text: The only thing more full of holes than this movie's premise is its script. Flatliners is the ideal showcase for Joel Schumacher's glorious, flamboyant, brazen lack of talent. The plot is totally illogical but super fake-ponderous and everything is art-directed within an inch of its life in the most clichéd, overheated way. I love how the med school autopsy room is a cavernous vaulted marble mausoleum low-lit in red with huge Rembrandt paintings hanging from the walls. I love how Keifer Sutherland drives a canvas-backed army jeep. No one in Joel Schumacher's movies lives in an un-eccentric manner. It's always an alternate universe where everyone is young and painfully hip, but hip strictly and obsessively according to an out-of-touch middle-aged billionaire man-child's idea of hip. And holy crap! The part where Baldwin brother #16 dies and comes back to life and then is haunted by all the women he's slept with who intone "I'll call you" and "I just need some space" is the funniest friggin' thing in the whole universe!!!! What kind of a world do we live in where Joel Schumacher gets to keep having people throw money at him? "Flatliners" made me want to review the man's entire oeuvre solely for the kind of high-quality yuks contained therein.