Two stars. Rated PG-13, for action violence and occasional profanity
By Derrick Bang
When Lewis Carroll’s Alice quite
reasonably suggests that one can’t believe impossible things, the Queen of
Hearts insists that “Sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things
before breakfast.”
The queen would have been right
at home with this movie.
 |
| When Joanna (Vera Farmiga) — a total stranger — sits opposite Michael (Liam Neeson) and proposes a mysterious "what if?" scenario, he assumes that she's merely passing the time during their commute. Increasingly unlikely events quickly will demonstrate that she's completely serious... |
Director Jaume Collet-Serra’s The Commuter is a hilariously ludicrous
start to the cinematic new year: a thriller that makes absolutely no sense and
survives on momentum alone ... until it doesn’t.
The script — assign the blame to
Byron Willinger, Philip de Blasi and Ryan Engle — sails right past improbable and far-fetched, and heads straight into preposterous. It demands a suspension of disbelief far beyond the capability
of mere mortals.
Theater ushers will have quite a
task after each screening, carefully scooping up all the viewer eyeballs that
have rolled right out of their sockets.
This storyline probably began
with the intriguing notion that regular commuters — despite sharing (in this
case) the same New York train, five days a week, 52 weeks a year — really don’t
know much about the folks with whom they exchange cheerful greetings twice each
day. What secrets might be concealed behind those superficial smiles?
Insurance salesman Michael
MacCauley (Liam Neeson) finds out one day, when his late-afternoon trip home is
interrupted by an enigmatic woman (Vera Farmiga, as Joanna) who sits in the
opposite chair and strikes up a conversation. She behaves like a friendly,
flirty psychologist, posing a “What would you do for $100,000?” scenario.
Michael indulges her (already
unlikely, on a New York City train).
Perhaps, being well read, he
recognizes this riff on Richard Matheson’s 1970 short story, “Button, Button,”
in which a mysterious man gives a poverty-stricken couple a box with a button,
promising $200,000 if they push the button, which will kill “someone whom you
don’t know.” (It was filmed as an episode of the 1985-86 revival of The Twilight Zone, and then again in
2009, as the feature film The Box.)
Joanna departs at the next
station, with an ambiguous comment that suggests her scenario isn’t all that
fictitious. Michael, curious, investigates ... and finds a percentage of the
cash, hidden right where she promised. At which point, she calls his smart
phone, insists that he now has no choice but to comply with her demands ...
lest his wife (Elizabeth McGovern) and son be harmed.
Michael’s task: to find the
person on the train who “doesn’t belong,” is carrying a bag, and answers to the
name of “Prin.” Before the train reaches the end of the line.
Somehow — impossibly, absurdly —
Joanna knows Michael’s every move, and keeps calling with accelerated warnings,
when he does something contrary to her script. His understandable reluctance
and attempts at rebellion prompt equally absurd levels of retaliation.
The apparent size and scope of
this conspiracy defy description. (I think even the Queen of Hearts would have
checked out by now.)
And, so, Michael plays the game.
And searches for “Prin.”
Complications ensue. Naturally.
For a time, mild suspense is
generated by contemplating the identity of this individual. Michael’s
recognized regulars are off the list, as they do “belong”: the easygoing and helpful Tony (Andy Nyman); the
cynical Walt (Jonathan Banks); and the jovial conductor, Sam (Colin McFarlane).
The
unfamiliar faces are more likely: an obnoxious Wall Street broker (Shazad
Latif); a burly, taciturn construction worker (Roland Møller); a weary guy with
a guitar case (Kobna Holdbrook-Smith); a college girl with a firm grip on her
handbag (Florence Pugh); a clearly agitated nurse who keeps texting somebody as
her eyes dart hither and yon (Clara Lago); and a shifty, feral guy who seems
quite nervous himself (Killian Scott).
Comic
relief is supplied by Jimmy (Adam Nagaitis), an assistant conductor with a
strong sense of self-preservation. He unleashes a few one-liners that would
break the tension, were this film capable of generating any.
Trouble
is, the scenario gets more contrived by the minute, until not even Neeson —
enjoying a late-career stint as an action hero — can keep a straight face. He
frequently seems on the verge of stopping, mid-scene, and shouting, “Oh, come on; this is just stupid!”
And,
as daft and outrageous as things have been up to this point, the film really goes off the rails — literally — during
the third act. Points to visual effects supervisor Steve Begg, for the sort of stylish,
golly-gee-whiz sequence that only exists within “movie physics.”
I
almost applauded. But then the narrative lurched back into unlife.
The
scripters do deserve credit for acknowledging Neeson’s seniority. Michael
repeatedly laments his 60 years of age — Neeson actually is 65 — and definitely
endures considerable punishment. He’s not trying to be a 40-something James
Bond, except for the fact that no matter how much he gets pummeled, beaten,
kicked, smacked, punched or tossed about, he always gets up for more. We all
should be so resilient at 60.
Nobody,
not even Neeson, turns in a performance that can be considered acting. He just
tries gamely to keep up with the plot contrivances, while all others are little
more than one-dimensional archetypes. McGovern, in particular, is shamefully
wasted.
Neeson
and Collet-Serra enjoy working together, having teamed previously on 2011’s Unknown and 2015’s Run All Night, both similarly disposable action thrillers. I
actually had hopes that Collet-Serra was maturing above those efforts and his
horror-flick roots; he did quite well with 2016’s The Shallows, a genuinely slick and suspenseful one-hander by star
Blake Lively.
The Commuter therefore is a lamentable step backwards: a waste
of time, talent and — most particularly — viewer patience.
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