Tag Archives: C-

THE ACCOUNTANT 2

Producers: Ben Affleck, Lynette Howell Taylor and Mark Williams   Director: Gavin O’Connor   Screenplay: Bill Dubuque   Cast: Ben Affleck, Jon Bernthal, Cynthia Addai-Robinson, Daniella Pineda, Allison Robertson, J.K. Simmons, Robert Morgan, Grant Harvey, Andrew Howard, Yael Ocasio, Lombardo Boyar, Michael Tourek and Joe Holt   Distributor: Amazon MGM Studios

Grade: C-

It’s astonishing that it took director Gavin O’Connor and screenwriter Bill Dubuque nearly a decade to come up with a sequel to their 2016 action movie as bad as “The Accountant 2.”  It was a terrible waste of their time, and watching the result is now a terrible waste of ours.

The movie is designed to be a puzzle composed of two principal parts.  On the one hand it’s a buddy comedy in which Christian Wolff (Ben Affleck), the autistic combination of brainiac and fighting machine introduced in the first movie, finally reconciles with his hit-man brother Brax (Jon Bernthal).  On the other it’s a violent action flick in which they, sometimes in tandem with US Treasury agent Marybeth Medina (Cynthia Addai-Robinson), work to bring down a ruthless human-trafficking organization that runs a prostitution ring and a money-laundering business on the side.  It’s headed, as is indicated early on, by Burke (Robert Morgan), who uses a fish-marketing business as a cover and employs master sniper Cobb (Grant Harvey) as his enforcer.  He’s particularly obsessed with Anaïs (Daniella Pineda), an icy blonde whom he fears will come after him after she recovers the memory she lost in a car crash that, as her doctor (Joe Holt) will eventually reveal, also led to her becoming, via acquired savant syndrome, as expert at assassination as at chess.

The movie actually kicks off with a meeting at a club between Anaïs and Raymond King (J.K. Simmons), the Treasury honcho Wolff met in the first film but who’s now retired and a P.I.  He’s been hired, he explains, by a father searching for his son, who disappeared as a young boy trying to cross the southern border with his parents.  She’s unresponsive to his questions, but it doesn’t matter, because the whole thing is apparently a set-up.  Cobb is across the street with his rifle at the ready, and Burke’s army invades the place, killing King (Simmons goes through a robust fight scene before getting lucky and leaving the movie early) but letting Anaïs escape, much to Burke’s annoyance.

Medina, King’s protégé, follows his posthumous advice to contact Christian, who lives a reclusive life in an RV in Boise, where he’s aided by Justine (Allison Robertson), the nonverbal savant (via an electronic voice provided by Alison Wright) in his effort to live a less socially awkward life; as we’re reintroduced to him, she’s helping him dress for a speed-dating session, which serves (as will a later sequence at a honkytonk) to suggest how irresistible he is to women, the handsome devil, until they’re confronted by the Mr. Spock objectivity with which he views the world.  Medina’s reluctant to deal with Christian, but realizes his intellectual ability can help decipher the clues left behind by King.

He, in turn, decides to contact his estranged brother, a reckless, motor-mouthed murderer, for help. Bernthal’s Brax we’re meant to take as a lovable lout who, presumably, only whacks those who deserve it (though you might feel that “lovable” is going way too far); he’s introduced here via a long, desperately unfunny scene in which he practices arguing, apparently with a former girlfriend, about custody of, presumably, a dog (in the actual call he defers to her at once).  But when Christian calls, just as he’s finishing a job, he immediately leaves the corpses (and a terrified witness) behind because, while still angry that his brother has ignored him for years, he still yearns for some emotional companionship.

So Christian, Brax and Medina join up to solve King’s case, though she eventually abandons them in horror at their methods (Christian’s roughing up the owner of a pizza outfit serving to launder Burke’s money had distressed her earlier. The unfortunate echoes of Pizzagate are hopefully unintentional.)   In any event, their further sleuthing will eventually lead them, through a circuitous route that frankly defies understanding, to a prison camp in Juarez, just as the children housed in brutal conditions there—apparently the kids of the women Burke has forced into prostitution, including a boy named Alberto (Yael Ocasio) related to Anaïs—are about to buried alive by Cobb.  Naturally they foil him by killing off the army of guards defending the place, and Cobb too.  And Brax shows how his humanity has grown by adopting the camp cat as a pet!

This précis should be taken as an approximation, since frankly many of the details of the criminal-enterprise part of the plot—the whys and wherefores of its operation—remain unclear (at one point, for example Cobb kills an old fellow eating in his drab Fort Worth kitchen, whose significance isn’t terribly clear).  There is one sequence in the muddled business, however, that stands out for its cleverness, in which the team of expert young autistic hackers overseen by Justine at the Harbor Neuroscience Academy use the computers they huddle over to extract a photo from the laptop of an oblivious woman, using distraction after distraction to keep her from the screen as they cooperate in fulfilling the mission.  You might deplore what’s happening, thinking that such invasion of privacy could be directed against you, even as you applaud the kids’ triumph.

Otherwise, though, the portion of the picture dealing with the uncovering of Burke’s nefarious enterprises is not just needlessly convoluted but quite unpleasant, and the action sequences scattered throughout it—from the melee involving King at the start, through the boys’ manhandling of foes at regular intervals and the big firefight at Burke’s prison camp at the close—are clumsily choreographed, sloppily shot by cinematographer Seamus McGarvey and spastically edited by Richard Pearson.  In fact for the most part the film, with a production design by Jade Healy and costumes by Isis Mussenden, looks drab, apart from the few scenes at the Harbor Academy, and Bryce Dessner’s score is totally unexceptional.

Presumably it’s the human component, particularly the interplay between Christian and Brax, that’s supposed to redeem the action schlock, but here too “The Accountant” misses the mark.  Affleck’s natural stiffness fits his role, and he captures Christian’s combination of physical gawkiness and logical precision nicely (the speed-dating scene and a dance at that honkytonk are pleasant examples); he also carries off the character’s explosions of violence.  And there are a few instances, like a conversation atop his RV, where Christian’s interaction with Brax shows some real depth.  Overall, though, Brax remains, despite his gradual softening, an abrasive fellow, and too often Bernthal’s portrayal of him is simply grating.  Perhaps the future installments that are probably inevitable will allow him to add some further shading to the character.  Among the supporting cast Addai-Robinson is stuck in a thankless role, but Pineda is striking even though Anaïs remains pretty much a visual effect; Simmons is his usual reliable self in what amounts to a cameo. 

“The Accountant 2” winds up as a movie whose individual ingredients aren’t terribly palatable, and they never cohere into a satisfying whole.

FREAKY TALES

Producers: Poppy Hanks and Jelani Johnson   Directors: Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck  Screenplay: Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck   Cast: Pedro Pascal, Jay Ellis, Ben Mendelsohn, Jack Champion, Ji-young Yoo, Dominique Thorne, Normani, DeMario “Symba” Driver, Jordan “StunnaMan02” Gomes, Natalia Dominguez, Angus Cloud, Kier Gilchrist, Marteen, Too $hort, Eric “Sleepy” Floyd and Tom Hanks  Distributor: Lionsgate

Grade: C-

“Freaky Tales” is set in 1987 Oakland, California, and perhaps you need a personal connection to the time and place to enjoy its grubby in-joke vibe; it depends largely on nostalgia for its appeal, and in this case the nostalgia is of a curdled provincial variety.

For the writing-directing team of Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck, “Tales” represents a return to their indie roots after a detour into the MCU with the dreary 2019 “Captain Marvel.”  They’ve reached back nearly half a century to construct a celebratory fable of Fleck’s childhood hometown out of four separate but vaguely interlocking chapters, all of which come across as pretty obvious genre rip-offs.  Compared to their powerful 2006 debut “Half Nelson,” which starred Ryan Gosling and Anthony Mackie, this goofy riff is an empty exercise, a sad disappointment.

The first chapter is a tribute to the punk rock movement of the time, represented by a couple of progressive-minded kids, Lucid (Jack Champion) and Tina (Ji-young Yoo).  They enjoy spending time at the local theatre, where the marquee advertises titles like “The Lost Boys,” but are more devoted to a music venue where they and others dance to live local bands; upon entering one sees a placard announcing intolerance of racism, homophobia, sexism and other such social ills within its walls. 

But that just acts as an incentive for a bunch of neo-Nazi thugs who inflict their hatred on the neighborhood, first with drive-by taunts to moviegoers and then with a direct assault on the dancers.  The violence leads to a decision by Lucid, Tina and their like-minded friends to resist, and the result is a street rumble in which the forces of good repel them.

The second installment introduces Entice (Normani) and Barbie (Dominique Thorne), who work at an ice-cream shop where they have to endure the taunts of a racist police detective (Ben Mendelsohn).  A music promoter (Jason StunnaMan02 Gomes) invites them to face off in a rap contest with his boy Too $hort (DeMario Symba Driver), in which they win over the crowd by countering misogynist put-downs.

These initial chapters have lots of energy; the tone grows more somber in the third, which stars Pedro Pascal as Clint, an about-to-retire mob debt collector with a pregnant wife (Natalie Dominguez) whom he leaves outside in a car while he goes into a video store whose back room hosts a poker game.  He’s there to collect from a player, but the person who suffers is his wife.  She’s shot by a man who accosts Clint when he emerges after completing the job, blaming him for killing his father years before.  She doesn’t survive, and whether Clint’s daughter will is uncertain until the final moments in the police station.

The final episode can be dated specifically to May 10, when Golden State Warriors star Eric “Sleepy” Floyd (Jay Ellis) scored a record twenty-nine points in the fourth quarter of a playoff game against the Los Angeles Lakers.  Feted for his feat, he returns home to find it’s been the site of a violent robbery by a gang of thugs.  His revenge takes the form of a martial arts rampage against the villains, who are, of course, the neo-Nazis of the first chapter, led by the racist cop of the second.

Those aren’t the only tie-ins from one chapter to another; and there are other connective devices, including some antic animation, some green rays suggesting a supernatural or extraterrestrial force at work, and periodic commercials about a consciousness-raising system called Psyotics.  Then there are the meta in-jokes—cameos by the actual Too $hort (whose 1987 rap song provides the title) and Floyd.  Topping it all off is an extended cameo by Bay Area native Tom Hanks as the video store clerk in the third chapter, a guy who can’t help blabbing smugly about his encyclopedic knowledge of movies, including what he claims are the five best pictures about underdogs—which, of course, is the category into which “Tales” falls itself.  Hanks’s character is obviously modeled on Quentin Tarantino, whose style and attitude Boden and Fleck are trying to mimic here—without much success.

Hanks is slumming, and his performance shows it.  Of the others Pascal comes off best with his gruff understatement, and Mendelsohn the worst with his lip-smacking viciousness.  The rest are okay, though amateurishness infects some of the lesser roles.  The tech team—production designer Patti Podesta, costumer Neisha Lemle, DP Jac Fitzgerald—obviously relish the garish possibilities, and Fitzgerald and editor Robert Komatsu happily embrace the opportunity to play around with different formats, frayed image edges and the like.  It’s all part of the desperate desire to be cool, something the needle drops—and Raphael Saddiq’s score—aim for too.

“Freaky Tales” is splashy but vacuous, a gonzo time capsule with a ready audience in Oakland that will have limited appeal elsewhere.