The
Magnificent Seven
(2016)
(SPOILERS) The Magnificent Seven is exactly what
you’d expect from the umpteenth remake of Seventh
Samurai, or more specifically the direct offspring of the 56-year-old
western of the same title; it’s serviceable, undemanding, features mostly
decent performances, but brings absolutely nothing new to the mix to justify
itself. At least Battle Beyond the Stars
and A Bug’s life wholeheartedly
switched genres. At least The Seven
Steptoerai… actually, no. It’s probably a better movie than its underwhelmed
reception suggests, but the critical reaction is merited simply by virtue of
the current glut of remakes greenlit for no other reason than that studios have
the rights and money to flush away in a forlorn hope that brand recognition will
be enough.
Although,
MGM in particular should really know better by now. That is, if they had even a
modicum of creative acumen. The semi-studio appears to subsist on a diet of
reconstituted back catalogue, with wanton disregard for quality. Hence the
forgettable or worse likes of The Pink
Panther, Fame, Carrie, Robocop, Poltergeist and Ben-Hur. Antoine Fuqua’s coming on board
as director might have been the first warning sign of innate ‘s’alright’-ness;
he’s a slick technician who has given us a run of middling properties, from Tears of the Sun through to Olympus Has Fallen and Southpaw. Even his best, Training Day, is somewhat overrated.
He reunites
with that movie’s two stars here, with Denzel Washington putting on his dependably
sombre-faced face (he’s more interesting when he loosens up a bit; this is
almost – but not quite; I wouldn’t be that
insulting – in Bruce Willis autopilot mode) as the head of the group, Sam
Chisolm, and Ethan Hawke as former Confederate sniper Goodnight Robicheaux.
At
one point, I thought Hawke might actually be intent on breaking out with
something here, upending my general antipathy towards his performances with a
loquaciously grandiose turn. Unfortunately, he doesn’t take long to give way to
the usual pained emoting, culminating in a horribly clichéd return to the fray at
a vital moment you can see coming about an hour off (Goodnight appears to be
suffering from PTSD, but for all the picture’s fractured sensitivity in other
areas, it seems to carry the message that all one needs to get back into the mind-set
for some good killing is a pep talk from Denzel; who knows, maybe that’s true,
and maybe the armed forces could employ the star gainfully to that end?)
Fuqua’s
picture, credited to Nic Pizzlolatta (True
Detective) and Richard Wenk (who scribbled the effective but perfunctory
big screen The Equalizer for Washington)
in the screenplay department, is also a fairly fruitless dotted “i”s and
crossed “t”s example of homogenised multi-cultural casting, since it only
really succeeds in utilising its actors according to an antiseptic array
standard tropes. Given the bloated running time, it would have been relatively
easy to flesh out these characters, but Billy Rocks (Byung-hun Lee) is only
really defined by his knife-throwing, and Comanche Red Harvest (Martin
Sensmeier) by his arrow slinging. The latter is even laden with the groan-worthy
cliché of fighting a bad seed of his tribe (Jonathan Joss; that’s Joss, not
Ross, although that would alone have been worth the ticket price), whom he runs
through while tutting disapprovingly that “You
dishonour us”.
So too the plucky
broad role, Hayle Bennett (also in that Equalizer
movie) showing Emma Cullen has the requisite fiery stuff in the most tiresomely
repetitive fashion (Emma also, quite remarkably given her lack of arms
training, manages to take out the villain from the other end of a church with a
shotgun, while Chisum is in the way, strangling
him). Worse, she is presented with an indigestible coda speech, droning
something or other about how this lot were magnificent as we’re treated to a
pan across the graves of the fallen warriors.
None of the
above performances are bad, but the actors are insufficiently serviced to make much of a mark. In contrast, Chris Pratt absolutely steals the movie in a way he
was unable to with Jurassic World,
bringing comedy chops throughout to his Dean Martin-esque drunk, card sharp and
would-be ladies’ man Joshua Faraday. Less in the limelight, but still effective
in that regard are Manuel Garcia-Rulfo’s Mexican member Vasquez and Vincent
D’Onofrio’s high-pitched, hilariously frenzied-with-a-blade tracker Jack Horne.
Peter Sarsgaard has little to crow about in respect of his pallid villain
Bartholomew Bogue, which may explain why he decided to play him as an opium
addict.
Fuqua
handles the action efficiently during the first half, albeit bringing no
particular flourish to bear on his genre take. He establishes Bogue as suitably
loathsome in an opening that sees the industrialist burn down the town church
and shoot Matt Bomer at point blank range, introduces the seven agreeably
enough, and moves right on to the most effective sequence in the picture, as the
septet take down Bogue’s hired enforcers with due diligence.
Unfortunately,
after this the picture stops dead for what seems like an eternity. Fuqua can
instil no tension into what should be a ticking clock, waiting for the arrival
of Bogue and his army of reinforcements, and there is nothing in the way of
character material to fill the void. This is where it becomes painfully obvious
that no one, not Washington, who must coast along on charm alone, has anything to
elicit our care for them as characters.
And, when
the showdown arrives, it’s full of bombast but lacks the clear staging and
cutting of the first encounter, particularly once the town is beset by a
rampant Gatling gun. Fuqua even allows some confusingly non sequitur shots,
such as Chisum looking over his dead comrades, which somehow includes a full
view of Billy at the top of the church bell tower.
Shave off
half an hour, and the movie would have been much more economical and effective
(the producers probably decided that making it five minutes longer than the original
made it an inherently better movie). And, if you’re going to use The Magnificent Seven theme, use the damn thing; don’t leave it for
the end. This isn’t James Bond; you’re not going to get another chance with the
Magnificent Eight (well, I very much doubt it).
Like I say,
though, this is serviceable, mostly well-acted, and at times (during the first
half) clicks into an enjoyable groove that makes it clear, if any clarification
was needed, that the western genre can continue on quite happily (without the
need for remakes of popular titles) if only due care and attention is granted;
someone should give Kevin Costner some money to make another, actually, since
his last (Open Range) was terrific.
Agree? Disagree? Mildly or vehemently? Let me know in the comments below.