Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #343712 in VHS
• Released on: 2003-05-20
• Rating: R (Restricted)
• Number of discs: 1
• Formats: Closed-captioned, Color, NTSC
• Original language: English
• Running time: 135 minutes

Amazon.com
25th Hour is a eulogy, mourning the New York of post-September 11, 2001, and the regrettable life of one of the city's least reputable citizens. Monty Brogan (Edward Norton) isn't a bad guy--in fact he's a mensch, adopting a battered dog in the film's mood-setting opening scene, and leading a decent life with his girlfriend (Rosario Dawson)... when he's not dealing narcotics. Facing a seven-year prison term, Monty spends his last free night with pals (Barry Pepper, Philip Seymour Hoffman) and visiting his understanding father (Brian Cox), while a Russian drug lord pressures him for getting busted. Lee directs this plotless, no-win scenario as the last gasp of a guy with nowhere to go, and the film (written by David Benioff, from his own novel) suffers from a similar loss of potential, lacking enough focus to make Monty's odyssey compelling. Instead, 25th Hour (which also costars Anna Paquin) rambles from scene to lazy scene, vaguely lamenting that lives have been wasted, some by terrorism, others by self-destruction. --Jeff Shannon

From The New Yorker
A thirtyish drug dealer (Edward Norton) who is too smart for his situation gets pinched and sentenced to seven years in prison. His imminent departure produces a crisis in the lives of his best friends, a cynical Wall Street trader (Barry Pepper) and a schlubby private-school teacher (Philip Seymour Hoffman). The movie might be described as a turbulent elegy for the burnt-out hopes of a generation. There's a thriller plot buried in the material, but it's done half-heartedly. The glory of the movie is its talk-the profane New York verve of the three men, suffused with a post-September 11th bitterness. David Benioff adapted his own novel, and Spike Lee directed. Brian Cox plays the hero's father, and Rosario Dawson his girlfriend. -David Denby
Copyright © 2006 The New Yorker