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.

Review - Safe House

Grade: C+

Yin: Another spin on the Denzel+young actor formula. Generally unoriginal and uninspired all-around, from the plot to the performances to the aesthetic. Trust me; you’ve seen this movie a dozen times, just with less blood. Poor Denzel seems exhausted from doing the same movie over and over again.

Yang: Action beats are pretty solid despite bringing nothing particularly new to the table. Decent pacing keeps things moving with only a few signs of sluggishness in the middle. Bloodier than most movies of its ilk—if you enjoy that sort of thing (I do.)

In-Between: How many shanty towns in developing countries must be destroyed so Hollywood can make a buck? Just saying…

It’s been little more than ten years since Training Day was released, so Swedish director Daniel Espinosa must have thought it was high time that classic was remade.

He was wrong.

For what seems like the twelfth time in as many years, Denzel Washington teams with a rising, or falling as the case may be, young white star—this year’s model is the woefully beat-upon Ryan Reynolds—in a middle-of-the-road actioner that is besieged with jump-cut editing and barely comprehensible set pieces.

As another play on the disenchanted mentor/wide-eyed mentee narrative, Safe House tells the tale of legendary CIA operative turned rogue intelligence dealer Tobin Frost (Washington)—like out in the cold? How clever—who is captured by a CIA detail in Cape Town after violently eluding a cadre of scowling, ambiguously Middle Eastern and African assassins. Frost is promptly delivered to a CIA safe house monitored by the mild-mannered Matt Westin (Reynolds), a bored “housekeeper” who is bored out of his skull and constantly bugging his gruff superior (Brendan Gleeson) back in the states for an opportunity to become a case officer. When the CIA unit charged with “encouraging”—with the use of a towel and a gallon of water—Frost to reveal the extent of his treasonous actions is wiped out by the same assassins who thrust Frost into their hands, Westin is forced to keep his “houseguest” secure until an extraction team arrives, which, of course, proves far easier said than done.

Recalling a spate of genre thrillers from the aforementioned Training Day to 16 Blocks to Unstoppable, Safe House treads so much familiar ground and apes so much visual panache from better films that it barely registers as original. The through-line of the plot is fairly threadbare, but the implications that every player involved is more than meets the eye telegraphs the “twist” at the end before the first half-hour is up. The twist at the end is of course directly related to some crowd-pleasing anti-government, anti-CIA rhetoric that has been warmed over so much that one audience member stood up at the end of the screening and announced to all within earshot, “News flash: don’t trust the CIA.” Adding to the stale subtext and flimsy plot is Espinosa’s visual style, which rips off frequent Denzel Washington-collaborator Tony Scott so thoroughly—complete with grainyness, oversaturated palette, and spastic edits—that I had to triple check the credits and IMDb to ensure Scott’s lack of involvement. To those who haven’t seen a Denzel Washington movie in the past five years, this visual style may seem like an energetic revelation. The rest of us know better.

I hear you out there: “So, the plot’s weak and it kind of looks like crap, but Denzel is in it, so at least there’s some solid acting, right?” To which I would respond, “Sadly, no.” Poor Denzel looks tired in this flick. He’s not tired in the dismissive sense that his skill has been compromised, but he appears exhausted, as if he’s finally had enough of this charade. I get it. He wants to challenge himself. He wants to perform theater rather than hoisting up the flavor of the month. I understand completely, and it’s clear that this is his “one for them” movie, which will allow him to make some pocket change then go do whatever he wants for the rest of the year—meaning we should expect another variation on this formula in either January or November of 2013. While Denzel may not be putting his Oscar-winning best on display, his turn as a smirking trickster is saddled with enough weariness and resignation that his performance becomes a intriguing case of art imitating life. Reynolds, on the other hand, is pushed way out of his comfort zone into a role as a sad-eyed, tight-lipped action star that prevents Reynolds from playing the smart-ass joker he’s famous for playing. I suppose this was a bold decision, but it seems unwise to rein in Reynolds and keep him from adding his trademark humor to the flick’s generally dour proceedings, but what do I know. With Reynolds and Washington dominating the screen time with their redo of Washington and Ethan Hawke’s chemistry in Training Day, the rest of the notable cast is saddled with thankless roles as shady CIA spooks who forgot the Cold War ended. Brendan Gleeson does little with his role as Westin’s superior besides grumbling, placing his hands on his hips, and barking orders. Vera Farmiga is also forced to play below her ability as a stateside unit director desperately searching for Frost in a sour variation on Joan Allen’s role from the Bourne Trilogy. Sam Shepard shows up for a few scenes, as well playing a CIA deputy director who obviously believes in the Patriot Act a bit too deeply. Honestly, I would feel bad for all the actors involved if I wasn’t sure this was going to be at least a modest hit.

In fact, I have no doubt that audiences will eat this up. It’s ridiculously violent, generally well-placed, and not the least bit challenging or surprising--why ask for more? I will not deny that there are some solid action beats and some spectacular carnage that occurs between the opening and final frame, but so much of Safe House is nakedly unoriginal and rote that the weaknesses outweigh the occasional high notes. Personally, I think everybody involved—audience included--deserved better—except for Espinosa, and that’s only because I don’t know his work that well. That said, if you’re looking for some fairly muscular if unoriginal action, or you absolutely love Denzel, feel free to check out Safe House, but you would be better off just renting or downloading Training Day, Unstoppable, and Man on Fire.