Soderbergh’s Black Bag

This dinner party will be like Mr. And Mrs. Smith, hosting John le Carre’s Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, and Spy. Unfortunately for George Woodhouse (the Mr. Smith), his wife Kathryn St. Jean is also under suspicion. Yes, he knows she has been keeping secrets, but so has he. That comes with the territory for two married spies. Regardless, Woodhouse must find the security leak in Stephen Soderbergh’s Black Bag, which is now available on VOD (and still in theaters).

Woodhouse’s dinner parties can be awkward, but when you are invited, you must attend. Tonight’s guest list was made up by Meacham, his superior, who has deduced the code for an extremely destructive weaponized virus has been compromised. There are only five suspects, including his wife.

Freddie Smalls, is a senior MI6 agent, who was considered Woodhouse’s protégé, until he passed him over for a promotion. Col. James Stokes, is the fast-tracked hotshot agent, whom Smalls lost out to. Clarissa Dubose, the satellite imagery technician, has been conducting a not-so-secret relationship with Smalls. Dr. Zoe Vaughan serves as MI6’s staff psychiatrist, who counsels all five suspects, including St. Jean, rather they like it or not (and she clearly does not). She also recently terminated her romantic relationship with Stokes.

It will be a super fun dinner party, because several guests reveal very embarrassing secrets. However, it is not immediately evident who transfered the so-called Severus Virus to a dangerous foreign element. It is not an ideal time for St. Jean to leave. She cannot explain either, simply invoking the term “black bag,” which agents use as shorthand for “I can’t tell you, because its top secret business.”

David Koepp’s original screenplay rather cleverly devises ways to bring the loyalties of the various couples into conflict with their professional and national allegiances. Eventually, the big picture also involves Russia, but not in the way Putin-hawks might expect or hope. However, one character’s Roman Catholic faith will play an edifying role, in the complicated intrigue.

In fact, Koepp’s machinations are just complicated enough to maintain suspense and uncertainty, but everything is sufficiently illuminated so that the ending makes sense and provides closure. Black Bag is intelligent, but not too smart for its own good. It also wraps everything up, more or less, in about ninety minutes, which represents remarkably skillful and economically story-telling in this age of narrative bloat.

Arguably, Black Bag earns the further distinction as Soderbergh’s most stylish film since Out of Sight. The vibe is slick, but sophisticated. David Holmes’ score (featuring Brian Irvine on keyboards) appropriately noirish, but also jazzy and snappy, in a complimentary way. It really adds a lot to the film’s identity.

Plus, Michael Fassbender’s wardrobe was clearly inspired by 1960s Michael Caine films, which is cool. You can tell Fassbender totally fed off that vibe. His performance is quietly reserved and cerebral, but absolutely magnetic.

The four suspect-guests are also terrific, in very different ways. Tom Burke (who more viewers ought to know from The Lazarus Project) puts on a show on his own as the shlubby, self-destructive Smalls. Naomie Harris does some great verbal sparring as Dr. Vaughan, the shrink nobody wants to confide in. Marisa Abela is a destabilizing force as Dubose, while Rege-Jean Page matches Fassbender’s ability to project calculating intelligence.

Trespass Against Us: Gleeson and Fassbender as Father and Son

In the UK, Irish Travellers are officially recognized as an ethnic group, whereas in Ireland, they are simply considered a social group. Yet, within both countries, Travellers commonly face prejudice and widespread suspicion of criminal behavior. Chad Cutler’s father is doing his best to perpetuate those stereotypes. Crime is definitely their family business, but Cutler has ambitions of a different, better way of life for his son in Adam Smith’s Trespass Against Us (trailer here) which opens this Friday in theaters.

Compared to the rest of his father Colby’s Traveller campsite, Cutler is the responsible one, but not necessarily by his outsider wife Kelly’s standards. The illiterate Cutler adamantly insists his children must go to school, but his “traditional” father does his best to discourage his impressionable grandson Tyson from his studies. Obviously, that is a major point of contention between father and grown son, but Cutler’s intention to retire from crime and his increasing antagonism towards some of the cruder members of the camp will fray their relationship further. However, Chad Cutler has a hard time resisting a good car chase. Indeed, he and British copper P.C. Loverage are like the Traveller version of Smoky and the Bandit.

Adam Smith has a heck of a name to live up to, so best of luck to him. Obviously, Trespass is an insignificant trifle compared to The Wealth of Nations, but it is a rollicking good time—which is not nothing. Smith has a particular knack for reinvigorating movie car chases, getting a key assist from the Chemical Brothers’ Big beat score. Chases scenes often feel like rote obligations, but they are the best part of Trespass.

Of course, Michael Fassbender and Brendan Gleeson are also two of the very best in the business. When they face-off as Chad and Colby Cutler, they generate all the right kind of sparks. However, Lyndsey Marshal holds her own against both of them as the understandably exasperated Kelly Cutler. She provides the film a reality check and a moral center, without ever coming across like scold. In fact, she is a net plus when it comes to generating on-screen energy in general and particularly in her chemistry-heavy scenes with Fassbender.

Frustratingly, Trespass wilts into a treacly after-school special in its final scenes, but until then, Smith largely hits the right notes: ruckus and earthy, but not excessively quirky, naturalistic, cynical, or violent. Solidly entertaining, Trespass Against Us opens this Friday (1/20) in select cities.

Macbeth: Fassbender Takes on the Sound and Fury

Academics have long debated just how many children Lady Macbeth had and lost, because they don’t hand out tenure for nothing. Justin Kurzel’s new cinematic take on the Scottish Play is willing to go on record positing one child, whose tragic death will psychologically torment her and her noble husband unremittingly. Kurzel also more fully embraces the blood and carnage of battle than politely prestigious productions past in his vivid adaptation of Macbeth (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

You might not recognize the scene of Macbeth, Thane of Glamis and Lady Macbeth burning their young child on a funeral pyre, but from there on, it is business as usual. However, Kurzel does not skimp on hack-and-slash action when Macbeth and his faithful comrade Banquo vanquish the forces of the treasonous Macdonwald. Just as the three witches promise, Macbeth is promoted to Thane Cawdor following the traitor’s execution. That gives Lady Macbeth ideas about the rest of the witches’ prophesy, particularly the part about Macbeth becoming King of Scotland. However, they had an addendum hailing Banquo as the forefather of future kings that somewhat vexes the childless Macbeth.

Although Lady Macbeth does indeed prompt her husband to commit murder, Kurzel’s conception of the Scottish Play is remarkably forgiving of this often vilified noble woman. Again, the explicit grief for her child humanizes her subsequent sins to a considerable extent. On the other hand, Malcolm the heir apparent is portrayed in unusually shallow and cowardly terms.

Casting Michael Fassbender as Macbeth is so logically self-evident, it seems strange nobody tried to do it sooner. He does not disappoint, completely committing to Kurzel highly physical conception of the Thane. One look from him can make the heather on the hills wilt. In contrast, Marion Cotillard’s Lady Macbeth is unusually sensitive and guilt-ridden. Unlike memorably ferocious Lady Macbeths (Rosanne Ma in the Pan Asian Rep’s Shogun Macbeth is still a favorite), she is almost delicate, which makes the contrast between her and Macbeth all the more dramatic. Paddy Considine and Sean Harris also add considerable grit and heft as Banquo and Macduff, respectively.

Visually, cinematographer Adam Arkapaw work is just as bold, deliberately evoking blood and fire with his vivid color palette, while (brother) Jed Kurzel’s minimalist score gives the film a contemporary vibe. Kurzel somewhat overindulges in symbolic imagery with his over the top closing sequence, but that is a minor misstep. In general, his fearlessness pays dividends.

Frankly, the all the best Shakespearean films take some liberties with their source material. Arguably, Kurosawa’s Throne of Blood remains the greatest cinematic Macbeth, with its completely original but utterly iconic death scene. Kurzel’s Macbeth is a worthy follower in its tradition. Like Ralph Fiennes’ Coriolanus, Kurzel is very much in touch with the manly, action-driven side of Shakespeare, while also ruthlessly plumbing the dark psychological depths of his flawed characters. Highly recommended, Macbeth opens this Friday (12/4) in New York, at the Landmark Sunshine.

NYFF ’15: Steve Jobs

He was a horrible boss and a problematic parent. Even by his own admission, Steve Jobs’ greatest talent was for using people. Yet, probably no other corporate executive ever enjoyed such an intense popular following. He has become iconic through his celebrated product launches, which in retrospect, were just as effective crafting Jobs’ image as they were at introducing new Apple products. Screenwriter Aaron Sorkin starts with the familiar image of Jobs the showman, but pulls back the curtain to show all the personal and professional chaos roiling in his wake throughout Danny Boyle’s Steve Jobs (trailer here), the Centerpiece selection of the 53^rd New York Film Festival.

It turns out Ridley Scott has two films at this year’s festival. In addition to the sneak peak of The Martian, we will also see his celebrated 1984 Apple commercial heralding the coming of the Macintosh personal computer, in its entirety. It has just caused a sensation airing during the Super Bowl and it duly whips Jobs’ audience into a frenzy. However, the backstage vibe is hardly one of triumphalism. We quickly learn technical problems threaten to sabotage the Mac’s unveiling, but when informed of the glitches, Jobs is his usual motivating self.

To be fair, he is under a great deal of pressure. He has had a rough time of it in the press recently, thanks in large part to Chrisann Brennan, the high school girlfriend who recently won the paternity suit she filed against him. She is also present, with Lisa, the daughter he still refuses to recognize in tow, hoping to secure greater financial support. At least the new Apple CEO John Sculley has his back, right?

Boyle and Sorkin then flashforward to 1988. Ousted by Apple, Jobs is about to launch the first cube-like personal computers of his new venture, NeXT. Jobs needs to make a perfect pitch, because the word on the street is spectacularly bad. Yet, he seems to have a secret ace up his sleeve, which both encourages and irks his loyal marketing director, Joanna Hoffman. Once again, like Scrooge on Christmas Eve, Jobs is visited backstage by ghosts from his, including Sculley and Apple co-founder Steve Wozniak, as well as Lisa and Chrisann Brennan.

This pattern will repeat again in 1998. Through a combination of luck and guile, Jobs returned to Apple just in time to right the sinking ship. He is about to introduce the iMac, sparking one of the greatest corporate comeback stories in business history. However, the indulgent Hoffman finally puts her foot down, insisting Jobs man-up and set straight his messy personal life.

Probably no screenwriter has as many annoying hang-ups as Sorkin, but his triptych take on Walter Isaacson’s biography is kind of inspired. He literally takes the image of Jobs the pitchman that we have in our mind’s eye and turns it inside out. While everything in the film is constructed around the three big media events, we never actually see them happen. After all, they are just elaborately orchestrated hype sessions. The real drama Jobs cannot control—and it clearly vexes him.

Although he is hardly the spitting image of Jobs, Michael Fassbender connects with the arrogant, insecure, borderline Asperger’s essence of the man. It is a cold, clammy performance, yet we can see how Jobs maintained such Svengali-like control over everyone in his orbit. His emotional detachment makes everyone crave his approval even more. This probably goes without saying, but he puts Ashton Kutcher to shame.

Frankly, Steve Jobs the film deserves to be in the running for every best ensemble award because it is fully loaded with rich supporting turns, starting with the selflessly glammed-down and spot-on Kate Winslet as Hoffman. She lives up to Hoffman’s reputation as the only Apple employee who could stand up to Jobs. Getting serious, Seth Rogen aches with geeky dignity as Wozniak. Working as a battery of Lisa Brennans, Makenzie Moss, Ripley Sobo, and Perla Haney-Jardine all withstand Fassbender’s withering Mephistophelean presence, each developing some intriguing chemistry with his Jobs. You might expect these sequences to be hopelessly manipulative, but they are quite the contrary (at least until late in the third act).  

However, probably nobody does as much to rebuild their characters’ reputations as Jeff Daniels, who elevates Sculley’s stature to tragic levels nearly commensurate with that of Jobs. Again, their ruptured surrogate father and son relationship might sound like cheap armchair psychiatry, but the restraint of Daniels’ performance and the sharpness of Sorkin’s writing makes it work relatively well.

Given its structure, Steve Jobs could easily be reconfigured into a stage production, but Boyle’s dynamic visual flair prevents it from ever feeling stagey. While it is light years removed from hagiography, it is still rather hard to fathom why current Apple CEO Tim Cook felt compelled to engage Sorkin in the press. Despite the character flaws it so deliberately establishes, the film is ultimately quite forgiving of Jobs. Smart and bracingly honest, it is the best shake the Apple co-founder has had from the cinematic world since Noah Wylie played him in the TNT movie Pirates of Silicon Valley, but Boyle incorporates it in a much more stylish and sophisticated package. Recommended for old school Mac partisans and Fassbender fans, Steve Jobs opens this Friday (10/9) after playing to packed houses as the Centerpiece of the 2015 NYFF.

Slow West: From the Highlands to the High Plains

Yes, the Old West was a violent place, but what could you expect if everyone brought over their grudges from the Old Country. Rose Ross and her father are a case in point. There was a good reason they left Scotland in a hurry. Unfortunately, a lovesick lad from home might very well lead all that trouble straight to their doorstep in John Maclean’s Slow West (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Clearly, young, naïve Jay Cavendish considers Ross the love of his life, but it is unclear just what he is to her. Nevertheless, he has an address and is determined to “save” the lass. Traveling through the rugged Colorado plains is a dangerous proposition, but Cavendish finds an ostensive protector. Silas Selleck will try to keep the boy alive, but he has different ideas for Ross. Unbeknownst to Cavendish, a price has been put on the heads of the Ross father and daughter. Selleck is the sort of man who collects on them.

Of course, he is hardly the only hunting the Rosses. Selleck’s old acquaintance Payne is also on the trail. It is safe to say their rivalry is not the friendly sort. Payne would have no problem killing anyone in his way, whereas Selleck genuinely starts to like Cavendish. Obviously this produces seriously conflicted feelings on his part. Regardless, it will all inevitably lead to a violent standoff of some sort. After all, it is the Old West.

At this point, it is too late to call Slow West a revisionist western, because its in-your-face critique of Manifest Destiny represents the current official story of westward expansion. Despite a few heavy-handed sequences (to put it mildly), Maclean still constructs a compelling men vs. men tale, set against a harsh but breathtaking natural backdrop (in this case, it is New Zealand stepping in for the Colorado plains).

Slow West is also a heck of an example of how much the right wardrobe can add to a film. In the future, Ben Mendelsohn will probably be known simply as “the dude in the fur coat.” Costume designer Kirsty Cameron makes everyone look period appropriate, but that enormous trapper coat adds additional layers of attitude and Mendelsohn’s characterization of Payne.

The film also marks the third cinematic collaboration between Maclean and Michael Fassbender and serves as a reminder why it is potentially perilous for critics and film journalists to ignore shorts films, like their previous Man on a Motorcycle and the BAFTA Award winning neo-noir Pitch Black Heist. Fassbender is instantly credible as a high plains drifter and he keeps cranking up Selleck’s intensity as they approach the Ross homestead. Even though Kodi Smit-McPhee’s vacant screen presence is highly problematic in any film charging admission, it sort of works for the clueless and immature Cavendish. However, the real discovery in Slow West is the forceful work of Caren Pistorius as Rose Ross.

Slow West features some truly impressive technical craftsmanship, particularly Robbie Ryan’s cinematography, which is big in every way. Maclean also stages a terrific gunfight, bringing to mind the climax of Kevin Costner’s criminally under-appreciated Open Range. Recommended for fans of post-Little Big Man westerns, Slow West opens this Friday (5/15) in New York, at the Angelika Film Center.

Frank: How to Get a Head in the Music Business

He is sort of the Glenn Gould of indie rock. He is determined not to let superficialities, like his face, distract from the music. Nonetheless, the uni-named Frank’s gigs are uniformly disastrous. He might very well be a musical genius, but it will be overshadowed by the chaos that follows him in Lenny Abrahamson’s Frank (trailer here), opening this Friday in New York.

Jon is sure there is a tortured songwriter somewhere within him, but he is really just a decent middleclass suburban chap (something the film considers rather tragic in its own right). He can at least pound out the chords on his keyboard, which is more than enough for him to “luck” into a temp replacement gig with the Soronprfbs. Yes, that is unpronounceable, that is part of the joke.

It turns out the Soronprfbs are fronted by Frank, just Frank, a real deal tortured singer-songwriter who never removes his large papier-mâché head. Although most of the band immediately dislikes Jon, dismissing him as a poser, Frank takes a shine to the eager outsider. Even though the gig predictably descends into bedlam, Frank offers him a permanent position in the band.

Before he realizes it, Jon is holed up with Soronprfbs in their rustic Irish cabin, working (supposedly) on their new album. Despite the efforts of Clara, Frank’s gatekeeper, to send him packing, Jon is soon underwriting the band’s madness with his inheritance. He is also documenting it all via tweets and youtube.

To be fair, Michael Fassbender gives an extraordinary performance as Frank. Obviously, he is laboring under unusual conditions for an actor, since he is unable to use facial expressions throughout most of the film. Largely relying on body language, he still eloquently expresses Frank’s tickiness and volatility.

However, something about the film just does not sit right. It is not just Jon’s compulsive tweeting and hash-tagging constantly flashing across the screen, making Frank feel so two years ago. Anyone who knows working musicians will be turned off by the spectacle of such self-defeating behavior. No professional musician would act like this, because they are professionals.

Granted, Frank and the Soronprfbs are profoundly undone by their excesses. Indeed, Frank the film depicts the dark side of quirkiness, clearly suggesting right from the start Frank the character is not merely eccentric, he is genuinely sick. Yet, that close association of talent and madness is a pernicious cliché that poorly serves promising musician struggling to make it on the scene.

While British audiences might recognize Frank as a fictionalized cousin of musician-comedian Chris Sievey’s stage persona Frank Sidebottom, he is largely his own bobble-headed man for American viewers. However, the film’s frequent tonal shifts will makes it difficult to come to terms with him. The rather bland stock figures augmenting the rest of the Soronprfbs (including the tiresomely shrewish Maggie Gyllenhaal as Clara) provide little help.

On paper, Frank has the makings of a cult classic (“Fassbender Sings! In a Big Fiberglass Head!”), but the concept just doesn’t click. Maybe it is too indie and not enough rock. Fassbender puts on a clinic with his famous features tied behind his back, but Frank still rings hollow when it opens this Friday (8/15) in New York at the Landmark Sunshine.

Tribeca ’12: Pitch Black Heist (short)

Michael Fassbender is fully clothed, while Liam Cunningham is really drunk.  Together, they are a mismatched pair of crooks hired to pull off a very dark caper in John Maclean’s Pitch Black Heist (trailer here), the winner of the 2012 BAFTA Award for best short film, which screens today as part of the Status Update programming block at the 2012 Tribeca Film Festival.

Known simply as Michael and Liam, two safecrackers are meeting each other for the first time on a very unusual job.  They are two retrieve some item (it hardly matters what) from a safe with a light-sensitive alarm.  To prepare, they practice navigating a dummied-up room in complete darkness.  On the day in question, they meet in a quiet pub and wait for their employer to send them the all-clear.  However, they find themselves cooling their heels far longer than they expected, so they start doing what you’re supposed to do in a pub, lest they attract attention.

Pitch has a nice little twist at the end that Maclean adroitly lays the ground work for, without glaringly telegraphing it.  Frankly, this concept could be relatively easily expanded into a feature, which makes the economy of Maclean’s thirteen minute storytelling all the more noteworthy.  Still, the real entertainment is watching the boozy interaction between co-executive producers Fassbender and Cunningham.  Both actors have genuinely intense screen presences, perfectly suited to their roles in Pitch.

It all looks quite stylish as well, thanks to Robbie Ryan’s appropriately noir black-and-white cinematography.  A neat little ironic crime drama, Pitch Black Heist is one of the overlooked treats of the Tribeca line-up.  As per tradition, all short film blocks screen today (4/29), the concluding day of this year’s festival.

Jane Eyre Anew

To be a more-or-less orphan of ambiguous class and no apparent means was a tough card to draw in Nineteenth Century England. However, pluck and providence will provide much to a virtuous governess. Her name of course, is Jane Eyre. Following many previous screen adaptations of vary quality, director Cary Joji Fukunaga is quite faithful to the Charlotte Brontë source novel throughout his brisk new version of Jane Eyre (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

In a bit of a departure, Moira Buffini’s screenplay tells much of Eyre’s story in flashback, explaining the circumstances that led the bedraggled young woman to seek sanctuary with the Reverend St. John Rivers and his sisters. The particulars of her story remain the same. After the untimely death her parents, she is sent to live with her with her emotionally cruel aunt, Sarah Reed. Educated at the austere Lowood School, Eyre eventually accepts a position as the governess to the young French ward of Thornfield Hall’s moody master.

Usually described as “Byronic,” Edward Rochester has a fearsome reputation. Much to his surprise though, the difficult Mr. Rochester genuinely respects his deceptively mousy new governess. Indeed, sparks start to fly. Of course, as we all (should) know, there are revelations in store for Eyre that will send her flying from the estate.

Unlike other notable film takes, Fukunaga seems to deliberately downplay the gothic aspects of the story. Frankly, his Thornfield looks almost cozy (but earns kudos for art director Karl Probert and set decorator Tina Jones). While not necessarily right or wrong, it gives the film a romantic character distinct from that of the dank looking classic 1944 version starring Orson Welles.

Funneling Brontë’s hefty novel into a running time of just under two hours, Fukunaga largely sacrifices a few of the supporting characters. Do not blink when Imogen Poots appears as Blanche Ingram, because she will not be around for long. Yet, he covers all the important bases and wisely invests the proper time to establish the budding attraction between Eyre and Rochester.

Mia Wasikowska and Michael Fassbender are perfectly cast as the unlikely couple. They truly look the parts and develop electric screen chemistry together. Though Fassbender might be a tad younger than traditional for Rochester, he is one of the few actors working today who has adequate presence and the right malevolent charisma for the role. While never really challenged in her supporting turn, Dame Judi Dench still adds a touch of class to the proceedings as the mostly sympathetic housekeeper, Mrs. Fairfax.

Capitalizing on the strength of its two leads, Fukunaga’s Eyre plays like Brontë for Jane Austen readers. The results are thoroughly engaging. Artfully crafted and well paced, is one of the better English literary period dramas to hit screens in a number of years. A solidly entertaining Eyre, it opens this Friday (3/11) in New York at the Landmark Sunshine and Lincoln Square Cinemas.

Centurion: No Pax Romana Here

It is 117 A.D. and the Roman “conquest” of Britain has been a miserable, blood-soaked experience—for the Romans. Just ask Centurion Quintus Dias whom we first meet running for his life from a very ticked-off war party of Picts in Neil Marshall’s Centurion (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Posted to the most distant Roman outpost, Dias is miserable in Caledonian Britain (what is more or less Scotland today). Things only get worse when his fort is over-run by a Pict surprise attack. The sole survivor, Dias escapes his captors, making his way to what just became the newly Northern-most Roman outpost. Tired of taking a beating to his prestige back in Rome, the local governor commands General Virilus to hunt down the mysterious Pict leader Gorlacon with his vaunted Ninth Legion, to which Dias is now attached.

Virilus is not thrilled with his assignment, but he supposedly has the advantage of the services of Etain, a Pict tracker ostensibly civilized by the governor. Given the way her eyes smolder with hatred, following her into battle is probably a bad idea, but they do it anyway, with predictable results. Now Dias must lead the remnant of the Ninth as they try to rescue their revered General behind enemy lines.

Centurion is a fairly straight-forward historical hack & slash, with maybe a hint of the fantastical. At one point, Dias and his men find refuge with Arianne, a woman shunned by the Picts as a purported witch—not that she really is one. She just seems to know a lot about healing herbs. Neil (The Descent) Marshall definitely has a knack for gritty battle scenes, and the clever symmetry of his opening and closing scenes perfectly suits the story of ancient (if misplaced) heroism. Unfortunately, the film lags a bit in-between, with too many scenes of rock-climbing and limping through the Caledonian forests.

Michael Fassbender is one of the few actors working in film today with potentially movie star-like screen presence. Yet in Centurion, the grizzled badness of Dominic West’s Virilus somewhat outshines him. Still, he has some credible chemistry with Imogen Poots as Arianne the witch. Unfortunately, Ulrich Thomsen is a bland villain as Gorlacon (probably because the film is too conscious of its alleged modern parallels), while as Etain, former Bond girl Olga Kurylenko looks distractingly blue, almost like she walked out of Avatar. Oddly, the Centurion’s Romans are played by Brits, whereas the Britons are mostly played by Scandinavians, Slavs, and even the Belgian Axelle Carolyn.

Centurion’s craftsmanship is definitely above average for action films. Cinematographer Sam McCurdy’s dazzling vistas make the Caledonian mountains look like the Alps. It also boasts one of the cooler opening title sequences of the year. Still, its heavy-handed “occupiers” versus “insurgency” themes often sabotages the film’s momentum. Ultimately, it is an okay summer diversion, but it is effectively limited by its reluctance to definitively pick a side and stick with it. It opens Friday (8/27) in New York at the Angelika.

(Poster by British comic artist Simon Bisley)