I thought Trap would be the summer’s worst movie.
But no; this abysmal, live-action cartoon defies description. (I’ll nonetheless give it a shot.)
 |
| Although Katie (Awkwafina) and Noel (John Cena) cleverly think to hide in a rich musician's panic room, there's still the matter of closing the door before their hundreds of pursuers force their way inside. |
Aside from the top half-dozen roles, all other characters appear to have been cast with random folks snatched from the streets; they certainly can’t act a whit. They aren’t even granted names in the cast list; they’re instead billed as Scary Goth Guy, Baby Puppeteer, Asshole Dad, Food Truck Guy, Bald Alley Cop, and so forth.
Paul Feig hardly warrants his credit as director; he appears to have told cinematographer John Schwartzman to point the camera, turn it on, and film whatever each untrained idiot felt like doing at that particular moment.
Rob Yescombe similarly doesn’t deserve to be acknowledged for his so-called script, because most — all? — of the dialogue appears to have been improvised on the spot. And quite badly, in most cases. It’s the sort of “banter” that regards relentless F-bombs as the height of comedy.
This may be the worst case of lunatics running the asylum ever foisted on an unsuspecting public. Grade-school theater productions are more convincing.
Until now, I’d have believed Awkwafina incapable of making a bad movie, and possessing the good sense to avoid anything that smelled of one. (Wrong again.)
As a sidebar, I’ve never cared for the tasteless “state-sanctioned murder as a cathartic escape valve” subgenre that has become popular of late. Japan’s Battle Royale, unleashed in 2000, started this dystopian trend; 2013’s The Purge and its (thus far) five sequels turned it into a deplorable franchise. By the time South Korea’s Squid Game came along, three years ago, the concept had become mainstream ... which doesn’t say anything good about human nature.
This pathetic turkey joins their ranks. It might be the most shameful yet, since it’s supposed to be a comedy.
The setting is 2030 Hollywood, shortly after the “Great Depression of 2026.” Desperate for money, California’s government set up a lottery with a twist: Anybody who kills the announced winner before sundown, can legally take the jackpot. The only rule? No guns, no bullets.
This initial explanatory text crawl appears onscreen while backed by The Beach Boys’ “California Girls,” merely the first of numerous needle-drop pop tunes intended as some sort of ironic counterpoint. (None succeeds.)
The odds are stacked badly against each initial winner, because his/her location is broadcast every few minutes via social media, thanks to hundreds of overhead drones.
(One wonders whether a successful killer then can be killed by somebody else, ad infinitum. Yescombe’s sloppy script can’t be bothered to address that point.)
On this particular day, with a new jackpot announced at a record-breaking $3.6 billion, Katie (Awkwafina) arrives in Hollywood, hoping to become an actress. Everything goes wrong: People are rude; her Air B&B landlord — Ayden Mayeri, as the repulsively unpleasant Shadi — lied about the state of Katie’s grimy, dilapidated room; and the audition goes badly.
Worse yet, Katie unintentionally enters the lottery, via her phone ... and wins.
Suddenly everybody on the street whips out knives, hatchets, swords and all manner of other weapons, and starts to chase her.
Cue a timely entrance by freelance “protective escort” Noel (John Cena), who earns a living keeping winners alive, at the nominal rate of 10 percent of their jackpots.
What follows is a relentless tsunami of kill-crazy citizens, many of whom shake off punches and body-blows that would put real people into a hospital. (This is that sort of dumb story.) Worse yet, Noel frequently hits attackers so hard, that they’re thrown 30 feet, thanks to exaggerated stunt rigs. (I guess this is part of the comedy?)
Shadi and her dumb-as-a-post boyfriend, DJ (Donald Elise Watkins), are among the pursuers ... and she’s relentless. (Also apparently indestructible.)
This mayhem takes place amid inane excuses for motor-mouthed dialogue spouted by everybody, particularly Katie and Noel, as they “get to know each other.” The story’s sole smidgen of suspense concerns whether Katie can trust this guy; after all, he could kill her, and collect the entire jackpot.
Is Cena’s sensitive and “enlightened” guy really all that he seems?
Simu Liu joins the carnage during the third act, as Louis Lewis, head of the well-regarded Lewis Protection Agency, which has a much higher rate of success than freelancers such as Noel. But again, is Lewis all that he seems?
Do we care?
Not in the slightest.
Events climax in a huge, abandoned theater with some sort of sci-fi set left on its stage, which has no purpose other than allowing Jefferson Sage to claim credit as production designer.
The end credits unspool against a lengthy barrage of outtakes apparently intended to show what a good time everybody had, while making this bomb, but in fact are just as forced, dull and unfunny as the film itself.
You’ve been warned.
No comments:
Post a Comment