Stefan Ruzowitzky’s Icefall

Sometimes ice and snow make a thriller more thrilling, like Cliffhanger, Insomnia, and The Thing. And sometimes they don’t. At least this excursion to Northern Central Montana continues the trend of thrillers that tell viewers to respect their local game wardens and park rangers, represented by Joe Picket, Wind River, and Untamed. Just buy those darned hunting licenses. Unfortunately, poachers will be the least of newly hired game warden Ani Bayawaa’s concerns in Stefan Ruzowitzky’s Icefall, which releases tomorrow on VOD.

Rhodes’ gang successfully heisted millions of dollars from the Bulgarian mob, but the plane carrying the loot crashed into a lake in Montana Blackfoot territory that soon froze over. As the water started to thaw, one of their black cases rose to the surface while rugged Harlan was ice-fishing. He is not exactly the license-buying type, so Bayawaa [rightly] assumes he is a poacher. The big container full of money makes her even more suspicious, but they soon find themselves working together to survive when the tracking device leads Rhodes’ goons to them.

Technically, Pen prefers to think of himself as an ex-goon, because the indigenous local was born again after the heist. However, Rhodes does not except resignations. Regardless, Pen can tell Bayawaa and Harlan better understand the land and the dangers it represents than his fellow crooks.

Ruzowitzky’s empathy for the indigenous characters (including Pen) and Harlan, a veteran of Afghanistan, is all to the film’s credit, but in most other respects, Icefall is a middling thriller. Frankly, he might have gone back to the ice-fishing hole once too often, because his wintery Deadfall was quite good. Unfortunately, Icefall isn’t at the same level, the “fall” notwithstanding.

Once again, Joel Kinnaman is maybe a little too strong and silent as Harlan. Cara Jade Myers does not bring much warmth or energy to the film either as Bayawaa. However, Martin Sensmeier really stands out (in the right way) as the conflicted and brooding Pen. He helps create an intriguing character, whose Christian conversion is treated with respect by Ruzowitzky and screenwriters Steve Isles and George Mahaffey, but not necessarily by his former criminal associates.

John Woo’s Silent Night

What does Joel Kinnaman now have in common with Ray Milland and Shorty Rogers & his Giants? They have all appeared in a synch-sound movie with absolutely no dialogue (Milland in The Thief, 1952, and Rogers in Dementia, 1955). In this case, Hong Kong action master John Woo has better things for Kinnaman to do than make small talk. It is time for some holiday payback in Woo’s Silent Night, which opens Friday in theaters.

Tragically, Brian Godlock’s young son was killed during a street gang shootout on Christmas morning. The Christmas sweater-wearing father ran off after the thugs, managing to take several out. However, the gang-leader Playa put a bullet in Godlock voice box. He survived, but his voice did not. In its place, he nourishes a burning hunger for vengeance.

However, a normal guy like Godlock can’t simply show up at Playa’s compound, guns-blazing. He will need a full year of conditioning and training. Fortunately, the lineman has sufficient skills to iron-plate his new muscle car. Godlock also wants to make his move on Christmas Day, for the symbolic value.

There will be plenty of work-out montages and gearing-up Commando-style, but no talking. Woo and screenwriter Robert Archer Lynn contrive a lot of non-verbal communication—an arched eyebrow here and a shrug there—but it works well enough, because who really needs to hear Kinnaman anyway? Plus, there is a fair amount of texting between the Godlocks and Playa with his henchmen.

Woo invests in a long set-up that is surprisingly gritty and moody. Nevertheless, fans can rest assured, when Godlock finally makes his move, he delivers everything they could want from John Woo film. The body-count is spectacularly high and the action never lets up. You can see many of Woo’s stylistic flourishes (which are nicely lensed by cinematographer Sharone Meir), but it never overshadows the business at hand.

Sympathy for the Devil (a.k.a. Nic Cage)

Let this film be a lesson. Keep your car doors locked and your windows rolled up. I have seen smart phones snatched out cars in traffic on the streets of Rio, but the prospect of getting carjacked by Nic Cage is even worse. At least it makes for an interesting ride in Yuval Adler’s Sympathy for the Devil, which opens in theaters this Friday, after world-premiering at this year’s Fantasia.

The driver just wants to park, so he can rush to join his wife, currently undergoing labor. Unfortunately, the armed “passenger” who jumps in his back seat has other ideas. Apparently, he wants to take the driver out to a remote desert air field for some sort of underworld reckoning. It is all totally baffling to the driver, who steadfastly insists his name is David Chamberlain, even though the Passenger is convinced he is someone else.

It will be a proverbially bumpy night, especially when the Passenger shows his willingness to kill anyone interrupting his cat-and-mouse game. The premise is fairly simple, but the absolutely maniacal Nic Cage elevates it to nearly the level of high art.

Indeed, Adler shrewdly showcases the Cage Rage, trusting in its inherent appeal. Wisely, Joel Kinnaman stays out of his way, opting for an understated slow burn opposite the deranged Cage. Of course, any savvy film patron can guess the answer to the is-he-or-isn’t-he “mystery,” but the gritty duo still keeps us hooked.

Edge of Winter: Estranged Fathers and Sons

You can practically hear a Hollywood casting director describe Elliot Baker as a Trump voter (turns out he is played by a Swede, but that makes him even more white). Baker has been laid off from the timber mill, emasculated by his ex-wife, and alienated from his weakling sons. He is definitely a gun owner too. However, director Rob Connolly and his co-screenwriter Kyle Mann are clearly torn whether they should demonize or empathize with Baker, so they constantly split the difference in Edge of Winter (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

While Baker’s ex-wife and her nauseatingly responsible second husband are off on a cruise, his sons, the teenaged Bradley and the ten-ish Caleb will stay with the unemployed old man. Of course, Baker’s quick temper almost immediately shows itself, despite his cringey trying too hard. The discovery of his hunting rifle leads to an impromptu trip into the mountains to do some shooting, once the father finishes his conniption fit.

Naturally a perverse set of circumstances conspires to trap the ill-prepared Baker clan in the woods. In retrospect, it was also probably a bad idea to let slip their stepfather’s plans to relocate the family to London. It definitely rattles him, but when two scruffy French-Canadian hunters barge into their cabin shelter, it sets off Baker’s darkest paternal instincts.

Yet, what that all means is still mostly up to your interpretation. Baker either shares a kinship with Michael Douglas in Falling Down or Jack Nicholson in The Shining. Connolly can’t seem to decide. Joel Kinnaman’s halting performance is equally ambivalent, but the sulky, stoop-shouldered Swede is a compelling picture of wounded masculinity. Frankly, we really do not understand Kinnaman’s appeal but his beaten-and-battered twitchiness is not out of place in this half-pregnant film. In fact, Tom Holland and Percy Hynes White are so eye-rollingly entitled and hopelessly white bread as Bradley and Caleb Baker, respectively, it sort of manipulates us into sympathizing with the wildly problematic father. They too earn our scorn for so callously pushing their father away, yet who can blame them?

Ambiguity can be an eerily effective on-screen strategy, but in this case, it just feels like we are constantly waiting for the film to make up its mind. One thing is clear. Nature is a dangerous, back-stabbing place. Connolly and Mann clearly imply the world would be a much safer place if we commenced a massive deforestation campaign. It would have the extra added benefit of providing dignified work for the marginalized Elliot Bakers of the world. Be that as it may, Edge of Winter is a frustrating odd duck of a film that is hard to recommend to any readily identifiable audience when it opens tomorrow (8/12) in New York, at the Cinema Village.