Wrath of Man: No Wisecracks, Just Cracked Skulls

Jason Statham in Wrath of Man

Guy Ritchie and Jason Statham: match made in tough-guy heaven, or secretly awkward fit? Historically, it’s hard to argue with the results; Statham received his first two roles in Ritchie’s first two films—the frenetic crime caper Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels, and the even more frenzied crime caper Snatch—which launched the bald Brit to stardom while also granting their director a measure of name recognition. But while both artists have since enjoyed successful careers (Statham more so than Ritchie), they thrive in different modes. Statham is a natural glowerer; his strength as an action hero stems less from his athleticism than his single-minded tenacity. But Ritchie, for all his pretensions of alpha-male seriousness, works best when deploying a light touch; The Man from U.N.C.L.E. was charming precisely because it felt frivolous rather than strenuous. If their pairing isn’t oil and water, it’s something like fists and finesse.

Wrath of Man is Ritchie and Statham’s first movie together following a 14-year separation (their third collaboration was 2007’s ill-regarded Revolver), and it takes all of 20 seconds before it declares its governing tone. As Christopher Benstead’s doomy score thunders with Zimmer-like braaams, the camera slowly pushes in on a smoggy Los Angeles, eventually locating an armored car snaking its way out of a gated facility. Within moments, the boxy car is being held up, though we never see the perpetrators; instead, the camera remains inside the vehicle, watching sparks fly as a sinister device carves its way through the side door’s thick steel. You don’t see much of what happens next, but you hear all of it—the blasts of explosives, the screams of the guards, the rip-rip-rip of gunfire—and the intensity is palpable. Most of Ritchie’s films, even the ones that traffic in extreme violence and moral depravity, are coated with a sheen of playfulness. This one wants to hurt you. Read More

Stowaway: Unauthorized Admission to Mars

Anna Kendrick in Stowaway

The minimalist space movie seems like a contradiction, but it’s actually an elegant solution to a familiar problem. The cosmos is so incomprehensibly vast, it’s impossible for cinema to convey its full breadth on screen; that’s doubly true for films released by Netflix, where said screen is attached to a television rather than a multiplex auditorium. And so Stowaway, the streaming giant’s new sci-fi feature, conceives of interstellar travel not as the launching pad for an epic adventure, but as the vehicle for a taut and constrained thriller. It’s a horror movie without a boogeyman; the inky enormity of outer space is plenty scary enough.

This particular vintage of stargazing picture has experienced a relative boom of late; recent examples include Geore Clooney’s The Midnight Sky, Claire Denis’ High Life, and Morten Tyldum’s unduly maligned Passengers. In terms of scale, Stowaway is smaller than all of those; it only features four characters, and its unnamed vessel is unremarkable, except maybe for being so cramped (the better to underline the setting’s claustrophobia). And while its final act includes its share of perilous derring-do in zero gravity, its main preoccupations are moral and philosophical rather than dynamic or kinetic. Read More

Is Promising Young Woman’s Ending a Vindication, or a Betrayal?

Carey Mulligan in Promising Young Woman

Endings are overrated. Or at least, the importance we attach to them tends to outstrip their actual significance. Quantitatively speaking, the typical ending constitutes less than 10% of a film’s runtime, so it seems peculiar that we factor their quality so heavily into our overall appreciation of a movie. At the same time, endings matter, if only as a simple matter of recency bias; it makes sense that our brains prioritize the last few scenes that we just watched as we leave the theater (or, sigh, exit the streaming service). That’s why a lousy ending can tarnish an otherwise enjoyable picture; by way of example, Danny Boyle’s mostly terrific Sunshine could have been a modern classic if it hadn’t so badly flubbed its finale. (The converse scenario, where a forgettable film is redeemed by a strong finish, is far more rare, though I’d submit for consideration Avengers: Infinity War.)

Promising Young Woman, which was just nominated for five Oscars, features an ending that is undeniably memorable—unusually so, given that it doesn’t rely on a big reveal à la The Sixth Sense or Planet of the Apes. I still don’t know whether its culmination is spectacular or terrible; what I do know is that it doesn’t change my opinion of the movie as a whole, which is largely fantastic. A modern jolt to the classic rape-revenge genre, Emerald Fennell’s debut feature is an exhilarating cocktail that blends provocative messaging with slow-building suspense and sure-handed craft. It’s a statement picture, both in that it has something to say and in that it announces the arrival of Fennell—heretofore best known as playing Camilla Parker Bowles on The Crown—as a hugely talented filmmaker. She could have wrapped up Promising Young Woman with aliens suddenly enacting a (ninth) plan from outer space, and the movie would remain a major achievement. Read More

I Care a Lot: Lies of the Guardians

Rosamund Pike in I Care a Lot

Even before you see her blond bob, you know instantly that Rosamund Pike’s newest star vehicle will find her working in the same vein of coolly ruthless savagery that she mined so brilliantly in Gone Girl. That much is clear from her opening voiceover, which finds the crisply talented actor once again ditching her British lilt for a capable American accent, and which concludes with her declaring, “I am a fucking lioness.” It’s an accurate if unnecessary introduction; one glare from her cold-blue eyes or one puff from her vape pen, and it’s plain that Pike’s Marla Grayson is a lethal predator. She plays for keeps, even when the game is other people’s lives.

This description might sounds like the template for a dark and provocative study of sociopathy, but I Care a Lot isn’t especially interested in digging into the pathologies of its protagonist. It isn’t interested in much of anything, really, beyond treating viewers to a rollicking good time with bad people. And this, it mostly does. Written and directed with slick snap by J. Blakeson, it coasts amiably on the gifts of its cast and the jolts of its pulp, untroubled by its own vacuity. Small wonder Marla is its hero. Read More

New Streamers: Judas and the Black Messiah, Saint Maud, and The Little Things

Jared Leto in The Little Things; Morfydd Clark in Saint Maud; Daniel Kaluuya in Judas and the Black Messiah

Ordinarily, early February is a cinematic dumping ground. But among the million other things that the COVID-19 pandemic affected, it caused the Oscars to expand their eligibility window by two months, meaning that some high-profile titles just landed on your favorite streaming services. Let’s take a quick run through this past weekend’s newest releases.

Judas and the Black Messiah (HBO Max). The second feature from Shaka King, Judas and the Black Messiah is a contemporary political text that’s also a classical spy thriller. It tells the story of Bill O’Neal (a very fine Lakeith Stanfield), the small-time car thief who became a big-league FBI informant in the late ’60s and infiltrated the Chicago chapter of the Black Panthers, led by Fred Hampton (Daniel Kaluuya). It isn’t subtle about its allegiance; you don’t need a degree in Christian theology to discern which character corresponds to which half of the title. Read More