3.5 stars. Rated R, for strong bloody violence, profanity and sexual vulgarity
By Derrick Bang
I want Denzel Washington’s Robert
McCall living in my neighborhood.
Like, immediately. Yesterday, if
possible.
 |
| Eventually, inexorably, the vicious Teddy (Marton Csokas, left) tracks down the elusive Robert McCall (Denzel Washington). Their meeting is deceptively cheerful and polite, each man sizing up the other. But we know, without question, that their next encounter won't be anywhere near this benign... |
In the interests of full
disclosure, scripter Richard Wenk’s take on McCall owes very little to the
1980s television series that starred Edward Woodward, and which gives this film
its name; this updated McCall feels far more like novelist Lee Child’s Jack
Reacher (and I definitely refer to the character in Child’s books, and not Tom
Cruise’s laughable big-screen interpretation).
Like Reacher, Washington’s McCall
is the epitome of calm, methodical über-cool: a seasoned warrior who remains
unfazed by any bad guys, regardless of their degree of malevolence, or their
superiority in numbers. Watching this McCall go to work is the most delicious
of vicarious guilty pleasures; it’s hard not to stand up and cheer.
But our reaction wouldn’t be
nearly as satisfying, were McCall played by a lesser actor, or if Wenk hadn’t
done such a fine job of setting up both character and premise. I’m frankly
surprised that a film with such subtle touches could come from director Antoine
Fuqua, more frequently known for noisy, overblown and often nasty popcorn
thrillers such as Shooter, Brooklyn’s Finest and Olympus Has Fallen.
Most of Fuqua’s efforts aren’t highlighted
by thoughtful or intelligent scripts, but this one’s a welcome exception. And
yes, even if he reverts to form in the climax, by then he has (mostly) earned
the right to do so.
Washington grants him that
privilege.
McCall is introduced, during a
very languid first act, as one of many cheerful employees at a Boston-based Home
Mart, a huge construction store clearly modeled, in everything but name, on
Home Depot outlets. He merrily interacts with his fellow workers, clearly
delighted to greet them each morning. He takes a greater interest in some, such
as Jenny (Anastasia Mousis), one of the cashiers; and Ralphie (Johnny
Skourtis), an amiable lunch pal hoping to drop a few pounds in order to qualify
for a promotion to security guard.
At home, living alone, McCall is
obsessively neat and tidy. But the cracks in his façade slip in, at first
almost unnoticed. He’s always up before his alarm clock goes off. He has
trouble sleeping at night. More crucially, Washington’s features carry some
massive burden: McCall radiates sorrow and regret, and we start to wonder if
his public face represents some sort of penance.
A few hours past midnight, when
he still can’t sleep, he indulges in what we realize is a longstanding ritual:
a short walk to a local all-night diner, book in hand, where he plops his own
teabag into the mug of steaming water placed at his regular table.
Also part of the ritual, if
perhaps a newer element: a few words exchanged with the teenage call girl, Teri
(Chloë Grace Moretz), who briefly occupies a seat at the counter each night,
and wolfs down an unhealthy meal while waiting for her smart phone to buzz.
She eventually changes the
dynamic, apologetically slipping into the seat opposite McCall. She nervously,
shyly shares her dreams of writing and recording songs. He encourages her:
People can be whatever they want. Not with my life, she sadly replies. Then
change your life, he suggests.
And he means it; Washington
delivers the line with a simple sincerity that — despite the absurdity of this
suggestion, given the girl’s profession — somehow makes it sound perfectly
reasonable.
At the same time, McCall can’t
help noticing the nasty bruise on Teri’s cheek.
They enjoy a brief walk, soon
interrupted by the arrival of Teri’s angry pimp, Slavi (David Meunier), a
vicious Russian gangster accompanied by an equally imposing handler. Teri,
insisting that everything is fine, gets into the car; McCall impassively, even mildly,
submits to Slavi’s condescending assurances.
And, just like that, McCall finds
himself Involved. Can’t help it. We see the switch thrown behind Washington’s
eyes. We don’t really know what’s coming next — Wenk’s script hasn’t dangled any
hints — but, even so, we know it’ll be ... well, cool. And thoroughly
satisfying.
Nor are we disappointed.
Fans of crime thrillers will
understand, however, that one does not capriciously mess with Russian
gangsters. Before long, other major players join the unfolding dynamic: several
corrupts Boston cops, notably Masters (David Harbour, suitably smarmy), and
most particularly a “handler” sent by Pushkin, the unseen overlord who pulls
all the strings from Mother Russia.
The handler in question is Teddy
(Marton Csokas), a stone-cold sociopath wholly incapable of human feeling.
Despite McCall’s clandestine skills — thus far, nobody even registers his
presence, let alone suspecting his involvement — Teddy senses the unseen hand
of a similarly skilled opponent, and takes steps accordingly.
By which point, we know things
will build to a truly marvelous finale.
And, as before, we’re not
disappointed.
Once Teddy enters the picture,
it’s hard to take our eyes off him; Csokas has considerable presence to begin
with, and he thoroughly enjoys inhabiting this two-legged monster. Flamboyant
and deliciously theatrical as his antics are, however, he never pulls focus
from Washington, an actor long skilled at maximizing quiet moments. Watching
Washington simply listen — as when
McCall meekly submits to jeering taunts by Slavi and his minions — is a master
class in thespic subtlety.
That said, I’m not sure Fuqua and
Wenk should have depicted McCall’s analysis of a given situation in the manner
shown; it looks and feels like a shameless lift from Robert Downey Jr.’s
approach to Sherlock Holmes, each time he
considers the odds.
Granted, the addition of McCall’s
stopwatch is a droll touch ... but not enough to camouflage the visual
plagiarism.
Moretz’s Teri evokes fond memories
of Jodie Foster’s Iris, all the way back in 1976’s Taxi Driver, but this comparison is by no means an indictment of
the former’s performance. We almost don’t recognize Moretz at first, buried
beneath heavy makeup and garish hairstyles, but there’s no mistaking the way
she anxiously twists her mouth, or the slightly defiant look in her eyes,
notwithstanding the beaten slump of Teri’s shoulders.
McCall’s encouragement lights a
hopeful ember in Moretz’s gaze, but it’s all too quickly extinguished when she
submits, time and again, to Slavi’s commands. Her deflated resignation is
shattering.
Ralphie seems a sidebar character
at first: a jovial, comic-relief prop on hand mostly to augment McCall’s
personality and Washington’s performance. But Skourtis brings considerable
charm and pluck to the role, and he becomes a welcome part of the third act.
Most of the time, this film
demonstrates a welcome maturity in Fuqua’s filmmaking techniques, although his
bad ol’ ways do crop up on occasion. This is most evident during the
aforementioned climax, which descends into rather barbaric violence. That we
welcome the payback is beside the point; that doesn’t excuse Fuqua’s unpleasant
tendency to linger, in close-up, on the body-shredding results.
The film’s most distasteful flaw,
however, is its score. Although Harry Gregson-Williams delivers some nice
orchestral character themes, particularly a simple piano melody for Teri, the
soundtrack too often is overwhelmed by pulsing, thoroughly obnoxious hip-hop
and gangsta rap. It simply doesn’t fit McCall’s world, or his style.
Even so, this take on The Equalizer remains a nicely
developed, thoroughly satisfying revenge saga. Fuqua and Washington haven’t
worked together since 2001’s Training Day,
which brought the latter an Academy Award, and this is a respectable and quite
entertaining follow-up.
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