Why would your clients follow you? You're an accountant.

The Accountant

(2016)

(SPOILERS) A reasonably-sized hit stateside, probably because The Accountant has a flashy idea at its centre (an autistic hit man: whatever next?!), if one foolhardily flirting with insensitive territory, is reasonably well executed (from journeyman director Gavin O’Connor, at least surrendering any faux-aspiration towards serious dramatics per Pride and Glory and Warrior), and stars Batfleck, perfectly cast as a remote, impersonal, impassive number-cruncher (emotional depth has never been Ben’s metier). If that sounds like faint praise, it is, since the picture is junk, but fitfully entertaining junk.

Most of that fitfully entertaining part snaps into gear when Batfleck, as mild-mannered but socially-inverted accountant Christian Wolff, is out and about snapping necks and shooting villains more villainous than himself, equipped with firepower more fearsome than theirs (lest we forget, since he gets off scot free, he’s cooking the books for any criminal outfit that will employ him, although we’re clearly supposed to forgive, as he gives a lot of money to charity and informs the treasury department of the really bad eggs; this aspect has the whiff of a script conference note, rather than the germane behaviour of a high-functioning autistic). When O’Connor is concentrating on the action, which ups its ante further once Jon Bernthal’s assassin appears on the scene, The Accountant is a highly satisfying slayfest, especially so during Batfleck’s takedown of Bernthal’s entire squad during the finale.

It’s elsewhere that the feature frequently stumbles and crumbles amid a litter of clichés and careless plotting. Wouldn’t you know it? The legit case Christian takes to avoid treasury scrutiny (a robotics company offering limb replacements) is nothing of the sort – making Ben something of an autistic killer accountant equivalent of Jessica Fletcher – since a criminal scheme has been hatched to up the profits of the company in anticipation of a public offering. And – wouldn’t you know it? – affable John Lithgow is actually an arch-villain, given to fevered, despotic rants immediately prior to batfleck putting a bullet in his head. And – wouldn’t you also know it? – there’s a love interest (Anna Kendrick) for Christian, although even screenwriter Bill Dubuque (formerly of the mostly sloppy The Judge) isn’t quite shameless enough to go there.

For all that The Accountant is rudimentary in characterisation and plotting, it frequently lacks clarity with its villains’ scheme. Added to which, the subplot concerning JK Simmons’ treasury investigator and his protégé Marybeth Medina is strictly by-the-numbers, from her deductions (Christian’s aliases are all famous mathematicians, and will you look at those green-on-black super-sized internet articles on the subject letting us dummies know how she worked it out!), to the photos of their target (all inconveniently of the back of his head), to his recounting how Batfleck let him live one fateful day.

There are flashbacks that work well enough, however; those with Jeffrey Tambor mentoring Christian in prison are engaging because Tambor is engaging. And those of young Christian being taught to survive in a world that won’t care for him are eerily similar to those of Dexter (right down to there being a similarly psycho brother). Although, this aspect in itself is a tad dubious, since it parallels a high-functioning autistic with a high-functioning serial killer. Tellingly, Ben’s younger self (Seth Lee) delivers a rather more impressive, punchily flailing performance than Ben himself (whose height of expressiveness is a wee wince when smacking his shin bones).

I didn’t twig the twist regarding Bernthal being Batfleck’s brother before the person sitting next to me whispered it, although I did deduce the voice on the line was the grown-up daughter of the institute director who offered to help young Christian; frankly, I could have done without the bro-bonding of the final scene, although Bernthal can’t help but incrementally improve any movie he’s in.

As for how responsible The Accountant is in its depiction of autism… Well, certainly, if you expect more from Hollywood movies than you ought, you’re bound to be disappointed. The makers are careful to make inclusive comments, such as viewing those diagnosed as leading different but no lesser lives, and considering normalcy a value judgement, but there’s a persistent sense that Chris’ place on the spectrum varies according to the demands of exposition or interaction (or gags: "I have a pocket protector") in the given scene.

Some have said it’s cool that those with autism get a hero of their own… Sure, in the same way Harry Callahan’s a fine role model for budding sociopaths, I guess. The Accountant’s a picture that essentially excuses a father for turning his sons into ice-cold killers, since at least they’re socially-enabled ice-cold killers (at least they have jobs!) It’s also as unsuccessful in making accountancy appealing as Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit was in promoting the role of compliance officers (about the most exciting thing we learn of the trade is that when auditors scrawl notes across doors, walls and windows, they’re considerate enough to use dry-erase markers). But with an additional appreciation for Jackson Pollock, which may make it even more of a disappointment.

Agree? Disagree? Mildly or vehemently? Let me know in the comments below.

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They'll think I've lost control again and put it all down to evolution.

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I never strangled a chicken in my life!

Rope (1948) (SPOILERS) Rope doesn’t initially appear to have been one of the most venerated of Hitchcocks, but it has gone through something of a rehabilitation over the years, certainly since it came back into circulation during the 80s. I’ve always rated it highly; yes, the seams of it being, essentially, a formal experiment on the director’s part, are evident, but it’s also an expert piece of writing that uses our immediate knowledge of the crime to create tension throughout; what we/the killers know is juxtaposed with the polite dinner party they’ve thrown in order to wallow in their superiority.

Oh, you got me right in the pantaloons, partner.

The Party (1968) (SPOILERS) Blake Edwards’ semi-improvisational reunion with Peter Sellers is now probably best known for – I was going to use an elephant-in-the-room gag, but at least one person already went there – Sellers’ “brown face”. And it isn’t a decision one can really defend, even by citing The Party ’s influence on Bollywood. Satyajit Ray had also reportedly been considering working with Sellers… and then he saw the film. One can only assume he’d missed similar performances in The Millionairess and The Road to Hong Kong ; in the latter case, entirely understandable, if not advisable. Nevertheless, for all the flagrant stereotyping, Sellers’ bungling Hrundi V Bakshi is a very likeable character, and indeed, it’s the piece’s good-natured, soft centre – his fledgling romance with Claudine Longet’s Michele – that sees The Party through in spite of its patchy, hit-and-miss quality.

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Strangers on a Train (1951) (SPOILERS) Watching a run of lesser Hitchcock films is apt to mislead one into thinking he was merely a highly competent, supremely professional stylist. It takes a picture where, to use a not inappropriate gourmand analogy, his juices were really flowing to remind oneself just how peerless he was when inspired. Strangers on a Train is one of his very, very best works, one he may have a few issues with but really deserves nary a word said against it, even in “compromised” form.

You must have hopes, wishes, dreams.

Brazil (1985) (SPOILERS) Terry Gilliam didn’t consider Brazil the embodiment of a totalitarian nightmare it is often labelled as. His 1984½ (one of the film’s Fellini-riffing working titles) was “ the Nineteen Eighty-Four for 1984 ”, in contrast to Michael Anderson’s Nineteen Eighty-Four from 1948. This despite Gilliam famously boasting never to have read the Orwell’s novel: “ The thing that intrigues me about certain books is that you know them even though you’ve never read them. I guess the images are archetypal ”. Or as Pauline Kael observed, Brazil is to Nineteen Eighty-Four as “ if you’d just heard about it over the years and it had seeped into your visual imagination ”. Gilliam’s suffocating system isn’t unflinchingly cruel and malevolently intolerant of individuality; it is, in his vision of a nightmare “future”, one of evils spawned by the mechanisms of an out-of-control behemoth: a self-perpetuating bureaucracy. And yet, that is not really, despite how indulgently and glee

Miss Livingstone, I presume.

Stage Fright (1950) (SPOILERS) This one has traditionally taken a bit of a bruising, for committing a cardinal crime – lying to the audience. More specifically, lying via a flashback, through which it is implicitly assumed the truth is always relayed. As Richard Schickel commented, though, the egregiousness of the action depends largely on whether you see it as a flaw or a brilliant act of daring: an innovation. I don’t think it’s quite that – not in Stage Fright ’s case anyway; the plot is too ordinary – but I do think it’s a picture that rewards revisiting knowing the twist, since there’s much else to enjoy it for besides.

A herbal enema should fix you up.

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I'm an old ruin, but she certainly brings my pulse up a beat or two.

The Paradine Case (1947) (SPOILERS) Hitchcock wasn’t very positive about The Paradine Case , his second collaboration with Gregory Peck, but I think he’s a little harsh on a picture that, if it doesn’t quite come together dramatically, nevertheless maintains interest on the basis of its skewed take on the courtroom drama. Peck’s defence counsel falls for his client, Alida Valli’s accused (of murder), while wife Ann Todd wilts dependably and masochistically on the side-lines.

You’re easily the best policeman in Moscow.

Gorky Park (1983) (SPOILERS) Michael Apted and workmanlike go hand in hand when it comes to thriller fare (his Bond outing barely registered a pulse). This adaptation of Martin Cruz Smith’s 1981 novel – by Dennis Potter, no less – is duly serviceable but resolutely unremarkable. William Hurt’s militsiya officer Renko investigates three faceless bodies found in the titular park. It was that grisly element that gave Gorky Park a certain cachet when I first saw it as an impressionable youngster. Which was actually not unfair, as it’s by far its most memorable aspect.

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Cuba (1979) (SPOILERS) Cuba -based movies don’t have a great track record at the box office, unless Bad Boys II counts. I guess The Godfather Part II does qualify. Steven Soderbergh , who could later speak to box office bombs revolving around Castro’s revolution, called Richard Lester’s Cuba fascinating but flawed. Which is generous of him.

Now In Full Color, with a Happier Ending

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