Chris At The Pictures

Hanging amiably in the balance between Paul Feig and Edgar Wright, this action comedy from the team behind Horrible Bosses (directors John Francis Daley and Jonathan Goldstein) delivers on its premise with panache and laugh-a-minute gags. Jason Bateman and Rachel McAdams play Max and Annie, a couple who hold regular ‘game nights’ with their friends, all-the-while spurning the self-invitations of creepy cop neighbour, Gary (Jesse Plemons, gurning to perfection). When Max’s brother, Brooks (Kyle Chandler), all fast cars and fancy houses with the mannerisms of a movie trailer narrator appears, Max’s masculinity and sperm mobility (he and Annie are trying in vain for a baby) are threatened. In what seems another effort to outshine his younger brother, Brooks devises his own game night, inviting Max, Annie and their four friends (Lamorne Morris and Kylie Bunbury as a bickering couple, plus Billy Magnussen as Max’s inept pal, who brings along his date, played by Catastrophe’s Sharon Horgan). His promise of a hyperreal, Taken-style scenario goes horribly awry when it appears that an actual kidnapping takes place before the assembled yuppies’ very eyes.

What follows is a surprisingly inventive and raucous affair, as the three couples are left to decipher clues left behind by the kidnappers and fix their various scuffles. Bateman (at his deadpan best) and McAdam’s (on gleefully over-excitable form) adventure includes some light poking fun at performative masculinity and the usual non-committal dithering of a soon-to-be father, while Morris and Bunbury work through their characters’ past lapses in marital loyalty. Magnussen and Horgan are the purely comical duo: he’s an idiot showing her off as proof he can date someone smarter than his usual Instagram-obsessed former lovers, and she’s having none of it. Sliding smarmily in from the side-lines is Plemons, who barely has to shift a facial muscle to elicit snickering.

Mark Perez’ script draws out the best his cast have to offer and skimps on the off-the-cuff stylings that have regrettably become the standard in big screen American comedy. Torturously prolonged improv displays are largely dropped or at least cut short in favour of proper, scripted setups and payoffs that arrive in clever physical gags (the BBFC warning for ‘injury detail’ has never been lived up to with such hilarity), perfectly-pitched awkward interplay and acerbic quips that provide everything from a wry grin to full-on belly laughs. Ensure any food or drink items are a safe distance away during an extended joke involving the contents of Magnussen’s wallet and an all-too-brief appearance by Brooklyn Nine-Nine’s Chelsea Peretti.

That the film provides a steady stream of laughter is no mean feat, but is even more impressive when wedded effectively to formal ability. Variations of colour-grading, lighting techniques and camera movements in a movie of this type are so rare that even basic displays of technical prowess are a welcome surprise, not to mention CG-free car chases and even a ‘one-take’ fight sequence through a manor house. Sure, it’s no Atomic Blonde staircase brawl, but - along with a neat tilt-shift effect during establishing shots which transform the city streets and parking lots into game boards - it all adds up to a refreshing attempt at a visual identity that comedies rarely bother, let alone strive for in earnest. Composer Cliff Martinez (Drive) is even drafted in to provide a skippy synth score to further swell the film’s slick action credentials.

Said manor house set piece towards the climax is one spot where the overblown game threatens to become more bored than board, and the plot threads begin to pull together with an all-too-familiar sense that we’ve played this one before (gee, I wonder if Max will emerge less threatened by his brother after all?). You’ll forgive - and likely forget - these minor crimes: sheer volume of laughter makes a very convincing ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card.

At the time of writing this review it’s been three days since I saw Triple 9 and without the IMDB synopsis, the story would have all but slipped from my brain, which rather puts a dampener on a film with so much promise. Who could have predicted that John Hillcoat, director of The Road, could lead a diverse cast including Chiwetel Ejiofor, Anthony Mackie, Kate Winslet, Casey Affleck and Gal Gadot to such a flat-footed result?

The setup promoted by the punchy trailer seems simple enough: a group of corrupt cops and criminal associates need to complete one last job for a Russian crime lord (Kate Winslet). In order to clear the heist zone of police, they initiate a triple 9 – the death of a police officer that will draw the authorities away from the prize. But nothing is ever without complications, and restless Sergeant Allen (Woody Harrelson) recruits idealistic Chris (Casey Affleck) to confirm his suspicions of approaching threat.

All the individual elements that intimate new ideas seem to have sparked from someone on the production team saying “wouldn’t it be cool if…” rather than pooling ideas on what best serves the story. Take, for instance, Harrelson’s stars 'n’ stripes tie: a comment on the law restrained by state, perhaps? Or what of the explosion of red dye accompanying the introductory bank job: a likely problem during a getaway? In answer to both, no. They’re eye-catching tics with minimal substance. 

While any glimmers of originality are superficial at best, the remaining plot elements are visibly pinched from a plethora of distinguished crime thrillers: we get a mounting body count in the final stretch akin to The Departed, Mackie’s character gets a reversion of the criminal/cop guilt-trip from Point Break (though sadly bereft of the gun-toting moment Hot Fuzz parodied so well), and a roadside shootout of the Heat variety ensues with ear-bursting peal.

Michael Mann’s 1995 film is a clear influence throughout, not least the interpretation of the city as a secondary character: the various creatures of the night take second billing to forsaken back alleys and grubby car parks, whilst a frothy electronic score bubbles beneath the surface.

A fidgety approach to character development throughout means we’re never quite sure who to root for. Not due to any discreet suggestion of moral ambiguity, but simply because the best we get of any character is a mere thumbnail before leaping across town to the next. Affleck gets the most to work with as the clueless man of principle, but we’re left pining for more from Mackie’s corrupt cop or Winslet’s fabulous Irina. Seriously, why bother casting Kate Winslet as a cold-hearted Russian Mafioso if the best we get of her is a two-minute snapshot? And all the while, the usually incomparable Ejiofor is lost amongst the gravel.

The conclusion packs a bloody punch and brings sufficient resolution, but highlights the contrast with the ill-disciplined opening salvo. Triple 9 has so much potential on a piece-by-piece level that it’s impossible not to find some attraction, but the final model is clumsily constructed and wonkily mounted. For all the brute force in its gunplay, it barely leaves an exit wound.

Daniel Craig and Léa Seydoux charm their way through this thrilling – if flimsy – ‘Best of Bond’ highlight reel. 007’s world is under threat from the inside and out as intelligence higher-up Denbigh (Andrew Scott) promises to scrap the Double-0 programme, while the mysterious Spectre organisation and it’s enigmatic leader Franz Oberhauser (Christoph Waltz) is brought into the light.

If this is truly to be Craig’s final outing as Bond (one can never be too sure given the erratic nature of his recent press outings) then I can’t imagine we could have asked for better demonstration of his commitment to the role. Craig’s Bond has been visibly moulded by the events of the previous three films (yes, even Quantum of Solace!) while still keeping his rough-hewn, bulldog appeal in full effect. His better side is especially brought out during his scenes with Madeleine Swann (Seydoux), a sly and shining character who injects a healthy dose of complexity and depth to the Bond girl formula.

Christoph Waltz (even in movies that don’t deserve him) never half-arses a performance, and Spectre refuses to be the exception. He’s cool and calculating without simply forming a carbon copy of his character from Inglorious Basterds: Hans Landa had a twisted logic and code of ethics about him, but Oberhauser is classic, unswayable Bond baddie. The unravelling plot that falls upon his shoulders also does a very nice job of neatly tying together the story of Craig’s Bond so far (again, even Quantum of Solace factors into the equation without everything falling apart!).