Bearing little resemblance to the book, or in fact to real life, "Midnight Express" exists in a sadomasochist bubble, completely removed from anything concrete. Even on its own terms, it makes no sense. With heavy homosexual overtones throughout, our hero (played by Brad Davis) turns down gay sex as if he's above it, yet director Alan Parker revels in the sexual imagery (what with Davis standing spread out in front of the law or being pawed at by sexual brute Paul Smith). Are we to believe that this American tourist in Turkey, jailed for attempting to smuggle out hashish, is some kind Arc Angel, remaining pure throughout the carnage? Oliver Stone adapted the non-fiction book, and won an Oscar, but he waters down an already taut account (or maybe it was watered down for him). This is not to say the film doesn't have horrifying or fascinating passages (it does command attention), but the "plot", as such, doesn't hang together. The movie has a dated look, and dated music, causing it to resemble an old porny picture, and the performances are variable. **1/2 from ****
Review of Midnight Express
