SYNOPSIS: Set against the backdrop of a pop superstar’s concert, “Trap,” a psychological thriller from twist meister M. Night Shyamalan, and now playing in theatres, sees Josh Hartnett play Cooper, a father who takes his teen daughter to see her favorite musician only to discover it’s a trap set by police to catch a ruthless serial killer.
“You know the Butcher?” a vendor (Jonathan Langdon) asks Cooper. “That freakin’ nutjob that goes around just chopping people up? Well, the feds or whatever heard that he’s gonna be here today, so they set up a trap for him. This whole concert? It’s a trap. They’re watching all the exits, checking everyone that leaves. There’s no way to get out of here. It’s kinda dope, right?”
CAST: Josh Hartnett, Ariel Donoghue, Saleka Shyamalan, Hayley Mills, Alison Pill, Marnie McPhail, Vanessa Smythe, Kid Cudi. Directed by M. Night Shyamalan.
REVIEW: (SPOILERS FOR ANYONE WHO HASN’T SEEN THE TRAILER OR READ A SYNOPSIS) “Trap” is a pretty good thriller until it isn’t. The suspense isn’t about the identity of the serial killer. Shyamalan is upfront about that in the first ten minutes. The entertainment value comes from Cooper and how he will evade the long arm of the law.
We know Hartnett plays the baddie, and it is his performance that keeps “Trap” as entertaining as it is. As the serial killer who leaves his victims dismembered, or “deli-prepped” as they call it in the movie, he shines, using his good guy charm as a disguise for his murderous rage. The slow build toward his full-blown descent into madness is telegraphed by his stealthy looks at the increasing police presence in the concert arena. It’s an intentionally hilarious and menacing performance that provides the movie with much of its punch.
Harnett’s performance aside, the movie falters when it allows Cooper to escape detection in increasingly convenient, and unbelievable ways. Some suspension of disbelief will get you through the vast bulk of “Trap,” but when the point of view suddenly shifts to another character, the film becomes less interesting, and more of a run-of-the-mill cat-and-mouse game.
Hartnett ensures that “Trap” is a bit of over-the-top fun, but the conventional ending sucks much of the devious playfulness that came before it away.
“Oppenheimer,” the story of the father of the atomic bomb, isn’t exactly a biopic of scientist J. Robert Oppenheimer. In his twelfth film, director Christopher Nolan includes biographical details in the telling of the tale of the man who invented the first nuclear weapons but the movie is more about consequences than creation. “Just because we’re building it doesn’t mean we get to decide how it’s used,” he says of the Atomic Bomb.
Nolan divides the story into two sections. The brightly colored “Fission” portrays the prickly Oppenheimer’s (Cillian Murphy) life as a tortured genius who overcame anti-Semitism to rise through the ranks of the European and American scientific elite to be recruited by the gruff Lieutenant General Leslie Groves (Matt Damon) as the director of the Manhattan Project. Charged with beating the Nazis and the Russians in a race to build a weapon of mass destruction, he became, by his own words, “the destroyer of worlds.”
His close ties to the Communist Party, through his ex-girlfriend, psychiatrist Jean Tatlock (Florence Pugh) and brother Frank (Dylan Arnold), is just one element of the left-leaning beliefs that eventually got his security clearance revoked. His political views, and second-thoughts about the destructive power he unleashed on the world, pitted him against his military bosses and founding commissioner of the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission Lewis Strauss (Robert Downey Jr.). Those events provide fodder for the film’s other section, the austere black-and-white “Fusion.”
An adaptation of the Pulitzer Prize-winning book “American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer” by Martin Sherwin and Kai Bird, the three-hour “Oppenheimer” is as downbeat as its weekend competition “Barbie” is upbeat.
Nolan takes his time with the telling of the tale, weaving together the scientific, psychological and political story threads to create rich tapestry that transcends the talky nature of the script. He teases great drama and tension out of a story that is essentially, a retelling of two tribunals, punctuated by the big bang that would change history.
Much of the film’s success is owed to Murphy, who, despite reciting teams of dialogue, goes internal to portray Oppenheimer’s towering intellect. Cinematographer Hoyte Van Hoytema frames Murphy’s stoic face in wide screen close-ups that showcase the actor’s ability to expose not only the character’s great intelligence, but also the realization that the power he spearheaded wouldn’t be fully understood until it was too late.
The Trinity Test sequence, the depiction of first detonation of a nuclear weapon, is a masterclass of less is more filmmaking. Nolan expertly builds tension with a countdown clock and Ludwig Göransson’s anxiety inducing soundtrack, but it is the look of scientific accomplishment tempered by an accompanying moral reckoning that spreads across Murphy’s face the moment the bomb goes off that cuts to the film’s core theme of innovation vs. consequences.
Murphy is supported by an a-list cast, including Matt Damon, who exudes movie star charisma and Downey Jr, who erases memories of Tony Stark with a blustery performance that, Marvel aside, is his most interesting since “Zodiac.”
The real star, however, is Nolan. “Oppenheimer” is the director firing on all cylinders, delivering a personal story of responsibility made epic. The brainiest blockbuster of the season is a period piece about a man who moral conundrums regarding power and the way it is wielded, that resonates just as loudly today as they did when the events took place.
All the Guy Ritchie trademarks that made so many of his other films so much fun are visible in “Operation Fortune: Ruse de guerre,” a new action adventure now streaming on Amazon Prime. Jason Statham comes back for a fifth kick at the can with the director, bringing with him the gravelly voice and fisticuffs first made famous in Ritchie’s “Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels.” There’s also some comedy, outrageous crime, slick cameras moves and a bangin’ soundtrack.
Why then, does it feel been there done that? Is it that familiarity has bred a certain kind of contempt, or is Ritchie coasting on his merits?
All-round action man Orson Fortune (Statham), tech genius Sarah Fidel (Aubrey Plaza) and sniper J.J. Davies (Bugzy Malone) are members of a top-secret British government agency run by Nathan Jasmine (Cary Elwes). Their latest assignment involves retrieving something called “The Handle,” a gewgaw—we’re not really told—that could cause a rift in the world order.
“We don’t know what’s been stolen,” says Nathan. “That remains a mystery for you to solve. But we need to stop it from getting onto the open market. Threat’s imminent.”
Before it can be sold on the black market, the crew must infiltrate billionaire arms dealer Greg Simmonds’s (Hugh Grant) inner circle. Their ticket in? International movie star and Simmonds’s favorite actor Danny Francesco (Josh Hartnett).
“The best agents are stars,” says Orson, “and the best actors are movie stars.”
“Operation Fortune: Ruse de guerre” feels like a Xerox copy of the movies that made Ritchie and Statham famous. The world-ending stakes are a bit higher, and there is more lifestyle porn—like private jets and global locations—but the fast pace, the late movie reveal (we eventually find out what The Handle actually does) and the “colourful” characters that have populated his movies from the get go all return but the glow is a bit dimmer this time.
Hugh Grant’s Michael Caine impersonation is a blast, and Ritchie still knows how to move a camera during the action scenes, but because we are so familiar with so many of the elements in play here, “Operation Fortune: Ruse de guerre” almost feels like a sequel to a reboot of a sequel. It’s the law of diminishing returns. The further away you get from the source, the less effective the movie will be. In this case, the sum of all the parts is a bland espionage story that is, at best, serviceable.
Richard joins Ryan Doyle and Jay Michaels of the NewsTalk 1010 afternoon show to talk the murky origins of the Mai Tai, a drink that became so popular in the 1960s it caused a worldwide rum shortage! We also talk about what to watch on the weekend!
A remake of Nicolas Boukhrief’s 2004 French film “Le Convoyeur,” “Wrath of Man,” now playing in theatres and coming soon to VOD, is a revenge/heist flick that sees director Guy Ritchie reunited with his trademarked tricky storytelling style, Jason Statham and the ruthless violence that made his early movies such eye poppers.
Statham plays “’H’, like in bomb,” a man of few words with a mysterious past. Big surprise there. They should call him Gazpacho because he is the coolest of cool cucumbers. No matter what, this guy’s pulse rate never rises above 50 beats per minute.
When we first meet him, he takes a job as a security guard for Fortico, a Los Angeles armored car company. A recent robbery left three people dead and made the surviving guards edgy and uneasy. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this job can be?” a coworker named Boy Sweat Dave (Josh Hartnett) asks him. “We ain’t the predator, we’re the prey.”
When some very bad people attempt to rob one of the company’s cash trucks “H” reveals a special set of skills to the shock and awe of his co-workers. “It doesn’t feel right,” says security guard Bullet (Holt McCallany). “It’s like he wants the trucks to get hit.”
As the bodies pile up “H’s” lethal past is exposed and it becomes clear that he didn’t take the gig at the armored car company simply because he needed a week to week pay cheque. “I can do in two weeks,” “H” says to the shadowy Agent King (Andy Garcia), “what you wish you could do in twenty years.”
Told on a broken timeline and sectioned-off into chapters with names like “Bad, Animals, Bad” and “Scorched Earth,” the movie’s plot can be boiled down to one line. “I do bear a grudge,” “H” says, summing up the film’s raison d’etre as bullets fly and bodies pile up. A nihilistic story about revenge decorated with a tense heist subplot, it’s a riff on Statham’s earlier work in which he usually played either Character #1, a “loner with a past who must protect a loved one,” or Character #2, the “loner with a past who must protect a youthful innocent.”
Here he shakes things up by showing a disregard for the lives of some while avenging the loss of a loved one. Gone is the jokey Statham of “Spy” and his over-the-top “Fast and Furious” work. This is a back-to-basics performance that sees him settle on one facial expression, as though his chiseled face is encased in amber, to convey the character’s one deadly motive. The taciturn thing has worked for him before and it works well here. “H” is no laughing matter. Danger follows him around, and Statham’s coiled spring performance, no matter how basic, suggests that ultra-violence could erupt at any moment. It gives the movie much of its edge as Ritchie navigates the grim but stylish goings-on.
Are there plot holes? Yes. I can’t go into them without giving the story away but let’s just say “H’s” resilience is impressive.
Somewhere buried deep in the gunplay there is an elegance to “Wrath of Man.” Ritchie’s tough-talking film is tautly crafted, and, for those expecting “Snatch” style editing tricks, quite restrained.
The editing, not the violence.
Shot through a hail of bullets, the movie builds to a tense “Heat” style climax that doesn’t waste time or ammo. The jittery atmosphere is amped up by an angrily effective score from composer Chris Benstead.
On the downside, Ritchie’s taste for macho posturing doesn’t add much to the film’s early scenes. There are barely any female characters, save for Niamh Algar’s security guard Dana and assorted wife characters, and the hard-boiled dialogue between the often men borders on parody.
“Wrath of Man” is bleak and the characters are all, at best, anti-heroes, but for those with a taste for adrenaline pumping action set pieces, “Wrath of Man” delivers.
“Target Number One” is a Canadian true crime story, but no, it’s not a retelling of Bill Miner’s railway robbery or the great Canadian Maple Syrup Heist of 2012. It’s a gritty look at investigative reporter Victor Malarek’s fight to uncover the truth behind a heroin bust orchestrated the Canadian Security Intelligence Service put an innocent man in jail.
A the-names-have-been-changed-to-protect-the-innocent retelling of the case of Alain Olivier, called Daniel Léger (Antoine Olivier Pilon) in the film, the movie stars Josh Hartnett as Malarek, a Globe and Mail reporter whose dogged determination reveals how the CSIS framed Léger, sending him to a Thai jail for eight years. “I’d be very careful before you print anything about this case,” a high-level cop tells Malarek.
Telling the tale on a broken timeline, director Daniel Roby skip through the details, building both sides of the story simultaneously until the two threads meld, but “Target Number One” isn’t an action movie. There is tension as Léger‘s situation worsens but the compelling part is Malarek’s search for the truth. It’s a procedural the takes its time putting the puzzle pieces in place.
Hartnett does a good impression of the driven reporter and Steven McHattie turns in another of his trademark edgy roles as Frank Cooper, a crooked RCMP officer, but it’s the work of Jim Gaffigan and Pilon that are memorable.
Gaffigan ditches his affable stand-up comic persona to create a medicine portrayal of Glen Picker, a drug dealer and police confidant.
As Léger, Pilon as an arc. From lowlife criminal, whose big score is ripping off a gas station for a full tank, to someone who can navigate survival in a squalid Thai prison, he’s simultaneously vulnerable and edgy and that makes him the film’s most memorable character.
“Target Number One” is a low-key thriller, short on action but long on intrigue.
In theatres now:
Now playing in Vancouver, Quebec, British Columbia, Alberta, Nova Scotia and New Brunswick
Ron Shelton has made some very good movies. His crowning achievement may be 1988’s Bull Durham, a film he wrote and directed. That movie was a wholly realised piece of work, a baseball movie woven together with a great love story and topped off with three great performances from Susan Sarandon, Tim Robbins and Kevin Costner. Bull Durham has the kind of focus that Shelton’s latest film Hollywood Homicide lacks. Is this a buddy picture? An action flick? A comedy? I don’t know, and I don’t think Shelton knows either. Harrison Ford plays a surly blowtop cop named Joe Gavilan partnered with a younger, gentler detective (Josh Hartnett) who teaches yoga on the side and aspires to be an actor. They are investigating the multiple murders of a rap group. It’s typical stuff, Shelton isn’t breaking any new ground here, but it might have worked had there been any chemistry between the two actors. Hollywood Homicide might have been a much better picture if had they been able to replicate the spark that Mel Gibson and Danny Glover shared in the Lethal Weapon series. The bottom line on Hollywood Homicide is that it is neither fish nor fowl. At best it’s a half baked attempt at blurring genre lines that ends up out of focus.
The Slevin of the title is an unfortunate guy played by Josh Hartnett who happens to find himself in the wrong place at the wrong time and winds up involved with some very bad men. With the help of a curious neighbor, a world-weary hit man and two warring crime bosses he tries to extricate himself from this messy situation.
This is a hard-boiled crime drama in the vein of The Usual Suspects and Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, which means that it is bloody, darkly funny and will keep you guessing. The film is a bit of a roller coaster ride of mistaken identities and convoluted plotlines, but near the end when the labyrinthine story starts to fall into place, revealing surprising connections and unlikely alliances the movie pays off.
The script sometimes veers off in Tarantino land with too many clever pop culture references to comic books and old movies, and over-written unusually articulate gangsters, but the actors here rise above the script. Ben Kingsley and Morgan Freeman both play mafia kingpins with gusto, chewing the scenery so much I feared that Kingsley might actually bite through the screen. Bruce Willis makes the best of his usual cool-guy persona, this time as a hit man, and Josh Hartnett, an actor who seems to have been teetering on the edge of stardom for a while now, gives the most likeable and best performance of his career so far.
Lucky Number Slevin isn’t destined to become a classic genre picture in the way that The Usual Suspects of Memento have, but it is a cool movie with really fun performances.
Josh Hartnett should be ashamed of himself. If he weren’t so damn cute this stupid story about a young man who gives up sex for lent would stop his career dead in its tracks. 40 Days and 40 Nights is puerile, insulting and at 96 minutes about 93 minutes too long – I liked the music in the first three minutes of the opening credit sequence.
