Three stars. Rated R, for violence, dramatic intensity and profanity
By Derrick Bang
At his syndicated prime, Joe Bob
Briggs would have been all over this one.
Kidnap is a classic drive-in exploitation flick:
gratuitously violent, wholly preposterous and at times laughably acted ... but
you gotta give director Luis Prieto credit for momentum, and for cunningly
winding up his viewers.
And for knowing when to get off
the stage. At a revved-up 82 minutes, his film certainly doesn’t overstay its
welcome.
Matters could have been improved
considerably, however, had Prieto bothered to find a better writer. First-time
scripter Knate Lee may have delivered a smashing concept pitch, but his
dialogue is atrocious ... particularly during the first act, when star Halle
Berry spends far too much time talking to herself (by way of — needlessly —
telling us stuff that we already
know).
Berry’s clumsy, unpersuasive
delivery doesn’t help the situation. She’s far more convincing during the final
act, when she talks less and relies more on mama-bear fury. By that point, you
should expect to hear repeated shouts of “You go, girl!” from the audience.
And you’ll probably be perched at
the edge of your own seat, as well.
Prieto opens his film with a
sickly sweet montage that demonstrates the depth of Karla Dyson’s (Berry)
devotion to her son Frankie, from birth to adorable young kidhood. Now played
winningly by Sage Correa, the bespectacled Frankie is every inch the lovable,
trusting and achingly vulnerable little boy.
Karla, alas, scrambles as a
hard-working New Orleans waitress and single mother, often taking double shifts
just to make ends meet, and embroiled in a custody battle with her ex and his
new girlfriend. Both are much more financially stable.
The latter subplot, apparently
introduced for character depth, goes absolutely nowhere. It’s entirely
superfluous and offers no closure. Sloppy.
A rare shared afternoon’s fun at
the magnificent City Park grants Karla and Frankie some quality time, until her
attention briefly wanders while taking a phone call from her divorce attorney.
But that’s enough for Frankie to vanish, Karla’s initial concern igniting into
full-blown panic when she sees her son being hauled into a scruffy hatchback by
an even scruffier woman.
An unseen driver roars out of the
parking lot, but Karla is close enough to her minivan to hop in and give chase.
And “chase” is rather an
understatement.
The subsequent vehicular
cat-and-mouse pursuit is choreographed stylishly by second-unit director/stunt
coordinator Steve Ritzi, and this lengthy segment maintains its suspense and
momentum through a clever series of evasive maneuvers, distractions, sidebar
events and nasty surprises. Unfortunately, these thrills are undercut somewhat
by Berry’s aforementioned stream-of-consciousness nattering. (In fairness, not
even Meryl Streep could have sold these inane lines.)
The high-speed melee ultimately
allows Karla’s enemies to reveal themselves, and goodness, but they’re a couple
of white-trash monsters. Chris McGinn and Lew Temple play them to psychopathic
perfection: She’s a bloated nightmare with nasty, little-piggy eyes; he’s a
stupid, violent brute who probably delights in torturing small animals.
We’d like to think they’re
exaggerated grotesques, but — frankly — McGinn and Temple are so believable,
that they seem dangerously real.
At first blush, Berry’s Karla
certainly seems no match; even if she were to catch them, what would she do?
But this is where the actress unleashes some of the acting chops that brought
her an Academy Award, for 2002’s Monster’s
Ball. She draws us into the story via Karla’s persuasive transformation
from a timid, uncertain Everymom — a woman who has been cowed by her ex for
much too long — to a confidently aggressive rage avatar who Will. Not. Quit.
When eventually given the
opportunity to snap, “You grabbed the wrong kid,” we don’t doubt it for a
second.
For a time, you’ll likely wonder
whether the entire film will take place on various roads and freeways, akin to
Tom Hardy’s one-man, stuck-in-a-car drama, Locke.
Happily, that’s not the case here; Prieto and Lee cleverly shift gears — and
tone — for a second act that plays more like an unsettling horror film,
particularly with Federico Jusid’s bass-heavy synth score bellowing at us so
energetically.
(The film isn’t long enough for a
third act; it’s just two, and out.)
The result would be a vicarious,
suspense-laden thrill ride, were it not for one other miscalculation: the
collateral civilian casualties. At least half a dozen random folks come to
violent ends, and while Prieto deserves credit for not lingering on what must
be — in at least a few cases — limb-severing carnage, the implications are
obvious. Berry’s Karla displays the appropriate dismay in each case, but it
still feels unnecessarily mean-spirited.
Although it’s well in keeping
with standard-issue exploitation fare.
The film’s other standout
performance comes from Karla’s red Chrysler Town & Country minivan: Rarely
has a single vehicle taken such a pounding — endured such abuse — and kept on
ticking. Ritzi puts the minivan through all manner of inventive,
frame-shattering injury, but it keeps on responding, each time Karla needs it.
The best moment, and the film’s
one genuine chuckle: her final use of the on-board navigation system.
Kidnap certainly won’t win any
awards, but it’s the sort of guilty pleasure that can enliven an otherwise dull
evening.
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