You smell like an affiliate.

Runner Runner

(2013)

There are plenty of decent gambling movies. It’s a natural subject for offering conflict and drama, winners and losers. Most follow well-established structural rules that take in mentors and apprentices, arch-nemeses and addicted best pals. It should actually be surprising if you are unable to eke a certain amount of tension from any given scenario, be it pool or cards; there’s an ever bountiful fountain of slow-burning tension on tap, as the protagonist dutifully gets in over their head. Writers Brian Koppleman and David Levien managed it with Rounders, a patchy affair that sagged under the weight of its clichés but ultimately won through on the strength of its casting. Runner Runner has no such luck.

Justin Timberlake is, at best, a passable screen presence, in that he’s been okay in a few things where he was either musically inclined (Inside Llewyn Davis) or the object of derision (Bad Teacher). But he isn’t a reliable dramatic presence (he was the weak link in the otherwise very good The Social Network), and he’s very far from being a movie star. Aside from his lack of chops, his screen presence is lacklustre; naturally unsympathetic and a bearing a vague untrustworthiness. It might be those pointy eyes. Perhaps Brad Furman and his casting directors were subconsciously conscious of this, and thought he’d be perfect for Richie Furst (this movie has awful character names; they might work if it was a comedy), the morally suspect Princeton masters student who runs a scam to get undergraduates to sign up to online gambling websites (the opening credits informing us of the wash of student gambling addictions is as close the picture comes to relevance, despite repeated attempts to summon the spectre of the global financial crisis). Richie used to have a Wall Street career, so he’s straightaway one of the enemy, and when he is danger of being expelled for non-payment of fees he risks everything in an online poker game. And loses. But wait a minute; he could tell the game was rigged. Because he’s brainy. So Richie sets off to Costa Rica to confront the owner of Midnight Black (the website), one Ivan Block (Ben Affleck).

Yes, Ivan Block. Good grief. So Timberlake is the Charlie Sheen to Affleck’s… Michael Douglas (his dialogue is very much sub-Gordon Gecko ruthless). Credit to Ben for attempting to ascend to the summit of the elder supporting man/villain, but he never really nailed the leading roles to start with. The result is two listless performances at the centre of the picture. Timberlake, twitchy and nasal, is in thrall to Big Beefy Ben. Who seems to have decided a rash of stubble will make do for characterisation (this is definitely one where he’s acting with his lantern jaw). I don’t mind Affleck per se, but whenever he’s onscreen I can’t help but instantly think there’s someone better they could have cast. There’s a blunt, dulled quality to him. Bringing up the rear is poor Gemma Arterton in the PA/girlfriend part of Rebecca (we’re told she built this business with Ivan, but neither she nor the script is selling the idea). Still Gemma got a free tan out of it, so it’s not all bad. John Heard, as Richie’s dad, has about two scenes. He got off lightly.

Richie has his foot in the door and succumbs to Ivan’s offer of an “in” on his flashy lifestyle. So we run through the standard plays of seduction (money and girls), intimations of dodgy dealings (Anthony Mackie as an FBI agent attempting to secure Richie’s services) and finally disillusionment as the devil’s dealings are revealed in full. It’s not necessarily what you do with this kind of movie, it’s the way that you do it. And director Brad Furman is all at sea, with only Mauro Fiore’s burnished photography of Puerto Rico (doubling) to stamp any personality on the proceedings. If there was any snappy patter in here it’s buried by the faint performers. There are references to Ponzi schemes, to underline Block’s nefariousness, but we understood he was actually a wannabe Bond villain as soon as we were introduced to his pet crocodiles. Richie’s eventual discovery of a conscience (that voice in his head is not fear, it’s his conscience; they liked the line so much, they used it twice!) is largely unconvincing because Timberlake is unable to convey genuine penitence (he’s also rewarded for his vague good deeds, par for the course in this sort of thing but uncomfortable when the lead fails to garner sympathy). The worst thing about a scam movie is for the scam to leave you shrugging, and nothing in the final act twists leaves any impression. Firstly because we don’t give a hoot about anyone here, and a secondly because the intrigues are so incredibly weak they barely register.

I wasn’t terribly convinced by Brad Furman’s last film, The Lincoln Lawyer. It may have been instrumental in Matthew McConaughey’s career comeback, and it possessed a decent enough script, but Furman seemed to do everything he could to work against its dramatic potential. He’s more pedestrian in his approach here, but no more successful in securing our interest. As for the leads, it will be interesting to see whether David Fincher can elicit an acceptable Affleck turn with the upcoming Gone Girl. He generally has a sure touch, but he isn’t infallible (Timberlake, Jake Gyllenhaal). Timberlake, well it’s hard to see him eking out a reputable career as a muso-turned-actor on the level of, say Wahlberg. Casting youthful-ish leads in this kind of morality tale, who lack substance, brings to mind the late ‘80s-early ‘90s trend for Brat Packers in iconic roles. Those were probably more misses than hits (Mobsters) but invariably there was someone with some genuine charisma in the line up (Emilio Estevez, for example). Runner Runner is sunk by a tired script, indifferently directed and performed gracelessly by bland leads.

Comments

She was addicted to Tums for a while.

Marriage Story (2019)
(SPOILERS) I don’t tend to fall heavily for Noah Baumbach fare. He’s undoubtedly a distinctive voice – even if his collaborations with Wes Anderson are the least of that director’s efforts – but his devotion to an exclusive, rarefied New York bubble becomes ever more off-putting with each new project. And ever more identifiable as being a lesser chronicler of the city’s privileged quirks than his now disinherited forbear Woody Allen, who at his peak mastered a balancing act between the insightful, hilarious and self-effacing. Marriage Story finds Baumbach going yet again where Woody went before, this time brushing up against the director’s Ingmar Bergman fixation.

You can’t climb a ladder, no. But you can skip like a goat into a bar.

Juno and the Paycock (1930)
(SPOILERS) Hitchcock’s second sound feature. Such was the lustre of this technological advance that a wordy play was picked. By Sean O’Casey, upon whom Hitchcock based the prophet of doom at the end of The Birds. Juno and the Paycock, set in 1922 during the Irish Civil War, begins as a broad comedy of domestic manners, but by the end has descended into full-blown Greek (or Catholic) tragedy. As such, it’s an uneven but still watchable affair, even if Hitch does nothing to disguise its stage origins.

I mean, I am just a dumb bunny, but, we are good at multiplying.

Zootropolis (2016)
(SPOILERS) The key to Zootropolis’ creative success isn’t so much the conceit of its much-vaunted allegory regarding prejudice and equality, or – conversely – the fun to be had riffing on animal stereotypes (simultaneously clever and obvious), or even the appealing central duo voiced by Ginnifier Goodwin (as first rabbit cop Judy Hopps) and Jason Bateman (fox hustler Nick Wilde). Rather, it’s coming armed with that rarity for an animation; a well-sustained plot that doesn’t devolve into overblown set pieces or rest on the easy laurels of musical numbers and montages.

You know what I think? I think he just wants to see one cook up close.

The Green Mile (1999)
(SPOILERS) There’s something very satisfying about the unhurried confidence of the storytelling in Frank Darabont’s two prison-set Stephen King adaptations (I’m less beholden to supermarket sweep The Mist); it’s sure, measured and precise, certain that the journey you’re being take on justifies the (indulgent) time spent, without the need for flashy visuals or ornate twists (the twists there are feel entirely germane – with a notable exception – as if they could only be that way). But. The Green Mile has rightly come under scrutiny for its reliance on – or to be more precise, building its foundation on – the “Magical Negro” trope, served with a mild sprinkling of idiot savant (so in respect of the latter, a Best Supporting Actor nomination was virtually guaranteed). One might argue that Stephen King’s magical realist narrative flourishes well-worn narrative ploys and characterisations at every stage – such that John Coffey’s initials are announcement enough of his…

We live in a twilight world.

Tenet (2020)
(SPOILERS) I’ve endured a fair few confusingly-executed action sequences in movies – more than enough, actually – but I don’t think I’ve previously had the odd experience of being on the edge of my seat during one while simultaneously failing to understand its objectives and how those objectives are being attempted. Which happened a few times during Tenet. If I stroll over to the Wiki page and read the plot synopsis, it is fairly explicable (fairly) but as a first dive into this Christopher Nolan film, I frequently found it, if not impenetrable, then most definitely opaque.

A herbal enema should fix you up.

Never Say Never Again (1983)
(SPOILERS) There are plenty of sub-par Bonds in the official (Eon) franchise, several of them even weaker than this opportunistic remake of Thunderball, but they do still feel like Bond movies. Never Say Never Again, despite – or possibly because he’s part of it – featuring the much-vaunted, title-referencing return of the Sean Connery to the lead role, only ever feels like a cheap imitation. And yet, reputedly, it cost more than the same year’s Rog outing Octopussy.

Do you read Sutter Cane?

In the Mouth of Madness (1994)
(SPOILERS) The concluding chapter of John Carpenter’s unofficial Apocalypse Trilogy (preceded by The Thing and Prince of Darkness) is also, sadly, his last great movie. Indeed, it stands apart in the qualitative wilderness that beset him during the ‘90s (not for want of output). Michael De Luca’s screenplay had been doing the rounds since the ‘80s, even turned down by Carpenter at one point, and it proves ideal fodder for the director, bringing out the best in him. Even cinematographer Gary K Kibbe seems inspired enough to rise to the occasion. It could do without the chugging rawk soundtrack, perhaps, but then, that was increasingly where Carpenter’s interests resided (as opposed to making decent movies).

Charming. Now she's got the old boy's money, she's making a play for the younger one.

Woman of Straw (1964)
(SPOILERS) The first fruit of Sean cashing in on his Bond status in other leading man roles – he even wears the tux he’d later sport in Goldfinger. On one level, he isn’t exactly stretching himself as a duplicitous, misogynist bastard. On the other, he is actually the bad guy; this time, you aren’t supposed to be onside his capacity for killing people. It’s interesting to see Connery in his nascent star phase, but despite an engaging set up and a very fine performance from Ralph Richardson, Woman of Straw is too much of a slow-burn, trad crime thriller/melodrama to really make a mark. All very professionally polished, but the spoiled fruits of an earlier era.

Maybe the dingo ate your baby.

Seinfeld 2.9: The Stranded
The Premise
George and Elaine are stranded at a party in Long Island, with a disgruntled hostess.

Just make love to that wall, pervert!

Seinfeld 2.10: The Statue
The Premise
Jerry employs a cleaner, the boyfriend of an author whose book Elaine is editing. He leaves the apartment spotless, but Jerry is convinced he has made off with a statue.

Now In Full Color, with a Happier Ending

Search This Blog