SummaryA young woman wakes up at dawn on the handprints and footprints of the famed Chinese Theatre in Hollywood with no idea who she or how she got there. Upon awakening, she wonders if she isn’t, in fact, lost in a dream. And perhaps she is…(Paladin)
SummaryA young woman wakes up at dawn on the handprints and footprints of the famed Chinese Theatre in Hollywood with no idea who she or how she got there. Upon awakening, she wonders if she isn’t, in fact, lost in a dream. And perhaps she is…(Paladin)
It's original and poetic, and if you see it you will probably remember scenes from it a year from now, because it's not really like anything else. It's very much its own thing.
Exhibits stray instances of intrigue and wit, and makes nostalgic hay with its enshrinement of old-timers Pippa Scott and H.M. Wynant, but ultimately suggests a too-writerly, over-padded "Twilight Zone" episode.
Rife with classic-cinema shoutouts, the film is a cutesy, toothless variation on "Mulholland Drive," one whose attempts to pay tribute to movie magic are ultimately undercut by stagey aesthetics and narrative theatricality.
This often risible head-scratcher never cracks the surface of its muddled ambitions, largely wasting its iconic settings on a series of motley interactions, Tinseltown trivia and self-conscious philosophizing.
Peros probably intends Footprints to be an homage to Hollywood's Golden Age. But the script's so incoherent and the acting so amateurish that it makes the worst old-time Hollywood B-flick seem like "Citizen Kane."