Gunpowder Milkshake: Gleefully explosive

Gunpowder Milkshake (2021) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for frequent profanity and strong, bloody violence

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.23.21

A title such as this one practically screams “guilty pleasure.”

 

Indeed, it’s a pleasure.

 

Albeit extremely guilty.

 

With all manner of vicious thugs hot on their heels, Scarlet (Lena Heady, left) guides
Sam (Karen Gillan, right) and young Emily (Chloe Coleman) through a secret
escape route.

Director/co-scripter Navot Papushado’s opulently stylish revenge/survival thriller is a total kick: the sort of high-octane B-movie that’ll be adored by fans of Baby Driver and Guy Ritchie’s early-career crime flicks. Papushado, production designer David Scheunemann and cinematographer Michael Seresin give this violent romp all manner of atmosphere: way-cool settings, exaggerated and cleverly distinct color palettes, and a degree of intensity that threatens to burst from the screen.

These backdrops are populated by outré characters laden with ’tude: burlesques who couldn’t possibly exist in the real world (and thank God for that). Then there’s the most important element, which sets this film apart from grim, joyless cousins such as John Wick and its sequels: The script — by Papushado and Ehud Lavski — has heart.

 

The hyper-violence is mitigated by our lead character’s virtuous decision to Do The Right Thing.

 

Fifteen years ago, 12-year-old Sam (Freya Allan) learned — in the worst possible way — that her mother Scarlet (Lena Headey) worked as an assassin for a ruthless crime syndicate known as The Firm. That day also was the last time Sam saw Scarlet; the girl subsequently was raised by The Firm, and has followed in her mother’s lethal footsteps.

 

She has become coldly, mercilessly efficient: the go-to “handler” dispatched to clean up The Firm’s most dangerous messes.

 

As the film opens, Sam (now Karen Gillan) has been a little too thorough with her most recent assignment, much to the chagrin of Nathan (Paul Giamatti), her handler and surrogate parent figure. The blowback is likely to enrage the local Russian mob, with which The Firm has an uneasily cordial understanding.

 

While Nathan frets over how best to handle the repercussions, he sends Sam on an easier assignment: to kill a man (Samuel Anderson) and retrieve a bundle of cash that he stole from The Firm. During this confrontation, she learns that he took the money in order to ransom his 8-year-old daughter Emily (Chloe Coleman), who has been kidnapped by a quartet of mopes concealed behind monster masks.

 

This triggers Sam’s memory of her own younger self, orphaned under similarly dire circumstances. In the blink of an eye, Sam’s loyalty to The Firm evaporates; we see the shift in Gillan’s gaze. No matter the consequences, she intends to protect that little girl.

 

Consequences prove plentiful.

 

300: Rise of an Empire ... fall of a movie

300: Rise of an Empire (2014) • View trailer 
One star. Rated R, for constant gory violence, nudity, profanity and a hilarious sex scene
By Derrick Bang

In case anybody has wondered, two hours of gore-porn is a total yawn.

Impressed by the battlefield savvy demonstrated by her enemy, Artemisia (Eva Green)
offers Themistokles (Sullivan Stapleton) a place at the head of her own army ... and,
as an added inducement, a place in her bed. Will this Athenian commander succumb
to such temptation? Do we care in the slightest?

Director Noam Murro hasn’t the slightest affinity for this material: no surprise, since his only previous big-screen credit is the 2008 comedy bomb, Smart People. I can’t imagine what led Warner Bros. to trust Murro with the sequel to 2006’s unexpectedly popular 300, but, then, I rarely understand what transpires in big-studio pitch meetings.

Not that Murro should shoulder all the blame, with so much to spread around. I doubt any director could have made much of the wafer-thin narrative that scripters Zack Snyder and Kurt Johnstad audaciously call a screenplay. I always thought writers endeavored to create characters whose thoughts and deeds would engage our emotions, but Snyder and Johnstad apparently believe the same can be accomplished with another splash of blood on the screen.

Not hardly.

Indeed, it’s difficult to remember anything else taking place during this flimsy excuse for a movie. Occasional scenes of stilted, woodenly acted dialogue aside, 300: Rise of an Empire is 102 minutes of disembowelments, severed limbs and decapitations, seasoned with some slashed throats and pierced eyeballs. And most of the interminable battle scenes are filmed in loving slow-motion by cinematographer Simon Duggan, with the gallons of splattered blood inserted later, via CGI sweetening.

If all the melees and close-up hacking and slashing were projected at normal speed, this film probably wouldn’t run more than half an hour. Which would be a good thing.

As an added bonus, this film’s 3D effects were added after the fact, contributing to the overall murky pallor that hangs over every frame. As was the case with Clash of the Titans and numerous other “fake 3D” efforts, many sequences are so dark that it’s difficult to discern what the heck is happening. Call that an unintentional blessing.

As adapted clumsily from Frank Miller’s graphic novel Xerxes — itself a sequel to his graphic novel 300 — this story occurs during the aftermath of the great battle that took place at Thermopylae in 480 B.C., when King Leonidas and his “brave 300” gloriously battled a much larger Persian army to a standstill. For a time.

The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones — Completely mundane

The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones (2013) • View trailer 
2.5 stars. Rating: PG-13, for intense fantasy violence and action, and mild sensuality
By Derrick Bang

Every time I endure a clumsy fantasy such as this one, I’m reminded of what a rare and wonderful creature television’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer was, during its run from 1997 through 2003.

Our so-called heroine is Clary (Lily Collins), the one cowering at the far right. Despite
some intriguing powers, she's pretty useless in a fight, unlike her new colleague
Isabelle (Jemima West), every inch a gritty warrior. Goodness, even Clary's longtime
— and fully human — friend Simon (Robert Sheehan), despite his constant terror, is
more resourceful.

Which is to say, I’m reminded of the care that Buffy creator Joss Whedon took, with respect to characters, plotlines and — most essential of all — tone. Buffy was droll without being stupid, and Whedon and his fellow writers rigorously obeyed the rules that had been set forth, sometimes years earlier.

And if characters developed a fondness for each other — sometimes pairing off in highly unexpected fashion — they did so reasonably maturely (well, allowing for the crazed parameters of the show’s universe, anyway). They behaved like strong, self-assured and intelligent young adults. Most of the time. When not driven by ill-advised impulses ... but, even then, we rarely rolled our eyes in scorn.

Whedon respected us, as viewers.

In great contrast, director Harald Zwart and scripter Jessica Postigo don’t respect us at all, with their big-screen adaptation of The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones. It’s the epitome of a dumb fantasy, and its core characters — male or female — behave, at all times, like puerile little girls with absolutely no control over their emotions.

Which begs the question: What is this film’s target audience? The violence and monsters are too vicious for 8-year-olds, but the material and tone are too juvenile for older tweens and teens.

I hoped, going in, that this film would be a gender-flipped Harry Potter clone, with a stalwart female lead whom viewers could embrace. Instead, Zwart borrows much more heavily from the long-suffering sighs, pouty expressions and moronic motivations typical of the Twilight series. Our so-called heroine, Clary, simply isn’t worthy. And if our mortal realm honestly depends on her — and her hormones-in-hyperdrive “Scooby gang” — for survival, then we’re all in a lotta trouble.

Zwart’s film is based on the young adult fantasy series by Cassandra Clare (actually a nom de plume for Judith Rumelt), currently up to six books and counting. I’m not familiar with the books, and therefore unsure who to blame for this film’s breathlessly melodramatic tone. Perhaps Postigo made the best of what she was given, in which case Clare’s young readers deserve better.