The reel
by meg weichman
inferno
I
n “Inferno,” the latest in the “Da Vinci Code” franchise from director Ron Howard, beloved national treasure Tom Hanks is the only thing making the movie remotely interesting. You’d think a race-against-the-clock thriller to stop a catastrophic event from happening would be at least sort of compelling, but it isn’t Hanks returns as Robert Langdon, the quick-thinking symbologist who, in the previous installments, unspooled the mysteries of Christ’s bloodline and foiled a papal conspiracy, all using his encyclopedic knowledge of history, symbols and art. Yet he somehow still manages to be incredibly boring as a character. This film puts him up against a geneticist who has secretly engineered a virus that will kill billions, all in the name of preventing the complete destruction of humanity due to overpopulation. The name of the virus? Inferno. And how can Langdon stop Inferno before it’s unleashed on the world? With clues hidden in Dante Alighieri’s “Inferno,” naturally. “Inferno” makes the mistake of putting everything (and therefore nothing) on the line and expects you to take the bait. The clues, set pieces and revelations that should ignite your interest fizzle out, leaving your mind to drift to other, more interesting and more fun stories. “Inferno” is too outlandish to be fun. It takes itself too seriously and suffers as a result. So, if you can’t heft such grandiose subject matter without allowing for some tongue-incheek layers, you shouldn’t even bother. And you, my friend, shouldn’t even bother with “Inferno.”
Modern war films will forever be compared to the first 20 minutes of Steven Spielberg’s masterpiece, “Saving Private Ryan.” Those opening scenes, depicting the U.S. Army’s amphibious landing at Omaha Beach on D-Day during World War II, are some of the most memorable, visceral and jarring images ever put on screen. No film before it drops the terror of warfare into the viewer’s lap like those scenes do. And one of the things that makes “Saving Private Ryan’s” opening so revelatory is that it precedes any sort of story or plot. It’s strictly establishing setting and tone. Any action after those 20 minutes is tame in comparison, but you’re on edge the whole time because you know just what the film is capable of. So when “Omaha Beach” — for lack of a better descriptor — shows up an hour and a half into a film (as it does in “Hacksaw Ridge”), and the entirety of what precedes it is laughably bad, it does not achieve the reverence and weight that the filmmaker was probably looking for. In fact, it comes off as exploitive and disrespectful. “Hacksaw Ridge” is based on a true story, and it’s an important and incredible one at that. During World War II, a young man from Virginia named Desmond Doss (played by a solid Andrew Garfield) volunteered for the Army. Doss was like any of the millions of young Americans who wanted to serve their country — enthusiastic, capable and patriotic — but his strict adherence to his faith prevented him from ever touching a weapon. When he was ordered to train as a rifleman, he politely refused, asking to be trained as a medic instead. His commanding officers came close to imprisoning him for disobeying orders, but ultimately his request was granted. And when his unit was thrown into the bloodiest battle of the Pacific Theater, the operation to capture Okinawa, Doss singlehandedly saved the lives of 75 men and became the first conscientious objector to be awarded the Medal of Honor. Doss’ story is one of almost supernatural courage, and it should be examined in a way to allow viewers to gain insight into a very compassionate and unique man. And hopefully we would come away from his story with a sense of Doss in ourselves, no matter how meager. But “Hacksaw Ridge’s” director, Mel Gibson (“Braveheart,” “The Passion of
the Christ”), is a man who’s known more for his excess and masochism than subtlety and examination (oh, what Spielberg could have done with this script!) So essentially anything that isn’t a battle scene in this film is undeveloped (and overacted), and you can tell that Gibson is speeding along so he can get to the good stuff. We meet Doss as a child, see his faith congeal, and see how his abusive father (the painful-to-watch Hugo Weaving) shaped his views on the world. As a young man, Doss meets a pretty nurse (Teresa Palmer) and the two are soon engaged, but their bliss is interrupted as Doss’ sense of duty propels him to enlist over his family’s objections. It’s all quite melodramatic and cheesy, but then the film dips into parody as Doss finds himself in a barracks with guys nicknamed Brooklyn, Tex, Hollywood and Smitty, where his pacifist views don’t mesh well with his new comrades. He runs afoul of Sgt. Howell, (Vince Vaughn doing a lame R. Lee Ermey impression), and he confounds the company commander, Capt. Glover (Sam Worthington). All these characters and exposition are merely set dressing for the big bloodbath to come, and it could not feel more hollow and rushed. Gibson wants you to know that war is hell, and he’s not afraid to show you some truly disgusting and terrifying imagery to get the point across. Quite honestly, it’s the most graphic war movie I’ve ever seen, but you can tell Mel’s way too into it. Each exploding head, each severed limb, each charred and twisted corpse is presented with a breathlessness borne not of reverence for sacrifice but pure pornography. It’s graphic, shocking and almost gleeful, and all it does is cheapen the message (there’s even a Wilhelm scream mixed into the din of one firefight). Desmond Doss died in 2006 at age 87. He remained a devout, humble man his whole life, and never traded on his heroism. I think he would be saddened by how his story of compassion, courage and faith was merely the framework on which this schlocky and hokey film was hung. War is hell — that should never be in doubt. But all that hell and horror is nothing without reverence. “Hacksaw Ridge” only has one of those two things, and Desmond Doss deserves better. Meg Weichman is a perma-intern at the Traverse City Film Festival and a trained film archivist.
JACK REACHER 2
“J
ack Reacher”, that film you may vaguely remember hearing about back in 2012, got a sequel. So how is this star-driven crime thriller sequel that no one was really asking for? Pretty much what you’d expect: fine, formulaic, and forgettable. Tom Cruise returns as the titular Reacher, a former military cop turned itinerant vigilante who makes his way across the county from seedy motel to rundown roadside café, fighting injustice “his way.” When he’s not doing his offthe-grid defender thing, he’s flirting over the phone with the woman (Colbie Smulders) who took over his position. When he finally arrives in D.C. to meet her, he discovers that his wouldbe lady love has just been arrested for espionage. Naturally, Reacher breaks her out, and the two fugitives find themselves at the center of a conspiracy plot involving the big baddie of the tarnished GWOT era, a military contractor. The production has a certain level of quality to it, and director Edward Zwick (“Glory,” “The Last Samurai”) has some chops. Yet it lacks personality or distinctiveness, and it fails to kick the fledgling franchise into high gear. For anyone outside of Reacher’s readers (the film is based on the popular 21-novel-strong series by Lee Child), this is simply standard genre fare elevated by Cruise. Because no matter how you may feel about Cruise IRL, his commitment to a role is truly unparalleled. It’s like he really is doing God’s work, and for a few moments — especially after he flashes that trademark smile — you just might be convinced of it too.
THE ACCOUNTANT
“T
he Accountant”, a thriller starring Ben Affleck (America’s least-favorite Batman) is a film that has no idea what it wants to be. Is it a standard thriller? A corporate espionage whodunit? An Autism message film? A dysfunctional family saga? After watching it, you won’t be sure, and the sheer number of storylines thrown at you in the two-plus hours it takes to get through it will leave you bewildered and disappointed yet also a little impressed. Because this is a movie that takes itself so seriously, you will be tricked in to taking it seriously too. Ben Affleck is this accountant, see? And he’s a high-functioning autistic one who’s not only great with numbers but also a trained assassin. Wolff works as a small-town CPA to prevent exposure and lives in a mundane suburban ranch, but when he’s not helping Midwestern housewives, he’s gallivanting around the world performing accounting feats for the world’s shadiest organizations. But instead of helping bleach the books of a drug cartel or terror network, Wolff’s latest job is finding missing funds at a robotics company, which somehow ends up proving just as dangerous. “The Accountant” isn’t a colossal failure, or even one that anyone will remember. It’s just overloaded, underperformed, and asks that the viewer take its word for everything.
Northern Express Weekly • november 14, 2016 • 23