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.

Review - Chronicle

Grade: A

Yang: Strong performances by Dane DeHaan and Michael B. Jordan are the highlight of this clever spin on the people with powers narrative. Stunning practical effects and top-notch destruction don't hurt either.

Yin: Found footage format, shaky cam effect, and city-scale carnage recall less than fond memories of Cloverfield, but doesn’t diminish the effectiveness of

In Between: The feeling of having one’s teeth yanked out by telekinesis must be the most unpleasant experience imaginable.

Dear Warner Brothers,

Re: Live-action Akira remake

Authorize a ten-dollar per suit budget. See Josh Trank’s Chronicle. Drop this whitewashed Akira remake business and save your money for some other trite comic book movie or remake.

Thanks,
Fans of Common Sense and Good Taste

To say Chronicle is one of the best movies about superhumans of the current era of superhero blockbusters is probably the most hyperbolic of overstatements possible, but not by much. Not since M. Night Shyamalan’s Unbreakable—remember that movie from the brief period where Shyamalan was respectable—has there been a film about people with powers that is as believable and affecting as first-time feature director Josh Trank’s Chronicle. In short, Chronicle puts on a clinic in how to make super-powered beings relatable, believable, and interesting. Marvel, DC, and any other publisher or film studio in the business of selling the dreams superpowers in four colors or on the silver screen, take note. Take copious notes.

At first glance, Chronicle seems to be simply aping the current trend of found footage filmmaking—and, indeed, this does contribute to some of the few flaws in the film, which is the overly-expository nature of the narrative and the ever-irritating shaky-cam effect—but Trank uses this technique to great effect as it speaks directly to a generation that is beyond comfortable with documenting their every thought and footstep. In Chronicle, HD handycams follow three Seattle teens--the moody, abused Andrew Detmer (Dane DeHaan); his cousin, the philosophical, good-natured Matt Garetty (Alex Russell); and their new friend, goofy, easygoing political hopeful Steve Montgomery (Michael B. Jordan). After dragging the camera-happy Andrew to his first rave, Matt and Steve discover a gaping mile-deep hole in an empty field that just screams, “Come on in. It’s safe.” In a clear case of teens being brilliant, the three investigate and find a glowing structure inside that delivers nosebleeds and superpowers at no extra cost. The three emerge with burgeoning telekinetic powers that they promptly misuse for garden-variety mischief and tomfoolery. As their powers grow stronger than they imagined, evolving to include the ability for flight, the three are faced with the reality of Ben Parker’s famous adage about power and responsibility, particularly as the tortured Andrew discovers the upper limits of his power. What results is a clever examination of the corrupting influence of power, the effect of environment, and, oddly, the strength of friendship that is rivaled only by anime classic, Akira.

What makes Chronicle so effective is that it is not bound to any pre-existing material—aside from a climax that’s a almost note-for-note rip of Akira’s climax--or comic book dogma. Yes, the concept of “with great power comes great responsibility” surfaces, but there’s no wise man to guide Andrew, Matt, and Steve. There’s no higher purpose. 80% of the runtime is devoted to the characters engaging in full on wish fulfillment, and Chronicle is better for it because, truth be told, these characters react to getting powers the way most people would. Chronicle also isn’t handicapped by adherence to any current or past comic series, and, thus, is not required to hit any narrative predetermined narrative beats or ensure that characters look or act according to a decades-old character model. This freedom allows Trank and screenwriter Max Landis to craft a narrative with deeper characters and more tangible consequence than half of comic-based movies released in the last five years. Trank takes ample advantage of this freedom, as the film peels the layers back on a character who would rarely be the focus of a traditional superhero narrative, Andrew. Chronicle is unequivocally Andrew’s story, and his response to receiving powers is far more believable than the arc of similarly put-upon geek loner Peter Parker.

A character like Andrew could have descended into a cartoon if not for the grounded direction and Dane DeHaan’s strong performance. DeHaan gives Andrew an consistent sense of perpetual discomfort and anxiety rooted in the abuse Andrew suffers at home. This unease is well-layered thanks to DeHaan’s mostly restrained performance, as Andrew mostly avoids delving into the over-the-top megalomania that paints similar characters. DeHaan’s performance is ably balanced by, the ever-reliable, Michael B. Jordan and Alex Russell’s performances. Jordan brings an infectious exuberance to his role as the big man on campus who is constantly geeking about his new abilities. It’ a bit of a stretch to see his character become so close to Andrew and Matt so quick because no history is established, but damned if Jordan doesn’t sell it, especially in one crucial scene that packs a solid wallop. Russell flies under the radar, especially in the presence of Jordan and DeHaan, as Andrew’s concerned cousin and the anchor and moral compass of the group, but he too gets a true moment to shine in the film’s climax that proves that Chronicle should be mentioned in same breath as X-Men: First Class.

Where this film differs from something like First Class is that the friendship between Andrew, Matt and Steve seems real. When Charles and Erik met in First Class, there was a requisite tension between the two that prevented them from ever being close friends, even before their split. In Chronicle, there’s a similar tension, mostly based on Andrew’s home life, but it doesn’t dominate the interactions between the three. The tension doesn't truly surface significantly until late in the film because more time and care is spent developing these characters friendship—even when the three get a bit sappy, they are still believable close—a narrative approach far more common in manga and anime than western comics. That care really pays off in the end, and, thanks to the quality of Russell, Jordan, and DeHaan’s performances, there’s never a moment second that the payoffs don’t feel earned.

In addition to great performances and a solid narrative, Chronicle delivers some of the most “authentic” displays of superpowers on screen in sometime. Chronicle doesn’t have the benefit of the audience willingly suspending disbelief because they know the characters in advance. Instead, director Trank earns the suspension of disbelief with mostly practical effects and some exhilarating scenes of the guys in flight—logically, they dress in down coats and ski pants because, wouldn’t you know, it’s frigid in the upper layers of our atmosphere—that rival, and maybe surpass, flight scenes from Superman Returns. Admittedly, the action is occasionally obscured due to the found footage format, but generally, Trank uses the format skillfully to make the action far more realistic than the average superhero flick. Between the great action, strong performances, and affecting narrative, surely Hollywood and the comic industry will soon be clamoring to replicate the formula, but they’ll likely fail to match the sublime combination of narrative and character that makes Chronicle one of the best ‘real-world’ superhuman flicks to date.

Review - This Means War

Grade: C+

Yang: Occasionally funny with a few decent moments of spy vs spy action; Tom Hardy elevates his role as a hopelessly romantic superspy who could probably break you in two if he wasn’t such a nice guy.

Yin: Slight and weightless rip-off mash-up of buddy action flicks and Reese Witherspoon romantic comedies. For good and bad, director McG fails to deliver the stylistic flourish that marked his early efforts.

In-Between: Never challenge Tom Hardy to a game of paintball.

From the look of him, you’d never know that Bane is Captain Kirk’s type. Yet, their romance is at the heart of McDirector McG’s latest, This Means War.

Now, the ads, trailers and TV spots will try to convince you that Tom Hardy and Chris Pines’ superspies are fighting over Reese Witherspoon’s lovelorn career gal, but she’s really just a fly in the ointment of their—God help me— “bromance”.

War is a slight, occasionally amusing romantic comedy with a featherweight spy story grafted on its bookends as a way of setting up a few serviceable action beats and hopefully keeping the males in the audience awake. War centers on CIA operatives FDR (Chris Pine)—every character calls him by his initials without blinking, seriously—and his partner Tuck (Thom Hardy), who were both obviously birthed from the buddy movie mold with FDR being the slick ladies man and Tuck being the gentle romantic with a British accent. As a former family man who is clearly still in love with his ex-wife, Tuck’s longing for the love of a good woman leads him to post a profile on an online dating site, which leads to a blind date with jaded, yet ever hopeful, consumer product tester Lauren Scott (Reese Witherspoon). The two hit it off smashingly and it all seems well until Lauren runs into the cocky FDR, who was on backup detail for Tuck’s blind date, and sparks fly. Soon enough the two once–inseparable partners find themselves locked in a battle of subterfuge and counterintelligence over the hand of a woman who seems a lot shallower than she thinks she is. Meanwhile, an international terrorist (Til Schweiger) is hot on Tuck and FDR’s tails after the two killed his brother in a sting gone haywire. Hijinks and dash of hilarity ensue.

War is no doubt descended from the Lethal Weapons and Bad Boys of the 80s, 90s, and early 00s, right down to the perpetually angry and disappointed chief, a criminally underused Angela Bassett who is clearly still in Amanda Waller-mode, and a goofy support team. War is also a typical Reese Witherspoon romantic comedy, complete with blissfully unrealistic lifestyle porn and a wacky, self-deprecating sidekick, Chelsea Handler who is stepping dangerously close to edge of overexposure. Viewed separately, neither narrative thread would hold a Dixie Cup worth of water; together, the two threads lead to some decent laughs and serviceable action after a slow start, but the whole thing still falls way short of being remotely memorable. Most of the failings could be placed on McG’s workman-like direction. Aside from his trademark sun-drenched palette and a few high-energy set-pieces—the highlight of which is Tuck’s assault on an army of paintballers—McG’s footprint is minimal. Sadly, the failure of Terminator: Salvation and the passing of time have taken its toll on a director who at one time could at least be regarded for an identifiable visual style. Now, he’s delivering flicks like War that are no more unique than offerings from any journeyman director.

Despite its somewhat limp direction, War is saved to a large degree by Tom Hardy’s performance. The man who would be Bane has shown remarkable range throughout his career and continues to do so in War, almost single-handedly outclassing everyone else involved by showing that human beings have more than two emotions. Chris Pine, on the other hand, is quickly proving that he may be a one-trick pony by making FDR little more than a smirking jackass. While Hardy clearly outclasses Pine, the two have a solid chemistry that lends to the theory that their relationship is the actual focus of the flick. Their banter and attempts to outflank each other setup a majority of the film’s funnier moments and the strain on their relationship proves far more interesting than their courtship of Reese Witherspoon’s Lauren. While Hardy and Pines spies fall deeper in love with each other, Reese Witherspoon does her “Reese Witherspoon thing” where she plays spunky mixed with a dash of tartness, hitting a lot of the same beats from one of her early hits, Sweet Home Alabama. Chelsea Handler bats about .400 with her performance, mostly by making fun of herself or letting the rest of the cast make fun of her. Sadly, strong performers like Angela Bassett and Til Schwieger are relegated to extended cameos that severely undercut their ability.

While War fails to make even adequate use of its strongest assets, it does entertain on a fundamental level, providing just enough romance and action to satiate almost any audience. Yes, it’s a bit safe and only a handful of the actors seem reasonably engaged, but, as one of this year’s big Valentine’s Day release, it’s much better than tripe like 2010’s movie star paycheck-generator Valentine’s Day. On its own, War is nowhere near as tight and unique as it could be, but, thankfully, Tom Hardy’s performance as well as some decent action and moments of hilarity elevate the flick beyond total mediocrity.

Review - Contraband

Grade: D

Yin: Languid pacing and one-note characters quickly undo this rote rehash of typical criminal actioners.

Yang: Grim and dingy aesthetic reveals the griminess of often-overlooked smuggling culture.

In-Between: Ever wonder if Memphis Raines little brother turned his life around? He didn’t.

TV networks are always trying to mimic the HBO formula. Their attempts to create compelling, meditative dramas that peek into unexplored cultures has led to turgid, funereal, slow-paced exercises in character and plot building with variable success. This approach is acceptable on TV because languid pacing is part and parcel of the medium. Applying such an approach to film can be successful depending on the genre or narrative, but it is not necessarily the best approach for a “white-knuckle” action thriller. Hence the problem with Mark Wahlberg’s latest, Contraband.

Based on 2008 Icelandic film Reykjavik-Rotterdam, which starred Contraband director Baltasar Kormakur, Contraband follows retired smuggler Chris Farraday (Mark Wahlberg) as he is forced to do the requisite ‘one last job’ after ne’er-do-well brother-in-law Andy (Caleb Landry Jones) gets in deep with some local heavies led by Giovanni Ribisi, here practically reprising and extending on his role from Gone in 60 Seconds. Chris reluctantly takes the job, much to chagrin of wife Kate (Kate Beckinsale), but seemingly to the reserved agreement of longtime friend and recovering alcoholic Sebastian (Ben Foster). All Chris has to do to save his brother-in-law is forge his way onto a Panama-bound freighter, pick up some primo counterfeit sheets, and drop the load back at the Port of New Orleans. Simple, right? Of course not. Complications and the occasional gunfire ensue, and Chris is eventually forced to outrun drug lords, a slimy sea captain (J.K. Simmons), and, most frighteningly, US Customs and Border Patrol as he attempts to save his brother-in-law and return to his family in one piece.

On paper, this sounds terribly exciting. In fact, the TV ads sell Contraband with shots of slow-mo explosions and gunfights, all with rap music thumping in background. It’s a shame that action makes up less than five minutes of this crawling bore. While I can appreciate Kormakur’s ambition to establish atmosphere and play around with typical action movie pacing, Contraband suffers immensely for such experimentation. Nothing truly compelling happens for the first half-hour, at least nothing that seasoned filmgoers haven’t seen more than a dozen times. Screw-up brother. Check. Square-jawed roguish protagonist who loves his family and only wishes to leave behind his regrettable past. Check. Shady best friend. Check. Dangerous thug/criminal who is nowhere near as smart or tough as the hero. Check. This is, note for note, the setup for any typical crime actioner with criminal protagonists. If Kormakur thinks he’s doing something different by setting this in N’awlins and trying ape the feel of HBO’s Treme then allow me to direct him to a little movie called 12 Rounds, also starring a square jawed Boston tough guy ‘actor’. Making matters infinitely worse is the snail’s speed pacing that is common for most European films, often a boon but outright detrimental here. I was impressed I made it through the first half awake because nobody else in my row did.

The performances in Contraband do little to ease the suffering. Mark Wahlberg continues to play the smartest, toughest guy in the room, despite wandering around with a confused look on his face until things get serious. Kate Beckinsale shows little range in the consistently thankless role of the simultaneously disapproving then supportive then disapproving wife and mother. Poor Ben Foster and Giovanni Ribisi fare even worse as they are saddled with broadly drawn roles as shady and slimy, respectively. I feel particularly bad for Ribisi who is forced to use a pitiful squeaky voice throughout in a half-assed effort to appear dangerous and grimy.

Interestingly, griminess is the one thing, aside from languid pacing, that Contraband excels at. Everything about Contrband looks dirty, dark, and dingy, from the characters to the settings to the aesthetic. Sure, New Orleans and Panama have their fare share of unkempt, less-than-desirable neighborhoods, but, based on Contraband, that’s all these cities seem to have. Despite general underachievement on almost all fronts, Contraband does provide some insight into an culture of criminal activity that hasn’t been explored, at least in American television and film, since the second season of The Wire, which addressed this type of crime far more masterfully despite being one of the least popular seasons of the show. You could do far better things with your time and money than wasting them on Contraband. Come to think of it, if you really want to see a gripping, slow burn drama, albeit with slightly less action, about smuggling, just rent or download season 2 of The Wire. I assure you the twelve hours will feel infinitely shorter than the two you would be tempted to waste on this clunker.

Review - Man on a Ledge

Grade: B+

Yang: Fun mash up of heist flicks and hostage thrillers with a brisk pace, constant thrills and a few charmingly clever moments. Standout performances by Jamie Bell and Ed Harris as a smart-ass thief and a ruthless real estate tycoon.

Yin: Predictable and swimming in cliché, but still entertaining to a fault. Smart viewers will figure out all the angles halfway through, and some great talent (Anthony Mackie, Edward Burns, etc.) is woefully underused.

In-Between: Ever get that feeling of being in a high place, and you just want to jump? This film may help calm that feeling.

A few years back Colin Farrell starred in Phone Booth, a gimmicky thriller about a man trapped in a phone booth by an unseen stalker.

A few months ago, Ben Stiller starred in a Tower Heist, a hokey heist comedy about a barely competent gaggle of working class schmoes trying to rob the shady investment banker who depleted their retirement funds.

Asger Leth’s Man on a Ledge takes some of the better ideas from Phone Booth and Tower Heist and rolls them into a unseasonably entertaining thriller heist movie that succeeds despite wading neck deep in predictable plot turns and clichés.

The titular man on a ledge is Sam Worthington’s ex-con Nick Cassidy, an ex-cop who is seeking to prove his innocence by, logically, threating to jump off the 21st floor of New York’s Roosevelt Hotel. To help in his quest for self-exoneration, Cassidy enlists the aid of disgraced hostage negotiator Lydia Mercer (Elizabeth Banks, adding to her list of dramatic roles), who is constantly second-guessed by the NYPD boys club detectives like Edward Burns’ Detective Jack Dougherty. With the local constabulary’s attention focused on Cassidy’s potential pavement dive, Jamie Bell’s Joey and girlfriend Angie (the biblical Genesis Rodriguez) stage an elaborate heist of a priceless diamond from Ed Harris’ Lex Luthor-esque real estate shark, just across the street from Cassidy’s scene. There’s no way these two events could be related, right?

While the twists are pretty well telegraphed and the characters are all archetypes firmly entrenched in hostage and heist narratives, Leth has managed to arrange these overused elements in a solidly entertaining configuration that proves to be wonderfully tense from start to finish. The key to Leth’s success is solid pacing and a welcome lack of pretension, as there’s enough light humor to keep the proceedings from becoming too dour. Man on a Ledge wastes little time getting Worthington up on the ledge and drawing all sorts of atypical griping from cranky New Yawkas. Admittedly, watching Worthington on a ledge for 90 minutes could have been excruciating, but the light intrigue of Cassidy’s motivation and the focus on the diamond heist keep the plot moving and investment high, if only because audiences are trying to figure how all the pieces fit together, which is never a bad thing. Also, it doesn’t hurt that the heist itself is a marvel of amateur larceny that makes the efforts of Ben Stiller’s Tower Heist crew seem desperately pedestrian by comparison. Suffice to say, there are very few, if any, dull moments in this flick, topped of by a climax that delivers exactly what any crowd wants from of jumper situation in fashion so spectacular that it won’t be forgotten until the bigger budget blockbusters arrive in a few months.

Man on a Ledge’s solid pacing and action is complemented by decent performances, particularly from Jamie Bell and Ed Harris, Elizabeth Banks and , to a lesser extent, Edward Burns. Bell and Harris standout as the high notes among the cast by bringing a wicked liveliness to their roles that as a brash thief and a ruthless tycoon, respectively. Banks does her best to anchor this movie as seemingly the only sane woman on the NYPD, in the process showing that she’s becoming increasingly comfortable expanding her range beyond comedy with an earnest, smart performance. Burns balances his trademarks smarm with some reasonable charm as one of the few detectives who’ll abide Mercer’s hunches.

Conversely, star Sam Worthington and second leading lady, Genesis Rodriguez, are the weak links with Rodriguez faring slightly better than Worthington, who is continuing to find ways to avoid acting in favor of dropping his voice and glowering. Rodriguez, unfortunately, is mostly called upon to show off her assets and play-up the spicy Latina stereotype. Luckily, she gets to offset those less-than-pleasant stereotypes by being one of the more competent and perceptive characters. Anthony Mackie is also on hand, skulking around the periphery as Cassidy’s former partner who seems to be more than he lets on, in a role that sadly handicaps Mackie’s wonderful energy and range. Thankfully, the brisk pacing, unrelenting tension and energetic set pieces more than make up for the weaker performances.

Admittedly, as a January release, expectations for Man on a Ledge are probably low, but this flick will surprise audiences. Sure, Leth’s not reinventing the wheel when it comes to neither the hostage nor the heist genre, but he has mashed the two up into a fun exercise that is fairly clever and consistently enjoyable. The typical disclaimer for flicks like this is that not every movie has to be a masterpiece or a blockbuster. And, that’s true. Man on a Ledge may not be slickest, cleverest, most profound, or revelatory entry into the hostage/heist thriller, but it is slick enough, clever enough, and entertaining enough to get more than a few gasps, chuckles and cheers from its audiences.