Chris At The Pictures

Warrior and Jane Got a Gun director Gavin O’Connor brings us this fundamentally intriguing but utterly dispensable thriller starring Ben Affleck as an autistic assassin. Operating under the alias Christian Wolff, our eponymous maths spod is asked to uncook the books for a new client (John Lithgow), but soon finds himself on the run after discovering an anomaly in the firm’s accounts. Meanwhile, the US Treasury Department (headed by a resigned-looking J.K. Simmons) closes in on Wolff’s true identity.

The screenplay is penned by Bill Dubuque, who has previous when it comes to films with mental health issues at the centre. In 2014’s The Judge, the worsening dementia of Robert Duvall’s character was handled sensitively but astutely; never shying away from depicting the darkest days, but wise enough to give the audience some sense of hope. In The Accountant, Wolff’s Asperger’s syndrome crosses over far too often into superpower territory to hold any significant weight (for instance, his need to focus on completing a task to the fullest extent makes him a prolific sharpshooter).

Obviously, I come to this with a neurotypical perspective, but I can’t imagine for one moment that the autistic people consulted by Affleck during production are entirely comfortable with this representation. A selection of impressively unflinching sequences – in which we see Wolff as a child, driven to despair by his inability to connect and the harsh methods of his utterly unsympathetic father – are offset awkwardly by a scene where a younger accountant (Anna Kendrick) attempts to make idle conversation, played entirely for laughs. It’s a credit to both Affleck and Kendrick that we’re still interested once the half-encounter ends: he’s obviously committed vehemently to the role, and she’s so naturally funny that it’s hard not to enjoy their oddball relationship, at least until Kendrick is unceremoniously dropped in the later stages.

Her disappearance is endemic of the film’s complete inability to handle its characters in any meaningful way. Cynthia Addai-Robinson is introduced early on as a key player in the Treasury strand of the plot, but is made redundant two-thirds into the film when Simmons effectively transfigures into a film noir narrator (replete with pork pie hat, trench coat and mournful disconnect) in order to explain the plot and steal any development away from her. Jon Bernthal brings much-needed charisma to the part of Wolff’s rival, but later story machinations (including a plot twist visible from space) render his wry-smiled menace inert.

I realise that my description thus far is deathly dull and makes the movie sound equally dry, but it’s not without some pleasures. The action is satisfyingly punchy, with efficiency (both on the part of the director and his leading gunman) to make John Wick look a klutz. Their direction may be misjudged, but there is also a healthy smattering of laughter dotted across the piece, though I feel a golden opportunity was missed: it’s revealed that Wolff takes payment for his assassinations in the form of unique objects. His high-tech hideaway is decorated with rare art, original comic books and movie prop replicas, including a signature edition Luke Skywalker lightsaber. That not a single person behind the scenes thought it’d be a joy to see Affleck wallop someone over the head with it is a genuine tragedy.

A film whose schlock-ready title promises straightforward B-movie thrills is ultimately betrayed by pretensions above its station, trying and failing to construct (let alone articulate) any kind of statement about autism. Its one possible trump card is misplayed and rewards viewers with nothing but intermittent chuckles and hard-knock violence. Poor recompense for a predictable narrative, boring character trajectories and…y’know what, choose your own punchline for this one (it doesn’t add up, the books are imbalanced, the script clearly needed an auditor, show your working, etc.)