not up to the task. Matching perfectly the rushing pace of his quest for identity is Matt Damon's steely performance (though, it must be said, his acting lacks in speech what it makes up for in moves); and the admirable cast around him doesn't deserve overlooking either - particularly David Strathairn's amoral CIA super-agent. But lest I forget the final, and biggest, gold star (or cookie, or Oscar, or whatever) goes to franchise director Paul Greengrass. Not only has he put on screen a hallmark of the action-thriller genre but he, with his characteristically jittery camera in hand, has managed to re-work the modern American movie landscape, weaving in true characters to care about and dazed flashbacks to remember. Doubtless anyone will realize it though, seeing as it's so difficult to take your eyes away from the pulsing, dazzling, Breach-shot-through-with-adrenaline work of art that is The Bourne Ultimatum. I know I wasn't able to.