It’s commonplace to rip apart a Hayden Christensen performance at this point, so we’ll fall back from that, though, needless to say, he’s as bland as ever here. Not that Anthony Jaswinski’s script gives him any help, though; loaded with moronic character moves and overly preachy dialogue, Vanishing On 7th Street’s written portion constantly asks to be reprimanded. The stale talk of “passing storms” and “heaven and hell” would’ve bombed in any actor’s grasp, so it’s all the more grueling under the command of Christensen and Leguizamo, the latter guilty of the most bungled melodrama. Even Newton, usually reliable enough to raise a film’s acting bar, slips, playing her neurotic character’s like something out of the overacted anti-marijuana campfest Reefer Madness (1936). If not for rookie Latimore’s convincing turn, Vanishing On 7th Street would be a performance nightmare.
Vanishing On 7th Street is one for filmmaking buffs, as well as heads apt to appreciate a genre flick for its mood even if its actors are ball-droppers. If Anderson ever does cross over to the big leagues, this’ll perhaps be a portfolio inclusion more tell-tale than any of his previous films. Working with inadequate, misshapen pieces, he’s a magician who somehow congealed an enjoyable puzzle.