When told that, in all probability, ad campaigns and coming-attractions trailers would lift the veil far in advance of his movie's release, Samuelson creased his lips in a frown of resignation.
"Yeah," he agreed, "we're worried about that, too. And all we can do here is push back in the other direction."
Trouble is, the marketing experts pushed a little harder. In October 1998, scarcely six months after the end of filming, trailers for "Arlington Road" began to appear in theaters. In three minutes of flashy and frenetic hard sell, the veil wasn't merely lifted--it was shredded.
But wait, there's more: Thanks to a series of unforeseen delays, "Arlington Road" is set to open Friday in North America--several weeks after its European premiere, and seven months after its originally scheduled January release date. All of which means that, for at least eight months, plot twists have been revealed and cats have scampered out of bags each time the trailer has unspooled.
To be fair, a few details were leaked in press releases long before the trailer first appeared.
Michael Farraday, the anti-terrorism expert played by Bridges, is a college professor who lives near Washington, D.C. (Why shoot in Houston? Cheaper and more convenient than D.C., according to Samuelson.)
Oliver and Cheryl, played by Robbins and Cusack, are his new neighbors. They become chummy with Michael after Michael saves the life of their young son. (How does Michael do this? Don't ask--that and the ending hold two of the handful of surprises left in the movie.) Michael, a widowed father with a son of his own, is deeply bitter about the death of his wife, an FBI agent who was killed during an ill-planned raid. (Any resemblance between flashbacks of this event and the real-life tragedy at Ruby Ridge, Idaho, isn't coincidental.) And even though he has begun to rebuild his life with the attentive help of an attractive graduate student (Davis), Michael can't help dwelling on the past.
Nor can he help noticing that Oliver and Cheryl are behaving in a suspicious manner. Or, to be more precise, in a manner that Michael interprets as suspicious.
*
There was a time not so long ago--April 1998, to be precise--when the folks who made "Arlington Road" believed they might be able to spring a few surprises on ticket buyers. Maybe they were naive, but they actually thought that, if they played their cards right, and kept a few aces up their sleeves, they might keep the audience guessing with an "Is he or isn't he imagining everything?" gambit.
