3.5 stars. Rated R, for profanity and violence
By Derrick Bang
The third time’s definitely the charm, for this series.
Were it not for A-level casts toplined by Gerard Butler’s indestructible Mike Banning, 2013’s Olympus Has Fallen and 2016’s London Has Fallen would have vanished from the face of the planet, due to their outrageously stupid scripts, unforgivably cowardly characters, and offensively jingoistic political undertone.
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| On the run, and with almost nobody to trust, Mike Banning (Gerard Butler) chances a phone call to his wife, knowing full well that the FBI has tapped his home phone. |
Both typified the exploitative action swill that Cinemax programmed in late-night time slots, back in the 1980s.
Given that series creators Katrin Benedikt and Creighton Rothenberger have been on board throughout, this third entry was approached with more than a little skepticism. But I’m happy to report that Angel Has Fallen is vastly superior to its predecessors; indeed, you’d never believe it came from any of the same folks. Credit likely belongs to new co-scripters Matt Cook and Robert Mark Kamen, the latter a seasoned veteran who has written and co-written crowd-pleasing hits as diverse as The Karate Kid, The Fifth Element and the Transporter series.
In short, Kamen knows how to concoct and pace an effective thriller. More to the point, his stories always have heart, and this new Fallenentry is no different; it includes a level of emotional gravitas that was completely absent in the first two films, whose characters had the depth of tissue paper.
On top of which, the core plot is an always reliable chestnut invariably tapped during the third or fourth season of successful television investigative dramas: the ol’ “We’ve all trusted this guy for years, but now — solely because of circumstantial evidence — we’re gonna believe that he’s been an evil bastard all along.”
Contrived, yes. But undeniably effective, because it puts our hero in the situation beloved by Alfred Hitchcock: on the run from good guys and bad guys.
In fairness, said circumstantial evidence is quite formidable. While keeping President Allan Trumbull (Morgan Freeman) company during a restful fishing trip in the middle of a freezing-cold lake, Banning and his Secret Service team are attacked by a phalanx of explosive drones. Thanks to quick thinking, Banning saves Trumbull’s life, but only barely; the president remains hospitalized, in a coma. Recovering is uncertain.
Banning, in turn, awakens to find himself handcuffed to a hospital bed. As he stares in disbelief, FBI Special Agent Thompson (Jada Pinkett Smith) coldly informs him that he’s the lone survivor, the entire rest of the Secret Service team having been wiped out. Far more damning, the tech-laden van from which the drones were fired has been found, and it’s laden with Banning’s DNA. The cherry on top: $20 million in a clandestine account under his name, with the funds traced back to — we pause, for emphasis — the Russians.
(How’s that for election interference?)
Having instantaneously become the entire nation’s most loathed individual, Banning’s notoriety extends to death threats against his wife, Leah (Piper Perabo, a pluckier replacement for the previous films’ Radha Mitchell). Once deemed fit enough to move, he’s sent under heavy guard to a maximum-security prison … but never makes it. Hooded figures intercept the transport vehicles, kill everybody else, and grab Banning for a rendezvous with … somebody.
Ah, but training kicks in, and Banning manages an improbable escape during a pell-mell, edge-of-the-seat sequence that reveals director Ric Roman Waugh’s origins as a stunt coordinator. It’s the first of many breathtaking action set-pieces, each more audacious that its predecessor (building to a dog-nuts hospital climax).
Now on the run, and with nothing in the way of resources, Banning ponders the key question: Who’s behind this insidiously heinous plot?
Could it be his boss, Secret Service Director David Gentry (Lance Reddick, oozing reptilian menace)? CIA Director James Haskell (Mark Arnold, hard to read)? Agent Thompson? (Pinkett Smith talks tough, and seems sincere, but can we be sure?) Mousy Vice President Kirby (Tim Blake Nelson, a pluperfect weenie)? Or Mike’s best friend, military contractor Wade Jennings (smarmy Danny Huston, seemingly the obvious choice)?
Waugh and editor Gabriel Fleming efficiently choreograph the subsequent encounters, confrontations and shoot-’em-ups with calculated precision, deftly balancing the melees with quieter, character-building moments. The best surprise comes during Banning’s second-act reunion with his long-estranged father, Clay, played with scene-stealing panache by Nick Nolte (too infrequently seen on the big screen, these days).
Nolte brings the film to an entirely new level, and his character is scripted to perfection. Clay is the pluperfect off-the-grid survivalist kook, but he’s not a one-joke stereotype. Nolte persuasively limns the man’s haunted back-story, and his dynamic with Butler is solid; their shared scenes are thoroughly engaging.
On the other hand, Kamen et al are a bit sloppy when it comes to Banning’s sidebar details. As the film opens, he has been suffering from migraines, insomnia and debilitating physical discomfort; he’s popping painkillers like breath mints. A doctor’s visit confirms the worst: severely compromised spinal vertebrae and the aftermath of numerous concussions.
Serious stuff … and yet, miraculously, none of these complaints inhibit his subsequent bashing, crashing and thrashing, nor do any of the symptoms worsen during all the bone-crunching heroics. Ya gotta be impressed.
That said, Butler tackles the role with far more credibility than superheroic cousins played by Dwayne Johnson, David Statham or (back in the day) Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone. Butler’s Banning acknowledges the limitations of his advancing age, and has a world-weary vulnerability that makes him seem more flesh-and-blood human (even if he is equally indestructible). He feels somewhat more real.
The tech credits and production values are solid, and the blend of live-action stunt work and CGI sweetening is less noticeable than usual.
On the other hand, David Buckley’s relentlessly pounding synth score is beyond obnoxious, and does nothing to enhance the excitement.
Everything builds to a satisfying climax, despite the predictability of most plot bumps. It’s a shame the series couldn’t have started with this entry, and then proceeded with similarly satisfying sequels.
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