"At moments the meandering pace plus the intricacy of the intrigue and a peephole perspective make for a seductive thriller."

"The essence of the banking industry, is to make us ALL slaves to debt."

Sheesh. Tell us something we don't know...

Once upon a time, hairy chested Colombian drug lords and lazy-eyed, war-mongering generals were the epitome of movie (and real world) villainy. Today it's their banks.

One bank that's been especially naughty is the Luxembourg-based IBBC bank. Interpol Agent Louis Salinger (Clive Owen) knows it, and so does his case partner Manhattan Assistant District Attorney Eleanor Whitman (Naomi Watts). And they're not the only ones. In the intro scene of Tom Tykwer's financial thriller, The International, a few feet from the Berlin sidewalk where Salinger stands a fellow operative is in the midst of a backseat tête-à-tête attempting to coax cooperation from an informant that could topple the IBBC's evil empire. Except the tattletale bank exec wants time to think. Which is a wise idea, considering anyone that crosses the IBBC or who otherwise presents an obstacle to their sinister plans (mainly to use debt and third-world weapon sales as purse strings to puppeteer people and nations) has an "accident." The untraceable, fatal kind. Yet, neither the danger nor the odds deter Salinger from his quest to bring the disreputable bank to justice.

It's a high-stakes, globe-trekking hunt, at an on-again, off-the-clock-again pace that never, even at its tensest tempo, reaches the tick-tock speed of Tykwer's Run Lola Run. Instead The International is a cloak-and-dagger chase, shot in dirty shades of gray (as dirty as bank dollars), overheard in disturbingly nondescript offices and subterranean passages from Berlin to Milan to New York to Istanbul.

At moments the meandering pace plus the intricacy of the intrigue and a peephole perspective make for a seductive thriller. At others, these devices make it easy for an audience to lose its way. And after an hour and half of meandering, my internal movie clock went off, signaling the film should have ended. But it didn't, for another 30 minutes. That's not to discount the scenes of edge-of-your-seat tension that Tykwer does deliver -- think a shoot-'em-up showdown that Swiss cheeses the Guggenheim. He can't be credited or faulted however, for the dialogue (which was scripted by Eric Singer). As the film nears its finale Salinger spouts more than one too many truisms in a seven-minute time span: "Sometimes a man can meet his destiny on the road he took to avoid it..."

Meanwhile, while Watts serves as an understated yet sympathetic sidekick, Owen exudes his signature intensity and drama with smoldering eyes and brooding mouth, which is simpler and less riveting than smoldering acting. But this movie's not about Owen or his thespian skills, it's about the banks. Coup-causing, death-laundering banks.

And here's a technical thorn put in my side by this film: If this is a financial terror tale of our times, why are cellular text messages untraceable?

In the end, The International is a risky investment with unpredictable returns. Most profitable when the ominous tension's tuned to a near fever pitch, and less so when it's more slow-heeled and contrived.

But wait a minute... Isn't it likely this film was funded by banks? Ultimately, everything is. Are the banks letting us know that they know we know the truth but they don't care because there's nothing we can do about it? Somewhere is there a supreme bank leader stroking a white cat and cackling? Cackling at us all?

They are eeevil.

I mean ... I love banks!

Grade: C+