Gangster Squad: Turning the Untouchables into a Saturday Morning Cartoon

"Watch out for that new Power Ranger franchise: Power Rangers - Untouchable Gangster Squad!!"

Twenty years ago, Gangster Squad would have changed my life. I would have been a fresh teen, sneaking into a cool R-rated actioner filled with quick-witted aces, duplicitous dames, and brutal bad guys that looked and sounded just like most of the heavies from the first season of Batman the Animated Series.

Of course, that would have only happened if I never saw the Untouchables, Devil in a Blue Dress, or LA Confidential. But, at ripening old age, I have seen all of these movies, as well as countless other flicks, shows, and video games, some successful (Boardwalk Empire) and some less so (The Black Dhalia and Rockstar's L.A. Noire), which have covered this ground with greater craft and concern for verisimilitude, character, and narrative than Ruben Fleischer's Gangster Squad.

Mind you, I enjoy Fleischer's work. Zombieland was pretty solid for its relatively modest ambitions, and 30 Seconds or Less is a decent, if slight, diversion. However, Fleischer is purely a populist filmmaker who likely has his sights set on becoming the next Zack Snyder or Michael Bay, and he will probably be sliding into a cushy position as a middle-of-the-road journeyman whose works will inevitably display more bombast than vision. Granted, that's a bold prediction, but I offer Gangster Squad as proof. At its best, Gangster Squad is a rip-roaring good time in the vein of old school gangster B-movies, like Angels with Dirty Faces, where morality is black and white and characters are flat as paper but bullets fly as fast as the quips. At its worse, the flick is a living cartoon with simplistically insulting morality, almost zero cleverness or narrative depth (despite rich source material), and a cast of characters that seems handpicked by the Saturday Morning Cartoon Commission on Diversity.

I want to start with the characters in Gangster Squad because as a viewer with a personal awareness that a multicultural vigilante unit in 1940's LA is a deceptively pleasant fiction, that element sticks out like the sorest thumb imaginable. Despite Fleischer and crew's best efforts at reaching a broad audience and respecting global cultural diversity, there is literally no way an African-American or a Hispanic-American would have occupied a place on an elite vigilante unit in pre-Civil rights era Los Angeles, no matter how progressive California was and continues to be. As a Black man, I admit it's cool to see Anthony Mackie playing knife-slinging, smart ass cowboy/ninja/cop Coleman Harris, but I know it's BS, the special brand designed to entice the 18-35 black male demo to come out and see a movie they would have seen with or without an African-American character. Even worse, Fleischer makes only a cursory acknowledgement of the fact that Harris' presence on the squad is inherently odd. To further diminish suspension of disbelief, he adds a Mexican-American character, the colorfully named Navidad Ramirez (Michael Pena, woefully underused), who is essentially a "My Man Friday" to Robert Patrick's rootin-tootin' Yosemite Sam, Max Kennard. That said, the white boys don't fare much better, as Josh Brolin is saddled with every Irish cop stereotype in the book with the exception of red hair, as hard-fightin' and hard-drinkin' John  O'Meara. Only Giovanni Ribisi, as surveillance geek with a conscience, and Ryan Gosling narrowly escape such egregious one-dimensionality, most likely because the romantic lead has to have some semblance of depth, even if that depth only reaches into the reservoirs of Gosling's previous turns as a tiny-voiced charmer. 

Aside from its Rainbow Heroes Collective, Gangster Squad boasts a narrative with little to say and even less on its mind. Not every piece of work that graces the silver screen has to be art; we all know that, but even the pure popcorn entertainment should endeavor to be mildly clever in its progression and respectably honest  about its setting. The vigilantes and villains at the center of Gangster Squad are easily the dullest knives in the drawer, bar none. O'Meara and his squad plan to go to war with East Coast mobster Mickey Cohen, but they have only the barest of bare bones plans: take'em down head on. How about planning an attack? How about wearing masks (which only happens once and never again, leading to friends and families being put in avoidable danger)? How about killing your enemies before they kill your families? How about scouting your enemy then planning an attack where you wear masks and kill those who might kill your family? None of these options are viable; instead, the squad opts to bug Mickey Cohen's home and proceed to bulldoze through a gang war like stickup kids.Cohen, for his part, isn't much smarter, spending more time cackling and grimacing like he was auditioning for a role as one of Gotham's lesser known Batman punching bags than devising fool-proof plans to build a low-key criminal empire--his big plan is to force all West Coast gambling through a central location, because that would never catch the authorities attention. Though Penn probably enjoyed gnashing on scenery in a manner that could only rival the chomping DeNiro displayed in DePalma's The Untouchables (yes, those guys, again). 

To make matters worse, countless works of fiction and non-fiction have gone to great lengths to reveal early 20th century Los Angeles as a complex beast, one that was as affected by racial strife, drugs, crime, and police corruption as it was by the ever growing movie industry. Very little of that complexity, much less the adherent gray morality associated with such a murky period, is acknowledged on camera. If Gangster Squad was the first of its kind, it's black-white morality, in which good cops are unflinching paragons of virtue and gangsters and corrupt cops are the slime that oozes between the sidewalks, might be refreshing, even optimistic, but it exists in the shadow of more than a dozen, or more films that have dealt with the period and its complexities with greater depth, honesty, and entertainment value. Heck, one only needs to look at LA Confidential or the classic Chinatown as evidence.

So, how does Fleischer and his crew counter this lunk-headed approach to narrative and theme? With guns-a-blazing, slow-mo, nacho cheesy dialogue, and a saturated palette that makes the setting as much a cartoon as its characters. For all its faults, Gangster Squad is pretty consistent with the shoot-outs and the stabbings and the beatings. There is such quick movement from set piece to set piece, often with only the barest of rationalization, that one could ignore the lesser elements and just have a whizz-bang good time watching O'Meara and co. gun down the bad guys like the video game characters they are. For most audiences, that will be enough. For anyone with cable or over the age of 13, the proceedings of Gangster Squad will seem flashy but highly derivative. To wit, those multiple set pieces lack any sense of tension beyond the moments that encourage the audience to take bets on which character will die the tragic death that will spur our heroes to cross the line in their pursuit of the pugnacious Cohen. 

Ultimately, Gangster Squad is just the type of throwback action flick that belongs in the January doldrums, that rarefied space where we get a ton of action movies that would have easily been banished to Netflix if not for the generally empty slate studios offer in the early months of the year. Of course, it was originally scheduled for release in November, as some whispered about potential Oscar nods that would never surface, but was pushed back for reshoots after the Dark Knight Tragedy in Aurora, CO last July. As bad as it may have seemed at the time, that move was probably a blessing in disguise because now Gangster Squad seems like it might have a shot at dominating the box office without the threat of real competition,  aside from Marlon Wayans' A Haunted House--which will surely sneak up on the Squad and probably crush them. Instead of being demolished, Gangster Squad will have a clear lane to taking its place as a decidedly guilty pleasure for teenagers who have never been allowed to see a gangster flick of worth, so good job Gangster Squad cast and crew, you only had to leave your original release behind and your brains at the door to take your place in the hearts and minds of the unenlightened youth. Congrats.

Review: Brutal End of Watch Blurs Line Between Cop, Horror Films

"That boot from the OC actually thinks he can chase down every perp on foot?"

 Grade: B+

I'm not ashamed to say that Training Day is my second favorite movie--in life. I also have a healthy respect for Training Day writer David Ayer and his oeuvre, so I'm practically predisposed to kind of love End of Watch. But, there's no way around it: End of Watch is Southland: The Movie.

As reductive as it sounds, that's not a bad thing.

End of Watch doesn't necessarily surprise or change the game for cop film, but it goes a long way to making the fear and uncertainty that cops live with every day as tangible as it is terrifying. With a Paranormal Activity aesthetic and enough jump scares to match anything coming out of Lionsgate's October offerings, End of Watch is as much a horror film as it is a slice of life psuedo-docudrama.

David Ayer returns to his favorite well--the grimy, unflinching world of the cops, crooks, and gangbangers who populate the streets of South Los Angeles--with End of Watch, this time following  LAPD patrolmen Brian Taylor (Jake Gyllenhaal) and Mike Zavala (Michael Pena), a pair of dudebro "supercops" who epitomize the gung ho warrior spirit that drives young men and women to put their lives on the line for a citizenry that hates and fears them in equal measure. When Taylor and Zavala return to the streets after justifiably shooting a pair of gangbangers, the two "Ghetto Gunfighters"--clearly, Keanu's Tom Ludlow was not the  last of these legendary figures--they manage to anger a small time gang and a stumble onto the operations of a major Mexican cartel, both of whom are seeking to establish a foothold in South LA's crime-ridden streets. As Taylor and Zavala go about their days of patrolling, saving lives, and building families, danger follows them to every call, waiting for the opportune moment to strike and make sense of the title End of Watch.

Ayer takes his third shot at directing with End of Watch, opting for the now-exhausted found footage approach, and manages to make something that is both wholly derivative of his earlier  work yet remarkably purer. Taking cues from  underrated network-then-cable hit Southland, he smartly follows the daily adventures of his two central patrolmen while letting the main arc simmer in the background until the riveting third act. Keeping the action focused on Taylor and Zavala's patrolling proves as effective on the big screen as it does on the small screen because, despite the best efforts of the networks to push detective-based police narratives, patrolling officers invariably get the most action of their brethren in blue. Yet, their position as the tip of the spear means they are constantly in the line of fire, an unnerviing state that Ayer wisely highlights with some superb scenes where Taylor and Zavala have no earthly idea of the danger lying around the next blind corner, an approach that culminates in a harrowing final act that proves that bravery rarely replaces brains in any combat situation. That's not to say End of Watch is solely a harrowing, suspenseful experience. Quite the contrary. Ayer peppers End of Watch with the same type of slice of life moments that are riotously, absurdly funny--especially an early scene that sees Zavala fist fights a perp, who may seem familiar to Training Day fans like myself, in an attempt to defend his personal honor.

80% of End of Watch's success comes from the exceptional work done by Gyllenhaal and Pena. Gyllenhaal retreads much of the same ground he covered as shell-shocked marine--Taylor just so happens to be an ex-Marine--in Jarhead, but we see a man who is a little better adjusted--and supported--and drifting closer to happiness. Granted, it's still a typical Gyllenhaal performance, which means he's a little too wired, too unsettled to make anyone entirely comfortable in his presence. Pena, on the other hand, continues to prove himself an invaluable character actor who can easily switch from dramatic to comedic postures. From a distance, the interactions between Pena and Gyllenhaal resemble the traditional buddy-cop formula, but both Pena and Gyllenhaal ground the characters in enough earnest, off-the-cuff humanity that they make Taylor and Zavala's overdone masculinity seem just like the act it truly is. Anna Kendrick and Natalie Martinez both do a decent job of providing anchors as Taylor and Zavala's respective significant others, but neither has enough screen time to register as more than vaguely motivational afterthoughts. America Ferrera and Cody Horn offer a better counterpoint to Gyllenhaal and Pena as two female officers who have been irreparably hardened by their time streets. While most of these ladies do adequate wotk with the small roles their given, the undeniable MVP of the ladies hovering in Taylor and Zevala's orbit is Latin rapper Flakiss (government name: Yahira Garcia) as a Chola Snoop. Flakiss may sport clearer delivery than Felicia Pearson but their gangster girls share a spirit that guarantees wildly inappropriate, and often violent, moments that recall some of the more offbeat moments from The Wire.

Performances and aspects of Ayer's direction aside, End of Watch is so similar to Southland that Ayer should probably be staring down an IP case right now. From the hand-held camera style--which is fairly inconsistent--to the patrolman focus, Ayer does little to distinguish End of Watch from its TV contemporary, which leads End of Watch to fall victim to many of the same failings as other cop narratives, including telegraphed plotting and one-dimensional character work. Mostly, End of Watch fails to do anything overly different or unique with the traditional day-in-the-life of a cop narrative, and it rarely seems ambitious enough to make any cognizant statement on the lives of its heroes aside from "life is hard for those cops out there." Truthfully, this is to be expected from Ayer because as good as he is at stirring potboilers, he's less skilled at crafting a larger, deeper narrative about cops and bangers that looks beyond the battle on the street to find the depth in souls and stories of these conflicted warriors and their mixed-up opponents. That said, End of Watch is still a solidly entertaining diversion that should tide you over until Southland starts its new season or new episodes of COPS surface.

On the side:

• The sheer presence of real Bone from Training Day implies that End of Watch probably exists in the same universe as Training Day and Street Kings.
• At some point the camera switches from first person to third person perspective within minutes. Way to watch for consistency, Ayer.
• Anna Kendrick is going to have a busy fall and will probably compete against herself in the coming weeks. Who does she think she is ? Leonardo DiCaprio.
• Can we be done with found footage? It rarely makes a narrative any more realistic, and it's leaning towards being more intrusive now than it did when Blair Witch popularized it.
• Why did no one else think of framing the cop experience as a horror experience before now? It's so simple it's brilliant. If only, they could do something like this on Southland...

Review - 30 Minutes or Less

Grade: B+

Good: Hilarious performances from McBride, Swardson and Ansari; Eisenberg anchors the flick as an edgy, clever slacker; Consistent laughs born from solid pacing and deft balance of strong comedy and light action.

Bad: Racial comedy may be off-putting to some audiences; less of an action film than trailers would lead audiences to believe

Ugly: Man+Alcohol+Flamethrower. Do the math.

About ten years ago, the R-rated comedy didn’t hold nearly as much weight as it does today. In wake of The Hangover—the first one, the good one—the stable of Judd Apatow films, and a select few surprise hits in the vein of both, audiences are getting their fill of risqué comedies. That’s not news. What’s also not news is the fact that this glut has allowed for some inspired genre mash-ups. From Hangover’s Memento style mystery to stoner caper Pineapple Express to zombie homage Zombieland, some of the best R-rated of the past few years have successfully spliced genres to provide great stories and big laughs. Of course, genre mashing works as often as it fails (looking at you, Your Highness). But, when it works, something great is born.

Like some of the more successful comedic genre splicers, Rueben Fleischer’s 30 Minutes or Less offers a riotous, irreverent take on two seemingly incompatible genres—heist and slacker flicks—that pretty much tramples the limits of good taste. In 30 Minutes, Fleischer reunites with the lead from his superior cult hit Zombieland, Jesse Eisenberg, who plays Nick, a slacker pizza delivery boy with no clear ambition beyond getting drunk and watching action movies. Nick appears to be a kick-ass driver who can easily, but never actually does, beat his crap pizzeria’s 30 minute or less delivery credo. On one of his deliveries, he runs afoul of doofus underachievers, Dwayne (Danny McBride) and Travis (Nick Swardson), who have hatched a plan to get a million dollars. All they have to do is kill Dwayne’s father, a retired Marine Major (Fred Grandy) who hit the lottery and is steadily burning through his winnings. The hitch is that these two amateur criminals are just clever enough to devise a plan that will keep them far south of implication. To that end, they kidnap Nick and strap a bomb to him with the condition that he must rob a bank in ten hours, netting them enough money to hire an “assassin” (Michael Pena) to kill the Major. Nick turns to his friend and roommate Chet (a stiff, but hilarious Aziz Ansari) for help as tries to rob the bank and outsmart a collection of criminals that are far more dangerous in their ignorance. Hilarity, of the highest order, ensues.

Eisenberg, fresh off the triumph of playing Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg in the Social Network, continues show why he is so much more than the Michael Cera clone many predicted he’d become. He brings a jittery quality to Nick that belies his slacker tendencies. From the very beginning, Eisenberg’s Nick seems clever and possessed of some skill, but unmotivated, coming off as cross between his on the edge interpretation of Zuckerberg and his smarter than the average slacker Columbus from Zombieland, with a dash of Adventureland’s James. While Eisenberg doesn’t get to deliver a ton of punch lines, Ansari, McBride and Swardson more than make up the slack. Ansari proves as stiff as he was when he hosted the MTV Movie Awards last year, but still delivers some quality jokes that would never get pass network or basic cable sensors. Hopefully, in the very near future, he’ll become more comfortable in front of the camera or else this kid is going to be banished to the comedy clubs. Danny McBride carries the heaviest loads with a Kenny Powers-esque performance as spiteful, ambitious and slightly racist Dwayne. McBride’s commitment to playing straight-faced slime balls is pretty unmatched these days, and McBride’s performance in 30 Minutes only helps prove that point. Swardson proves an ample sidekick and moral counterpoint to McBride, using his dimwitted, good natured charm to make McBride’s Dwayne appear even more outrageous. Michael Pena arrives midway through the flick as a “skilled assassin” whose sketchiness adds some solid laughs while escalating the stakes significantly. Unlike Fleishcer’s Zombieland, female roles a pretty underserved here, with only Greek’s Dillshad Vadsaria (Kate, Nick’s crush and Chet’s sister) barely registering more than a damsel in absence then distress.

Fleischer is wise to let his cast do most of the heavy lifting in 30 Minutes as their performances keep the laughs consistent, but 30 Minutes is so well-paced and slyly furious that even a lesser cast would have needed to go out of their way to screw this up. For all the sly digs and farce he and screenwriter Michael Diliberti pack into 30 Minutes, neither eases up on showing the ugliness of the characters or the inevitable violence that results from Dwayne and Travis’ twisted endeavor. Aside from Nick, Chet, Kate and possibly Travis, these are not good people—even Nick and Chet stretch the limits of likability by being such pricks to each other in the early going. The litany of racist slurs some of the characters sling would be enough to turn off most if they weren’t executed by such dopey, and obvious, villains. Fleischer makes another wise move in having the characters almost constantly undone in the vein of classic heist movies where everything goes to hell because no one trusts each other—think the Fargo or Ladykillers, or, heck, any of the Cohens’ more comedic crime films, only more vulgar, and you’d have 30 Minutes. When things fall apart for the characters in 30 Minutes, Fleischer steps up to offer some decent action sequences, including a well-staged, if brief car chase and a sidesplitting take on a failed money drop. While not as creative as some of the action in Zombieland, the scenes are exceptionally effective as comedy, even at the expense of genuine thrills. Fleischer may not pack a great deal of thrills into his action scenes, but at least he keeps things moving, never leaving a minute for this flick to drag. 30 Minutes clocks in at a scant 83 minutes, a fine shift in an age where movies are becoming increasingly longer for no good reason.

As brisk and hilarious as 30 Minutes is, some of the racial gags can really sneak up an unsuspecting audience, so consider this a warning, and, despite what the trailers are selling, it’s not overly action packed. 30 minutes is a comedy first, crime film second. Also, humor is totally relative, so if the comedic stylings of Ansari, McBride, and Swardson as well as Fleischer’s own skewed senses of humor aren’t your cup of tea then everything after the credits will pretty much fall flat. If, however, you enjoyed Zombieland and the Cohens’ comedic crime films, and don’t find Jesse Eisenberg to be a nauseating Cera-clone, then you’ll find 30 Minutes to be one of the best R-rated comedies this year and one of the better genre mash-ups in the past three years.