Showing posts with label Rosamund Pike. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rosamund Pike. Show all posts

Thursday, December 20, 2012

Jack Reacher: The Joke's on You?


"Oh, I'm serious...snicker...DEAD serious"

Jack Reacher is ridiculous. The character and the movie.

As essentially the illegitimate child of Tropic Thunder, Grindhouse, Knight and Day, and Last Action Hero, it brings all those wonderful parodies of under-cooked action thrillers to life in a way that is so gloriously tongue-in-cheek in its late 80s/early 90s aesthetic and construction that it will undoubtedly leave most of their audience scratching their heads and asking: "Is this a comedy or an action flick?" The answer is both, yet Jack Reacher is so much more than that. It is, in fact, the latest stop on Tom Cruise's "Pardon My Madness" Tour in which he gleefully acknowledges that he is probably glib, smirking, nutcase who takes himself a bit too serious, but not serious enough to make fun of himself and the disposable entertainment he's made for the past few decades.

Jack Reacher is, by my count, the second film, the similarly eponymous Alex Cross being the other, this fall to attempt to recapture the spirit of thriller adaptations that kind of ruled the screens in the late 90s and kept Ashley Judd employed. Directed by new Cruise collaborator Christopher McQuarrie, Reacher revolves a basic mystery killer plot that kicks of with a extremely tense opening that may be challenging for some viewers to digest in light of the Sandy Hook tragedy and one that surely would have got this movie pulled when the D.C. Snipers were terrorizing the streets of our fair Prince George's and Montgomery Counties. When the police nab the perfect suspect, Tom Cruise, or Jack Reacher--same difference--shows up to reluctantly, at first, take the case. Now, I'm not at all familiar with Lee Child's Jack Reacher novels, but word on the'net is that Reacher looks more like Arnold Schwarzeneger than Tom Cruise. That said, Cruise swallows this role in so-much of his persona that it doesn't matter what Reacher was supposed to look like; he is Tom Cruise, no way around it. The rest of the flick plays out with a pretty standard litany of cliches and tropes, all wrapped around a mystery that is telegraphed in the first fifteen minutes, which is to say: there is no mystery--at all. Yet, the narrative is irrelevant to an astonishing degree because this is essentially another edition of the Tom Cruise Show, played tot he hilt in a way we haven't seen since the rise of Les Grossman.

Cruise is playing the same character he has been playing for years, only amped to an absurd degree that is similar to how Denzel Washington has consistently amped his decade-long performance of Alonzo Harris, and I appreciate it more in this film than I have in any of Cruise's films from the past five years. Cruise's Reacher is an unrepentant smartass who is clearly the smartest and toughest guy in the room, no matter what. If you are his enemy, you cannot hope to defeat him or outsmart him. If you are a woman, regardless of your affirmed sexual orientation, you will never resist him. Thus, Reacher becomes an exercise in full-tilt movie star  worship, not unlike this summer's Rock of Ages. But, why does Reacher work where Rock of Ages flopped? Simple, most members of the audience are accustomed to an audacity that borders on the stupidity in action movies. That audacity allows Michael Bay to 360 and  demolish his way to box-office gold with crap like Transformers; it is the same audacity that enabled Arnold Schwarzeneger to rule the box office for years despite some often questionable charisma. We suspend our disbelief so fully when we watch these broad far-reaching action flicks that we enter into a sort of "uncanny valley" where we no longer shirk from the absurdity and embrace it because it exists so far out of recognizable reality--a phenomena certain movie stars [coughTomCruiseWillSmithDenzelWashingtonNicolasCageetccough] are also experiencing--and taps into a subconscious desire, among most but not all, to become snarking badasses. Then, the flick laughs at us for thinking that way, and we laugh too, mostly because it's damned entertaining to see someone spit out lines like "I'm going to beat you to death then drink your blood from a boot"--which joins the hallowed ranks of lines like "King Kong ain't got $#!+ on me" and "Mahalo, motherf@#$er"--with just the right amount of winking and conviction.

Ultimately, that delicate balance between parody and ham-fisted seriousness, which is found in spades in Jack Reacher, will confuse a good chunk of audience. Many folks will go into Reacher expecting an action movie, and they will get that, albeit one that is decidedly retro in its aesthetic and narrative structure and generally middle of the road in terms of action. But, they will also find a phenomenally intentionally and unintentionally hilarious send up of contemporary actioners built around Holmsian supermen as well as a pretty stinging, if again unintentional  dig at Tom Cruise movies, in the vein of Knight and Day--only this time we, and the wide-eyed leading lady (Rosamund Pike) actually see the action. When viewed through this lens, Jack Reacher appears to be an elaborate joke, one that you need at least cursory knowledge of Cruise's oeuvre to truly understand. Indeed, it's possible that I may be the only who gets the joke, but I highly doubt it as audiences are always far smarter than Hollywood gives them credit for. Thus, going into Jack Reacher with the understanding that it is essentially a long gag, a false movie brought to life with only the barest of plots and cheapest action but a preponderance of earned and unearned laughs, will lead to surefire enjoyment, the likes of which have not been seen since another movie bait and switched seriousness for unintentional  and lasting hilarity. That equally thinly plotted and ridiculously cliched yet eminently enjoyable movie: Training Day.

Thursday, March 29, 2012

Review - Wrath of the Titans


Grade: D

Not long after the 2010 remake of Clash of the Titans was released star Sam Worthington apologized for “let[ting] down some people” and promised to act “f**king better”.

After seeing the sequel to Clash, the more appropriately named Wrath of the Titans, one thing is clear about Sam Worthington: he has shown tremendous improvement in his acting abilities because that was one heck of an empty apology.

Jonathan Liebesman’s, the poor soul in the middle of Michael Bay’s efforts to destroy the legacy of the Teenage MUTANT Ninja Turtles, Wrath is as turgid and uninspired as the first remake, minus the kernel of trite fun that tempered the overwhelming last’s overall crappiness. This time Worthington’s dour Perseus is called into battle by his absentee father, Zeus (Liam Neeson), in an attempt to stop Zeus’ father, the child gobbling embodiment of time and lord of the pre-Olympian Titans, Cronos. Content to live out the rest of his life as a better father than his ever was, Perseus refuses until the sickest--and not in the hip way--looking manticore committed to celluloid threatens his son, Helius (John Bell). Spurned by the near loss of his only family, Perseus leaves his son behind to join warrior princess Andromeda (Rosamund Pike) and his half-cousin Agenor (Toby Kebbell), the cowardly son of Poseidon. Together the three must brave cyclopes, four-armed whirling dervishes, labyrinths, and minotaurs in before they can stop Hades (a disenchanted Ralph Fiennes) and the rebellious Aries (Edgar Ramirez) from unleashing the Titans and eradicating the Greco-Roman Pantheon. Very little wrath is executed.

Liebesman does nothing to enliven the Titans franchise or bring anything remotely unique to the table. The flick still tracks more as big-screen video game with a progression marked more by achieving objectives and reaching checkpoints than any kind of meaningful narrative or emotional thrust. Sure, the characters all have some semblance of motivation, but those motivations are so thinly sketched that it’s hard to develop any level of investment in any character. Even without some degree of investment in the characters, the audience never has to worry about any danger befalling the character because Liebesman never establishes any stakes or tension. Rarely are Perseus and his crew ever in true danger because there’s sure to be some random god or weapon around to help them out of any remotely challenging predicament. The absolute lack of tension or character investment not only reflects poorly on the film but on Liebesman as a director who appears to have no fundamental understanding of how craft a compelling story.

Despite a promise of improved acting, the performances do little to elevate the flick above its D-level quality. Worthington fails to act “f**king better” and opts for his trademark glower instead of anything resembling human emotion. Neeson and Fiennes show up; dote and sneer, respectively; and collect a paycheck. Pike looks positively lost, and seems only slightly less engaged than Gemma Atkinson did in Clash. Toby Kebbell tries his best to be entertaining as a scheming ne’er do well, but a stream of bad jokes and radical eleventh hour change in his character, which comes out of nowhere and makes Kebbell seem either like a victim of script machinations or a man possessed with multiple personalities, easily undo his noble effort. Bill Nighy is also on hand in an extended cameo as Davy Jones mad ancestor, who actually seems scripted to be possessed by multiple personalities.

Between the performances and the uninspired direction, it’s surprising that Wrath even made it out of production and beyond the editing bay and Netflix instant streaming to the silver screen, but, in truth, it’s not that surprising. Warner Brothers knows they have an ace in the hole this summer with the Dark Knight Rises (DKR). Since DKR will likely put Warner deep into the black for 2012, they probably figure they can throw anything at the audience to keep them satiated until July 20. Sadly, they may be right, but throwing tripe like Wrath at audiences is just straight up disrespectful, and as an audience, the best thing to do is avoid Wrath like the plague and maybe prevent Warners, and the other studios, from pumping crap like Wrath into the multiplexes. Maybe.

The Yin and the Yang of it

Yin: Thin on plot, character, and any other essential element of a solid narrative. Derivative of almost any other historical/mythical action epic, right down to the amorphous glob of lava and rage that escaped from a longer, better video game like shadow of the colossus.

Yang: A few moments of quality 3D and decent creature effects.

In-Between: Wrath of the Titans is seven minutes shorter than Clash of the Titans.