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.

You were this amazing occidental samurai.

Ricochet (1991) (SPOILERS) You have to wonder at Denzel Washington’s agent at this point in the actor’s career. He’d recently won his first Oscar for Glory , yet followed it with less-than-glorious heart-transplant ghost comedy Heart Condition (Bob Hoskins’ racist cop receives Washington’s dead lawyer’s ticker; a recipe for hijinks!) Not long after, he dipped his tentative toe in the action arena with this Joel Silver production; Denzel has made his share of action fare since, of course, most of it serviceable if unremarkable, but none of it comes near to delivering the schlocky excesses of Ricochet , a movie at once ingenious and risible in its plot permutations, performances and production profligacy.

No one can be told what the Matrix is. You have to see it for yourself.

The Matrix (1999) (SPOILERS) Twenty years on, and the articles are on the defining nature of The Matrix are piling up, most of them touching on how its world has become a reality, or maybe always was one. At the time, its premise was engaging enough, but it was the sum total of the package that cast a spell – the bullet time, the fashions, the soundtrack, the comic book-as-live-action framing and styling – not to mention it being probably the first movie to embrace and reflect the burgeoning Internet ( Hackers doesn’t really count), and subsequently to really ride the crest of the DVD boom wave. And now? Now it’s still really, really good.

Well, something’s broke on your daddy’s spaceship.

Apollo 13 (1995) (SPOILERS) The NASA propaganda movie to end all NASA propaganda movies. Their original conception of the perilous Apollo 13 mission deserves due credit in itself; what better way to bolster waning interest in slightly naff perambulations around a TV studio than to manufacture a crisis event, one emphasising the absurd fragility of the alleged non-terrestrial excursions and the indomitable force that is “science” in achieving them? Apollo 13 the lunar mission was tailor made for Apollo 13 the movie version – make believe the make-believe – and who could have been better to lead this fantasy ride than Guantanamo Hanks at his all-American popularity peak?

We’ve got the best ball and chain in the world. Your ass.

Wedlock (1991) (SPOILERS) The futuristic prison movie seemed possessed of a particular cachet around this time, quite possibly sparked by the grisly possibilities of hi-tech disincentives to escape. On that front, HBO TV movie Wedlock more than delivers its FX money shot. Elsewhere, it’s less sure of itself, rather fumbling when it exchanges prison tropes for fugitives-on-the-run ones.

I can’t be the worst. What about that hotdog one?

Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022) (SPOILERS) It would have been a merciful release, had the title card “ The End ”, flashing on screen a little before the ninety-minute mark, not been a false dawn. True, I would still have been unable to swab the bloody dildoes fight from my mind, but at least Everything Everywhere All at Once would have been short. Indeed, by the actual end I was put in mind of a line spoken by co-star James Wong in one of his most indelible roles: “ Now this really pisses me off to no end ”. Or to put it another way, Everything Everywhere All at Once rubbed me up the wrong which way quite a lot of most of the time.

Drank the red. Good for you.

Morbius (2022) (SPOILERS) Generic isn’t necessarily a slur. Not if, by implication, it’s suggestive of the kind of movie made twenty years ago, when the alternative is the kind of super-woke content Disney currently prioritises. Unfortunately, after a reasonable first hour, Morbius descends so resignedly into such unmoderated formula that you’re left with a too-clear image of Sony’s Spider-Verse when it lacks a larger-than-life performer (Tom Hardy, for example) at the centre of any given vehicle.

So, you’re telling me that NASA is going to kill the President of the United States with an earthquake?

Conspiracy Theory (1997) (SPOILERS) Mel Gibson’s official rehabilitation occurred with the announcement of 2016’s Oscar nominations, when Hacksaw Ridge garnered six nods, including Mel as director. Obviously, many refuse to be persuaded that there’s any legitimate atonement for the things someone says. They probably weren’t even convinced by Mel’s appearance in Daddy’s Home 2 , an act of abject obeisance if ever there was one. In other circles, though, Gibbo, or Mad Mel, is venerated as a saviour unsullied by the depraved Hollywood machine, one of the brave few who would not allow them to take his freedom. Or at least, his values. Of course, that’s frequently based on alleged comments he made, ones it’s highly likely he didn’t. But doesn’t that rather appeal to the premise of his 23-year-old star vehicle Conspiracy Theory , in which “ A good conspiracy theory is an unproveable one ”?

Twenty dwarves took turns doing handstands on the carpet.

Bugsy (1991) (SPOILERS) Bugsy is very much a Warren Beatty vanity project (aren’t they all, even the ones that don’t seem that way on the surface?), to the extent of his playing a title character a decade and a half younger than him. As such, it makes sense that producer Warren’s choice of director wouldn’t be inclined to overshadow star Warren, but the effect is to end up with a movie that, for all its considerable merits (including a script from James Toback chock full of incident), never really feels quite focussed, that it’s destined to lead anywhere, even if we know where it’s going.

He’ll regret it to his dying day, if ever he lives that long.

The Quiet Man (1952) (SPOILERS) The John Wayne & John Ford film for those who don’t like John Wayne & John Ford films? The Quiet Man takes its cues from Ford’s earlier How Green Was My Valley in terms of, well less Anglophile and Hibernophile and Cambrophile nostalgia respectively for past times, climes and heritage, as Wayne’s pugilist returns to his family seat and stirs up a hot bed of emotions, not least with Maureen O’Hara’s red-headed hothead. The result is a very likeable movie, for all its inculcated Oirishness and studied eccentricity.

He doesn’t want to lead you. He just wants you to follow.

Fantastic Beasts: The Secrets of Dumbledore (2022) (SPOILERS) The general failing of the prequel concept is a fairly self-evident one; it’s spurred by the desire to cash in, rather than to tell a story. This is why so few prequels, in any form, are worth the viewer/reader/listener’s time, in and of themselves. At best, they tend to be something of a well-rehearsed fait accompli. In the movie medium, even when there is material that withstands closer inspection (the Star Wars prequels; The Hobbit , if you like), the execution ends up botched. With Fantastic Beasts , there was never a whiff of such lofty purpose, and each subsequent sequel to the first prequel has succeeded only in drawing attention to its prosaic function: keeping franchise flag flying, even at half-mast. Hence Fantastic Beasts: The Secrets of Dumbledore , belatedly arriving after twice the envisaged gap between instalments and course-correcting none of the problems present in The Crimes of Grindelwald .

Now In Full Color, with a Happier Ending

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