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Meanwhile, Anthony (rap star Chris "Ludacris" Bridges) and his happy-go-lucky pal Peter (Larenz Tate) dodge the cops, arguing about prejudice even as Anthony inspires it. He sees discrimination everywhere it can be found and in places it can't. When his temper gets triggered by a flinching white woman, what does he do about it? He steals a Lincoln Navigator from some rich people and takes it for a joyride.

Matt Dillon, here with Thandie Newton, is a rogue cop who behaves very badly

But this time, he's nabbed the wrong vehicle. The SUV belongs to district attorney Rick Cabot (Brendan Fraser) and his perpetually angry wife Jean (Sandra Bullock). Fraser strikes the perfect tone, convincing us that Cabot's political platform is a house of cards. If the D.A. doesn't spin the car-theft story to the press just right, he'll infuriate black voters or alienate those who just want him to "take a bite out of crime." Meanwhile, Jean responds to the theft by taking it out on her Hispanic housekeeper and hurling accusations at a Hispanic locksmith (Michael Pena). Playing Miss Non-Congeniality seems like a bold move for Bullock; she lashes out with expletives as if trying to crack the façade of her famously likeable Hollywood persona. But Jean is a one-note character, and thus the performance comes off as a comedienne's audition for dramatic roles instead.

If this is starting to sound complicated, and if the ironies seem to be piling up, well, that's exactly the case. Haggis deftly weaves these various threads together in a remarkably cohesive narrative so that we never lose our place or forget a face. But his attention is focused so narrowly on The Big Issue that his characters seem incapable of talking about anything but prejudice.

In Grand Canyon, Lawrence Kasdan's characters had more developed personalities and enjoyed moments of levity and redemption. Spike Lee's Do the Right Thing was vibrant with memorable human beings, and thus the stakes seemed very high indeed when the dam holding back suppressed racial anger finally broke. Paul Thomas Anderson's Magnolia was full of lost souls, but there were also agents of grace; he invited us to make connections, compare and contrast relationships, and find common themes. The dialogue of Haggis's characters spells things out for us. "In L.A., nobody touches you. We're always behind this metal and glass," Graham muses after a car crash. "It's the sense of touch. I think we miss that touch so much that we crash into each other just so we can feel something." Too many lines like this cause Crash to compromise the first rule of art—it tells too much and shows too little.

Sandra Bullock is definitely Ms. NON-Congeniality in this film

The billboard-sized ironies and convenient coincidences make things worse. When a man hit by a car is abandoned in front of the emergency room, he's left lying next to a Nativity scene. A cop's attempt to distance himself from the problem of prejudice is cut short by a superior officer who can't help him … because of racial prejudice. To some, it may seem clever that the film begins and ends with fender-benders; for others, this conclusion will close a circle with far too little hope inside, implying endlessness.

While he has little to say about hope, there's value in Haggis's perspective on the problem. He never stoops to making a scapegoat of anyone—each character is fractured, biased, blind in some way, and by implication, so are we. Crash may provoke viewers to wrestle with relevant questions: Do we react differently to the person who cuts us off in traffic depending on her color? Do we smile at one stranger and then flinch at the next? Do our choices reinforce damaging racial stereotypes? When we're the victim of a prejudice "crash," how do we respond? With grace? Or do we throw fuel on the fires of anger and contempt?

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