De Armas in over her head in Ballerina
If there was ever a scene-stealing
moment, it occurred when Ana de Armas made a brief appearance in the 2021 James
Bond adventure, No Time to Die. As Paloma, she claims to be a fresh-faced
spy with only minimal training. This proves to be a modest assertion as she
dispatches numerous terrorists with grace and ease, even eliciting a
grin from the steely 007. In the film less than 10 minutes, de Armas made an
impression on audiences, so much so there was talk of giving Paloma her own
feature.
Unfortunately, in its stead we have Ballerina,
an extension of the John Wick franchise. Obviously, the producers of the
series took note of the actress’ appearance in Die, thinking she had the
chops to play the titular assassin. However, the film proves to be a curious
miscalculation that, surprisingly, finds her miscast in the role. Diminutive
and girlish, the actress is never convincing as a ruthless, karate-chopping,
ice skate-wielding, flame-thrower-toting killer. Much more adept at delivering
the kind of arch, self-aware delivery she brought to Paloma, the edgy,
hard-knuckled world of Wick is an ill fit. Whereas Keanu Reeves, who
makes an all too brief appearance here, is able to simultaneously show his
tough guy bona fides but also let us know we shouldn’t take anything character
does seriously, de Armas plays it straight, bringing a flat, serious tone to
the role that lands with a thud.
A lackluster prologue explains Eve’s
(De Armas) raison d’etre. Having witnessed her father die at the hands of a
group of assassins led by The Chancellor (Gabriel Byrne), the orphaned girl is
taken in by Wick’s mentor, Winston (Ian McShane). He enrolls her in the ballet
academy run by The Director (Anjelica Huston), but it’s not pirouettes and toe
stands this company focuses on. No, these young women are trained to be
assassins, and Eve proves quite adept at killing with impunity. Soon, she’s out
on the streets, earning big bucks taking out well-connected ne’er-do-wells or
protecting high value targets. It’s during one of these jobs that she notices
one of her victims sports the same markings those who killed her father
sported. Suddenly, a sense of vengeance overtakes her, and the young woman sets
out to kill the men that put her dear old dad six feet under.
Screenwriters Shay Hatten and Derek
Kolstad are veterans of the Wick series, so it comes as a surprise that
the plot here is so threadbare, the dialogue so simplistic. While the stories
in the Keanu Reeves’ features are simply an excuse for their imaginative action
sequences, at least there’s an attempt in these films to provide a bit of
complexity, with an interesting twist happening now and again. Here, no effort
is made; the story is nothing more than a pastiche of simplistic tropes that
are quickly dispensed with, none of them developed.
As such, this makes for a ponderous viewing experience as the action sequences, these films’
bread-and-butter, are hit and miss. Those in the first hour are dull and at
times sloppily rendered, director Len Wiseman unable to replicate the sort of
slick, imaginative sequences Chad Stahelski, former stuntman and director of the Wick films, has concocted. However, things get steadily better as the story
progresses. Eve finds an imaginative way to use a case of hand grenades to dispatch
a group of bad guys, while her ability to turn a pair of ice skates into lethal
weapons is to be marveled at. Wiseman finds his footing in the third act,
embracing the ridiculous with a kitchen duel involving fine china and a missing
handgun, while the climactic flamethrower duel is a true showstopper. The
reaction of her European victims had me wondering if the whole
“stop-drop-and-roll” technique was strictly an American response.
The franchise veterans, which also
includes the late Lance Reddick, know what they’re up to regarding how to
approach this material. And while Reeves’ presence isn’t felt until the third
act, there’s a moment he and de Armas share that’s telling. During a terse
exchange, they’re armed with simple, two- or three-word statements. While
Reeves delivers his lines with thought and intent, getting far more out of the
phrase “Just leave” than you can imagine, his counterpart opts for a rushed,
obvious delivery. This simple exchange demonstrates just how out of her depth
de Armas is here. Coming off as a grade school thespian cast
against professionals, the actress needs to up both her action chops and acting
game for the inevitable sequel. In the end, far too many steps are missed to
make Ballerina worthy of the Wick brand. In theaters.
Courtney and Harrison give Animals
Bite
Channeling Oliver Reed, actor Jai Courtney has a ripping good time in Sean Bryne’s Dangerous Animals. As Bruce Tucker, he portrays a man lucky enough to be able to combine his two passions – sharks and serial killing. As such, he’s a happy fellow, always on the prowl much like the fish he admires, always looking for his next victim. Sometimes he has to go looking for his prey, but if he’s lucky, they come to him, walking on board his ship looking to partake in one of the Swim with the Sharks excursions he provides.
And just
how does Tucker combine work with pleasure you may be asking? Quite simple
really, as he drugs his intended victim – always a young woman – and stows them
below until night comes. He then wakes them up, straps them to a chair attached
to a wench, and then lowers them into the remote, chum-strewn Australian waters
where he sails. Sentimental guy that he is, he records these young women
being ripped to shreds, but not before taking a lock of their hair, from which
he makes a fishing lure.
Obviously,
Tucker is – forgive me – a role you can really sink your teeth into, which
Courtney does with great relish. The actor uses his inherent charisma to great
effect, but his portrayal of the menace that lurks beneath the killer’s
welcoming façade is effectively chilling. This, paired with his hulking demeanor, makes Tucker one of the more fascinating film villains in recent memory.
Thankfully,
the script by Nick Lepard provides him with a worthy advisory, while Bryne
casts an actress capable of going toe-to-toe with Courtney. As Zephyr, a
nomadic surfer who has the bad luck of crossing paths with Tucker, Hassie
Harrison gives a fierce performance that isn’t dwarfed by her costar’s
dominating presence. Despite her delicate appearance, the actress has a keen
edge about her that convinces us she has the smarts and resourcefulness to
perhaps get out of the situation she finds herself in. When Courtney and
Harrison share the screen, their antagonistic chemistry is palpable, the pair
bringing these worthy adversaries to life in a convincing manner, helping us
overlook the script’s third-act failings.
While it
proves cathartic to see Zephyr outwit and escape from Tucker, it happens far
too often. Her reprieves are brief, the script dictating her multiple
recaptures to get the film up to a decent running time. Eventually, the
circumstances precipitating her numerous getaways and apprehensions prove
ridiculous. Equally incredulous is the sequence of events that lead to our
heroine’s one-night stand, Moses (Josh Heuston), tracking her down. The
character’s presence is an unnecessary distraction, interrupting the duel
between the two leads.
Byrne and
his cinematographer Shelley Farthing-Dawe have fashioned an uncommonly
beautiful genre movie, as gorgeous underwater shots of the shark activity as
well as those of Australia’s pristine beaches abound. Were it not for the
presence of its serial killer, Animals could be used as a tool for the
country’s tourism board.
By the
time we get to its inevitable end, Animals proves to be a genuine
surprise, a high-gloss B-movie that thrills, amuses and jolts the audience in
equal measure. Most importantly, it gives us a villain we love to jeer and a
heroine we’re pulling for every step of the way. A cathartic good time don’t be
surprised if you’re smiling a bit too widely once its grisly climax comes to an
end. In theaters.
Ritual generates more yawns than thrills
Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, Alivia de Haviland and Ray Milland, Oscar winners all, were reduced to starring in low-budget shockers at the end of their careers. Quality scripts were in short supply for these screen vets, and as a result, their respective big-screen presences ended with an ignominious whimper.
Here’s hoping the same fate is not awaiting
Al Pacino. His latest, The Ritual, is a curiosity, a cheaply made,
B-grade horror film of the sort that looks as if it were shot over various
weekends in someone’s basement. It’s the sort of movie that makes you wonder if
the actor is in some sort of financial trouble or if his senses have left him.
Curiously, he’s not the only screen vet on hand, which gives rise to the notion
that a case of group denial was in play regarding the quality of the script by
Enrico Natale and director David Midell. I’m going to give Dan Stevens,
Patricia Heaton and Ashley Greene the benefit of the doubt and assume that
Pacino was already on board, and they all agreed to be in this travesty simply
for the opportunity to work with the screen legend. If that were the case, then
the cost for such an opportunity, despite what they might have been paid, was
too high.
The case of Emma Schmidt, upon which the
film was based, is a fascinating one. The woman underwent an exorcism in her
teens and then another when she was 46. Unable to enter churches and prone to
convulsions, the woman began committing “unspeakable sexual acts,” which
prompted both exorcisms. Ritual focuses on the second, which took place
in 1928 at a convent in Earling, Iowa; however, here Schmidt (Abigail Cowen) is
16 years old. One assumes this would be more appealing to the young horror fans
this movie is aimed at.
Father Steiger (Stevens) is the head priest
at the convent and is reeling from the violent death of his brother. This has
stoked a bit of doubt where his faith is concerned, which will only grow once
he witnesses the shenanigans about to occur. Veteran exorcist Father Riesinger
(Pacino) has been brought in to conduct the ceremony. He’ll be helped by
various nuns, among them Sister Rose (Greene), who might or might not have a
thing for Steiger. Needless to say, the Mother Superior (Heaton) is less than
pleased her charges will be involved, even more so when furniture starts
flying, bones are broken and scalps are ripped from skulls.
That last sentence
implies that something interesting happens. This couldn’t be further from the
truth. What’s most shocking about the film is how devastatingly dull it
is. Part of the exorcism takes place,
Schmidt cusses or pukes, Steiger repeats his doubts and Riesinger assures him
all will be well. This pattern is repeated throughout, preventing the story
from catching fire. While the budget for special effects and make-up was
obviously miniscule, the sort of jolts necessary to make the story compelling
are possible in the hands of a capable director. That falls
outside Midell’s skill set. Attempting to create a “you-are-there” feel with
his handheld camera, the shaky perspective and clunky zoom shots prove
distracting rather than engrossing.
Perhaps the most
curious, and unfortunate, element of the movie is Pacino’s restrained turn. If
any movie needed the sort of scene-rending performance the actor’s become
famous for, it’s The Ritual. Had he only shouted, “Hoo-ah Devil! Time to
get outta there!” with the sort of vigor that’s repeatedly made the veins pop
on his forehead, we would have at least gotten a memorable meme from this
debacle. In theaters.