Renny Harlin’s The Beast

Sadly, we will never have a President John McCain, but at least we have call-sign “Paladin” in this new movie. Weirdly, we never get his full name, but this fictional POTUS was a Vietnam veteran. It is a good thing too, because he is going to need his combat mindset (his “beast” mode) to survive a coordinated global coup attempt in Renny Harlin’s The Beast, which opens today in theaters.

It isn’t just happening in the USA. According to reports, insurrectionists have already taken out the British Prime Minister and several other European heads of state. Some descriptions of the film refer to the coordinated revolutionaries as a “militia,” but that is a loaded term that doesn’t quite fit. Their ideology remains a mystery, but they look like an army of balaclava-clad fanatics.

Regardless, their short-term objective is clear: take out the president. Clearly, they had inside access to Secret Service protocols and procedures. However, Paladin was saved, at least for now, by the sacrifices of his protective detail. Taft is the last one left alive, but he needs medical attention soon.

Consequently, Paladin reverses roles with the Secret Service agent, dumping him in the backseat of the Presidential limo, while he drives. Technically, that violates a lot of operational rules, but the president does not care. Fortunately, his limousine is tricked out with cutting edge defensive weaponry. He also has combat infantry experience that comes flooding back to him. In fact, Taft’s wounds remind him of those suffered by his closest Army buddy. Paladin assures the Agent his friend survived, but viewers won’t be so sure, judging from the visions of a dying soldier that seem to haunt the President from the backseat.

In a way, The Beast is an attempt to turn Seven Days in May into Locke. It is largely set inside the Presidential limo, but Harlin skillfully milks tension from the confined setting. Of course, it is also quite a slick ride. Some of the car’s James Bond-worthy counter-measures look surprisingly cool on-screen. There are so many points at which The Beast could have fallen flat on its face, but Harlin somehow always keeps it charging forward. Consequently, this is probably his best film since Skiptrace.

Argylle: Cats and Spies

You would think an espionage novelist like Elly Conway would be a dog person, rather than a cat lady. She leads a shier, quieter life than Joan Wilder in Romancing the Stone, even though she is so tuned into geopolitical realities, her novels have been described as prophetic, much like the techno-thrillers of Tom Clancy and David Hagberg. In fact, she her books have become a little too predictive for a shadowy SPECTRE-like organization in Matthew Vaughn’s Argylle, which opens Friday in theaters nationwide.

Conway does not get out much, but when she leaves home for a meeting (like this fateful day), she always brings her fat cat Alfie. She has a tailor-made argyle-print carrier for him, probably because Petco doesn’t have anything big enough for his plump rump. She will cling to his case for dear life while the mysterious Aidan rescues her from a train full of assassins. The shaggy stranger is nothing like suave fictional Agent Argylle, whom we see in action during fantasy segments and book-readings, as well as when he reassures the neurotic Conway, in her mind’s eye.

At least Aidan claims to be a fan—and a real spy. According to him, an international spy outfit (much like Citadel) just turned to the dark side, exactly like the plot twist of her latest novel. Unfortunately, she ended it with a cliffhanger, which nobody likes, especially not KAOS or THRUSH. He needs her to come up with a real ending to foil the bad guys, but it will not be that simple.

Weirdly, there are a lot of similarities between Argylle and Citadel, but it would be spoilery for both to explain how. Regardless, they are worlds apart in terms of tone. Argylle always goes for laughs and it is not afraid to lean in slapstick. To their credit, some of Aidan’s early fight scenes are impressively choreographed, but they grow increasingly outlandish and silly.

Screenwriter Jason Fuchs throws one crazy plot twist after another at the audience, but the head-spinning revelations are all part of the winking fun. This movie can be a lot, but it knows and appreciates the genre it is spoofing. Plus, it has Alfie, who gets a lot of laughs, even though Chip (the cat who plays him) gives the film’s most deadpan performance.

One of the film’s pleasant surprises is the facility for broad, physical comedy Sam Rockwell shows as Aidan. Fans know he can be sarcastic, but here he gets to act loopy and rubber-boned—and it largely suits him. Bryce Dallas Howard cannot really match his energy as Conway. However, the film as a wealth colorful supporting players, like Bryan Cranston and Catherine O’Hara, who chew the scenery like a Five Guys Burger, as the villainous Ritter and Conway’s overbearing mother.

The Kill Room

Tom Wolfe's The Painted Word outraged the art world, because it exposed its increasingly postmodern ideas to the general population. Since then, the gallery world has become even more prone to trendy theories and irrational exuberance. Arguably, the hardest thing to believe in this satire is its success recruiting Pulp Fiction co-stars Uma Thurman and Samuel L. Jackson to star in Nicol Paone’s The Kill Room, which opens this Friday in theaters.

Patrice Capullo’s gallery was on its last legs, largely thanks to her self-destructive behavior. However, thanks to a referral from her Adderall dealer, gangster and self-proclaimed Yiddish bialy-baker Gordon Davis offers he a money laundering deal she cannot refuse. Capullo will record sales of junky paintings they supply, funneling the “clean” money back to the gang’s account, minus her cut, without arising the IRS’s suspicions, because contemporary art prices defy all conventional logic. They just need physical paintings to keep things “legal.”

That job will fall to Reggie Pitt, the gang’s reluctant hitman, who decides to paint under his unofficial nickname, “The Bag Man,” a reference to his preferred technique, asphyxiation by plastic bag. At first, Pitt considers it a chore. However, when Capullo’s intern releases news of his first big “sale” to the gallery trades, suddenly every collector wants a Bag Man original.

The premise of Kill Room is sort of like the art world variation of “Springtime for Hitler” in The Producers, except it could potentially take Capullo’s gallery to the lofty heights she always dreamed of. The problem is Davis’s “business associates” do not appreciate the sudden media attention. In fact, they hate it and fear it.

Jonathan Jacobson’s screenplay is cleverer than you would expect. The film also has the guts to make one of the villains a mysterious art-collecting Russian oligarch, who has a featured role to play in the climax.

The Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard: Also Starring Frank Grillo

Brexit just keeps looking better and better, doesn’t it? Currently, the UK is far out-performing the EU when it comes to vaccinations. It should also be safely out of the crosshairs when a Greek super-patriot hatches an apocalyptic scheme to avenge Brussels’ policies that humbled his country. Europe’s only hope rests in the three characters referenced in the title of Patrick Hughes’ The Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard, which is now playing in actual theaters.

In The Hitman’s Bodyguard, bodyguard Michael Bryce protected his old contract-killer nemesis long enough to testify against an Alexander Lukashenko-like dictator at The Hague, but he is still haunted by Darius Kincaid’s assassination of his most important client. His shrink wants him to move on to safer employment, but Kincaid’s wife Sonia pulls him back in to save her husband (against both of their wishes).

Even though Bryce has temporarily sworn off guns, he and Ms. Kincaid successfully rescue her hubby from the Euro gangster holding him. Inconveniently, they also kill him before Interpol Agent Bobby O’Neil can recover the sensitive European infrastructure information he acquired for the shadowy mastermind. It turns out the villain is Greek shipping tycoon Aristotle Papdopolous, who needs a briefcase full of codes linked to an explosive device that winds up strapped to Sonia’s wrist.

Like its predecessor, HWB is definitely a meathead movie, but it is a rare sequel that manages to be funnier than the original. Obviously, Samuel L. Jackson does his F-bomb-dropping thing as Kincaid—and it is still works as well as ever. Ryan Reynolds probably gets even more laughs as the wildly neurotic Bryce. However, Salma Hayek (who was conspicuously under-utilized in the first film) steals the show as the spectacularly foul-mouthed and hair-trigger-tempered Sonia Kincaid. She is a riot, pretty much literally.

The Hitman’s Bodyguard: Guarding Samuel L. Jackson

Alexander Lukashenko must be bent out of shape. Hollywood makes a movie about a Belarusian dictator trying to escape prosecution for crimes against humanity, but they can’t be bothered to call him out by name? Instead, it is one Vladislav Dukhovich who has put a price on the only international assassin crazy enough to testify against him. All the other potentially damaging witnesses have been killed, but Darius Kincaid is bizarrely hard to kill. He will also have old nemesis, personal security specialist Michael Bryce watching his back, whether he likes it or not, in Patrick Hughes’ The Hitman’s Bodyguard (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Several years ago, a Japanese arms dealer under Bryce’s protection was drilled between the eyes, dragging Bryce’s business down with him. It was Kincaid who made the shot. In the small world department, Bryce’s ex, Interpol Agent Amelia Roussel is in charge of Kincaid’s security. Captured through a fluke, Kincaid cut a deal to testify against Dukhovich in exchange for his wife’s freedom. Unfortunately, his lack of faith in Interpol’s security protocols will be vindicated when Dukhovich’s mercenaries ambush their motorcade. Suspecting a mole in the agency, Roussel contracts Bryce to safely transport Kincaid to The Hague, despite their bitter history as rivals. Much Odd Couple-style humor ensues, as the body count escalates.

In between car chases and gun fights, Kincaid and Bryce will bicker and banter—and in the case of the former, drop MF bombs like there is no tomorrow. Yep, he would be the one played by Samuel L. Jackson. Frankly, this is the sort of loopy action comedy that were a staple of 1980s second run dollar theaters. It is therefore rather fitting Richard E. Grant has a cameo in the prologue as Bryce’s latest sleazy client.

It should be readily stipulated Jackson and Ryan Reynolds develop an amusing comedic chemistry together. They settle into a nice rhythm playing off each other and neither is too shy to mug a little for the camera. Jackson is basically recycling his Pulp Fiction persona yet again, but it still hasn’t gotten old yet, so it’s tough to blame him. Reynolds is well cast as the armed-and-dangerous Felix Unger. It is also nice to see Elodie Yung get to participate in the action as Roussel, while Gary Oldman (a reliable villain if ever there was one) chews the scenery as an entitled dictator would. However, Salma Hayek is under-employed as Kincaid’s borderline psychotic wife Sonia.

Bodyguard has plenty of action, exotic locales (getting riddled with bullet holes, but whatever), and some classic blues and R&B tunes licensed for the soundtrack. That doesn’t exactly add up to a masterpiece, but it is fun in a goofy, meathead kind of way. Thanks to the gung-ho commitment of Jackson and Reynolds, it all works on a basic laughter-and-mayhem level. Recommended for fans of Jackson and old school action-comedies, The Hitman’s Bodyguard opens this Friday (8/18) throughout the City, including the AMC Empire in Midtown.

Stephen King’s Cell

Going from Boston to New Hampshire is probably always a good idea, but especially so when there is a zombie apocalypse underway. Whether or not so-called “phoners,” who were turned into rage-filled hive-mind killing machines by a sinister cell phone transmission, count as proper zombies hardly matters. The same rules apply: regions with low population density and a high degree of gun ownership offer the best survival prospects. However, finding his son will take priority for Clay Riddell in Tod “Kip” Williams’ adaptation of Stephen King’s Cell (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Just as Riddell deplanes in Boston, all heck breaks loose. His battery is conveniently dead, or else the mysterious pulse would have transformed him into a murderous berserker as well. Not surprisingly, the airport turns into a horror show, but he is able to make a subterranean getaway with Tom McCourt, a transit employee with military training and few social ties. Lying low for the night, they join forces with Riddell’s teenaged neighbor Alice Maxwell and head towards New Hampshire.

Along the way, they liberate a stash of guns and observe the phoners flock-like behavior. They get a further lesson in phoner behavioral psychology from a prep school scholarship student and his headmaster. Apparently, phoners reboot or install their Microsoft updates overnight, leaving them nocturnally vulnerable. However, phoners will continue to evolve, as the hardy band of survivors learns the hard way. Even more ominously, the sinister leader of the phoners makes regular appearances in their nightmares. It is particularly distressing for Riddell, because he is the spitting image of the Mephistophelean character in his prospective graphic novel.

In a way, Cell sort of resembles a light version of The Stand, as it follows the core group making its way through apocalyptic chaos, towards the ultimate destination of Kashwak, a rumored Native American dead-cell zone—but with zombies. Of course, The Stand is probably the one King novel that could really use an editorial diet. Fans still pay premium prices online to buy the original published version his editor had duly tightened, preferring its pacey focus to the bloated “author’s definitive edition” now available.

Be that as it may, Cell is not the greatest King film to hit screens (regardless how the author feels, that would still probably be Kubrick’s The Shining), but it has its virtues. To his credit, Williams has the good sense to fully capitalize on Samuel L. Jackson’s screen persona. Although his character is relatively subdued by his standards, there are plenty of scenes involving McCourt, firearms, and attitude. The phoners are also all kinds of creepy. They are definitely fast zombies, or whatever. Even though Clay Riddell is technically the lead, he is a pretty conventional stock character, but that also means John Cusack’s blandness is rather fitting. On the other hand, Stacy Keach adds some welcome panache as the headmaster.

Like any good zombie movie, viewers should not get attached to a lot of the characters in Cell. For some reason King and co-screenwriter Adam Alleca altered the conclusion of his novel, so instead of one reasonably serviceable conclusion, we get three contradictory and unsatisfying endings. Still, it is always hard for genre films to stick the dismount. It is just kind of worth it to see Samuel L. Jackson do his thing and watch Boston get trashed. Recommended for its merits and its appealing messiness, Cell opens this Friday (7/8) in New York, at the Cinema Village.

Big Game: Snakes on Air Force One

How we depict the President of the United States in film and television says a lot about how we view the office. In Air Force One, Harrison Ford kicked a terrorist off his plane. In 24, David Palmer had one of his cabinet secretaries water-boarded without a second thought. Sadly, when Samuel L. Jackson assumed the role of Commander-in-Chief, he spends most of the time complaining he is cold and his feet hurt. Yet bad guys are still out to get him in Jalmari Helander’s Big Game (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

William Alan Moore is a particularly lame duck chief executive, in route to a G8 pre-summit pre-conference, as part of his presidency’s sad endgame, but his flight will get suspiciously bumpy thanks to an inside saboteur. We can tell by looking at him, Morris the senior Secret Service agent is obviously a traitor. He once took a bullet for this POTUS, but Morris has come to wonder why, especially with his mandatory retirement looming.

Still, it seems like a drastic step for Morris to cast his lot in with Hazar, a wealthy Mid East psychopath, who wants to hunt down the President, so he can stuff and mount him as his trophy. Unfortunately, when Moore is forced to eject from Air Force One, his only ally on the ground will be Oskari, an under-sized Finnish pre-teen trying to prove his mettle in a rite-of-passage survival excursion. He is young and annoying, but he is still more resourceful than Moore. Meanwhile, the White House crisis room is buzzing, but it is not clear all the senior staffers are on the same page.

Big Game is billed as a throwback action thriller, but it never throws-down hard enough. There are way too many cutesy scenes of the kid trying communicate with Moore through a couple of tin cans and a string and not nearly enough old school beatdowns. In fact, several of the signature action sequences are rather gimmicky looking.

Most disappointingly, Helander never lets Jackson cut loose. We want to see him get righteous on the villains, but instead he just whines and projects uncertainty. Man, if ever there is a time to cowboy up, this is it. Frankly, he is rather put to shame by all the colorful character actors underutilized in the DC scenes, particularly the grizzled Ted Levine, snarling along as best he can as General Underwood.

As was true of his prior film, Rare Exports, Helander again starts with a promising high concept, but his execution lacks edge. In this case, we are promised plenty of Die Hard-esque action, getting sentimental Odd Couple shtick in its place. Still, the remote Nordic scenery is quite impressive. Despite having plenty of elements in place, it just never clicks. For those looking for some PG-13 action that feels even younger, imperfect though it might be, Big Game opens this Friday (6/26) in select theaters.

Kite: Sort of Like the Anime, but with Samuel L. Jackson

It is supposed to be a near future dystopia, but the post-crash world where roving “numbers gangs” abduct young children for a Middle Eastern human trafficker is not as outlandish as it ought to be. However, a strung-out teenage girl wages war against the cartel with the help of a morally problematic flat foot. It should all sound familiar to anime fans, for good reason. Yasuomi Umetsu’s anime gets the live action remake treatment in Ralph Ziman’s Kite (trailer here), which opens this Friday in select cities.

It looks like the return of the Dinkins Administration, but on a national scale. Anarchy reigns, as numbers gangs rove the streets and the cops are either too scared or too corrupt to interfere. Karl Aker is the exception. The hard-charging detective has been secretly working to bring down the shadowy white slaver known as the Emir with his secret weapon: Sawa.

After her father, Aker’s partner, was murdered by the Emir’s henchmen, Sawa allowed the cop to pump her full of more juice than major league baseball consumed in 1998. Aker’s narcotic makes her lethal and fast-healing, but it is also addictive and makes her forget. Still, in Sawa’s world there is not much worth remembering. At least, that is how she hazily sees it. Oburi begs to differ. Claiming to be a childhood friend, the would-be Samaritan purports to know important secrets from her past.

Arguably, the Kite concept simply works better in anime than as an exploitative remake. Frankly, India Eisley is not bad as the haunted Sawa, but she looks lighter than a box of Kleenex and more fragile than a crystal rose, making her butt-kicking scenes rather difficult to buy into, especially considering she does not have any super-powers beyond an anesthetizing buzz.

Of course, Samuel L. Jackson should be money in the bank for a film like this, but he is oddly restrained as Aker, only nibbling on the scenery rather gorging as we would hope and expect. Still, when he does his stone cold thing, it is still cool. Unfortunately, the rest of the ensemble is rather nondescript, including Callan McAuliffe, who certainly does not look like an Oburi.

Ziman’s take on Kite is not nearly as lurid or nihilistic as critics made the source anime out to be. In fact, there is a moral center to the film. Instead, its overriding sin is its general tepidness. Only for franchise fanatics, the under-performing Kite opens this Friday (10/10) in New York.

Music from Black Snake Moan

Black Snake Moan Soundtrack
New West Records

That’s some key art alright. Craig Brewer’s upcoming film appears to hit a lot of hot buttons, hard. However, as the story of a pious bluesman looking to reform a wayward woman, the sounds of the blues are central to the soundtrack of Black Snake Moan. The movie actually takes its title from a Blind Lemon Jefferson song, and yes, there was some double entendre there.

In many ways, the Black Snake soundtrack album concept brings to mind the Pulp Fiction OST, with snippets of dialogue included. Black Snake also goes back to the roots with two brief extracts of interviews with the legendary Son House, which really cut to the core of the blues.

Although much of the material here is licensed from other releases, some themes from Scott Bomar’s original score are included, performed by members of the North Mississippi All-Stars and harmonica virtuoso Charlie Musselwhite. Probably the best feature for Musselwhite is “The Chain,” which sounds both greasy and menacing (again, refer to cover art).

Also original to the CD are blues from lead actor Samuel L. Jackson. He is basically serviceable on “Just Like a Bird Without a Feather,” originally a R.L. Burnside tune, to whom the picture is dedicated. He is more convincing on the up-tempo juke rendition of Burnside’s Alice Mae,” but the real killer in the collection is his take on the mythic blues of “Stack-O-Lee” a.k.a. Stagger Lee. It is hard to imagine a song better suited to Jackson’s screen persona than the ballad of the stone cold killer of Billy Lyons. The combination of the driving guitar licks and Jackson’s delivery, more spoken than sung but loaded with attitude, could make this the party track of the year for those not offended by the MF’s and other assorted lyrics not Tipper Gore approved. The well sequenced disk follows this by going back to source with Burnside himself performing “Old Black Mattie.”

With tracks from Jessie Mae Hemphill, Precious Bryant, Bobby Rush, and the North Mississippi All-Stars included as well, Black Snake is nifty collection of Mississippi blues that makes with more than a nodding tribute to its historic roots. The film opens in a few weeks, so it will be interesting to see how it portrays the blues and handles its other themes. Regardless, the soundtrack CD holds up well independently of the film.