Two stars. Rated R, for profanity, drug use and strong bloody violence
By Derrick Bang
I knew we were in trouble, before
this movie even started.
Allow me to explain:
 |
| After an unfortunate encounter with some homicidal maniacs, Mike (Jesse Eisenberg) and Phoebe (Kristen Stewart) are apprehended by the local law. Sadly, small-town cops won't be much good in the melees that are about to follow... |
Frequent filmgoers will have
noticed, since time immemorial, that the studio logo always is the first thing
on the screen. Some of the former titans have vanished over the years, but the
familiar logos for 20th Century Fox, Warner Bros. and Universal Pictures — to
cite just a few — remain ubiquitous.
During the past few decades,
however, we’ve been subjected to pre-movie “logo creep,” first due to an
ever-expanding roster of so-called mini-studios — Roadside Attractions,
Lionsgate, Focus Features and A24 leap to mind, among many others — and, not to
be outdone, director/actor production companies (Tom Hanks’ Playtone, James
Cameron’s Lightstorm Entertainment, Ridley Scott and Tony Scott’s Scott Free,
Chris Columbus’ 1492 Pictures and Adam Sandler’s Happy Madison, to cite just a
few).
Each one has its own logo, all of
which get displayed — in some contractually determined hierarchy — before a
movie begins. And then, just to stroke egos even further, the same companies
are cited at the top of the opening credits. (Warner Bros. and Roadside
Attractions present ... a BBC Films production ... of a Happy Madison film ...
or whatever.)
All of which has led sage
filmgoers to two observations:
1) The quality of a film often is
inversely related to the number of pre-credits logos; and
2) The quality of said logos absolutely determines the merit of the
film in question.
In other words, crappy logos =
crappy film.
American Ultra is preceded by four logos, two
for companies I’d never before encountered, both of said logos apparently
created by 4-year-olds. At which point I turned to Constant Companion and
muttered, sotto voce, “Houston, we
have a problem.”
Actually, this film’s entire
attribution chain is much, much worse, and worth repeating, in sum:
“Lionsgate presents / Palmstar
Media Capital and Kevin Frankers present / in association with FilmNation
Entertainment, a Likely Story / PalmStar Entertainment / Circle of Confusion
production in association with Merced Media Partners / Tadmore Entertainment /
The Bridge Finance Company AG, a Nima Nourizadeh film.”
Circle of confusion, indeed.
Nourizadeh deserves mention, at
least, as the film’s director. Sad, then, that his name comes at the very end
of that ludicrous ego overload.
Then again, perhaps appropriate:
Nourizadeh didn’t bring much to the party.
As trashy, midnight-movie
entertainment, American Ultra isn’t entirely a waste of time. Max Landis’
script has fits and starts of mordant humor, delivered with reasonable
efficiency by stars Jesse Eisenberg, Kristen Stewart, Connie Britton and Topher
Grace. The premise is reasonably engaging, although Landis stole it, without so
much as a by-your-leave, from Chris Fedak and Josh Schwartz, creators of the
wildly popular (and still missed) TV series Chuck.
Indeed, this film could be
regarded as Chuck on über-violent
steroids.
Consider the similarities:
• Geeky male protagonist suddenly
granted ferocious intelligence and ninja-level fighting skills: Check.
• Clandestine CIA overseer in
charge of the black-ops program that created said deep-cover hero: Check.
• Covert handler keeping tabs on
our reluctant super-spy: Check.
• Upper-echelon government types
who decide to sabotage said program: Check, check and check.
Honestly, Fedak and Schwartz
should sue for plagiarism.
Anyway...
Eisenberg stars as Mike Howell, a
perpetually stoned slacker who leads a woeful, loser existence in the sleepy
West Virginia community of Liman. Poor Mike, forever jittery, can’t do anything
right; the one good thing in his life is devoted girlfriend Phoebe (Stewart).
But when Mike tries to arrange the perfect proposal moment, it goes awry; on
top of everything else, he’s pathologically unable to travel, and hence a romantic
flight to Hawaii never gets off the ground.
And, so, Mike consoles himself by
retreating into yet another drug haze, and drawing another comic book
installment starring his own creation, Apollo Ape.
Elsewhere, at CIA headquarters in
Langley, veteran agent Victoria Lasseter (Britton) is engaged in a pissing
match with upstart junior exec Adrian Yates (Grace), who’s eager to Make His
Mark. Believing he can impress their higher-ups by closing down a long-dormant
sleeper agent program code-named MK Ultra, Yates authorizes the termination of
the one remaining field asset.
That would be Mike, wholly
unaware of his inner re-programming.
But Mike was Lasseter’s favorite
asset, and she’s not about to let him get snuffed, at least not without
granting him a fighting chance. And so she pays him a visit, intones a few code
phrases, and ... nothing.
A genuinely funny moment, as Mike
stares back at her, Eisenberg milking the scene for maximum slow-burn,
blank-faced amusement. And so, reluctantly, Lasseter departs.
After which, Mike’s magic mojo
suddenly kicks into gear when a couple of Yates’ minor-level minions attempt to
do their worst. They don’t last long, thanks to Mike’s novel use of at-hand
implements such as a spoon and a Cup Noodles-type snack. (Playing on that droll
display of unlikely weaponry, all patrons at Tuesday evening’s preview
screening were handed a ration of Cup Noodles upon exiting the theater.)
Having now learned that Mike
can’t be taken down by regular means, Yates activates additional MK Ultra
sleepers, most notably Crane (stunt woman-turned-actor Monique Ganderton) and
Laugher (Walton Goggins, well remembered as Boyd Crowder on TV’s Justified).
Cue an escalating series of
violent encounters, edited with modestly engaging efficiency by Andrew Marcus
and Bill Pankow, and choreographed to Marcelo Zarvos’ shrieking, propulsive
score.
So, okay, as guilty pleasures
come and go, this one has its moments. Eisenberg’s hapless Mike is a hoot,
particularly as he is increasingly overwhelmed by his unexpected talents for
bone-crushing mayhem. At times, Eisenberg evokes pleasant memories of the
reluctantly resourceful hero he played in Zombieland,
and we can’t help laughing when poor Mike finally throws up his hands, rejects
Lasseter’s earnest assistance, and decides to get totally stoned and surrender
to whatever comes next (sorta like the final, equally pragmatic scene in 2012’s
The Cabin in the Woods).
Grace also makes the most of his
insufferably arrogant control freak, most notably when Yates repeatedly throws
up his hands and wonders aloud, while scores of obedient underlings await his
next command, just what it’ll take to bring Mike down. Tony Hale is equally
amusing as a low-level CIA wonk who makes the mistake of helping Lasseter.
Goggins, as well, is a hoot ’n’ a
holler as the cheerfully maniacal Laugher, who giggles as he dispatches his
victims. This character becomes even funnier/creepier once his front teeth get
knocked out, reducing his angry threats to a barely comprehensible lisp.
Totally tasteless, to be sure.
But pretty funny just the same.
Nourizadeh displays energy, but
not much else; his cast delivers acceptable performances on their own, and not
due to much directorial engagement. His camera set-ups lack imagination, and
cinematographer Michael Bonvillain can’t help much, except for a weird
black-light sequence in a drug dealer’s basement.
This is only Nourizadeh’s second
film, after 2012’s fitfully interesting Project
X; based on available evidence, he’s not likely to rise above this sort of
low-rent, should-be-straight-to-video fare.
This film’s tag line —
“Everyone’s getting smoked” — pretty much says everything you need to know. The
comic highlights notwithstanding, nobody will remember American Ultra two months from now.
Which probably is just as well.
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