The Little Things Review

Detective movies all end with one of four different ways: A) the bad guy gets caught, B) the good guy is actually the bad guy, C) there's a red herring, and D) nothings resolved. Those, of course, and the millions of small variances on those basic narratives. We know this, but what keeps audiences involved is the craftmanship of the picture, the performances, etc., but above all else, it's the possibility that things will be different this time. Now I won't spoil what actually happens in HBO Max's latest release, streaming simultaneously to its release in theaters, "The Little Things," but any cinema detective should be able to spot the ending.

I'll admit, I wasn't sure for a majority of the runtime what ultimately was going to happen (I expect my "movie sleuthing" badge to be soon revoked no doubt). In that respect, I appreciated it. For a film to keep me wondering "what if" is a testament to the skill of everything and everyone onscreen and off-scene. I can't base a recommendation purely on that, but for a certain demographic, it's enough.

Or maybe it's not, the more I think about it. Perhaps the reason why I kept guessing is its complicated plot, where revelations come up briefly before scenes change it's onto the next thing. Take for example the reason why Kern County deputy Joe Deacon, played by Denzel Washington, is LA. Having left that city behind him years ago, he ends up back in his old stomping grounds to collect some evidence, ends up befriending detective Baxter, played by Rami Malek, and is soon helping him solve the killings. What, you might be asking, about that evidence he needed to pick up? It's mentioned briefly over a phone call, hope you were paying attention. Deke mumbles "it's the little things" several times here, saying that they'll be what gets you caught. Well yes that's true, but it's also the little things that help keep the story sensical.

Prime suspect is Albert Sparma, played by Jared Leto, a local creep who the film all but confirms is the perpetrator. Evidence all but says so, but it's not enough to convict (isn't that always the case?), but our two protagonists spend most of their time just sitting in their cars outside his apartment. There's only so much suspense that can be generated by watching two guys stalk another man, and the film knows this. Soon enough we'll get a change of scenery (including one or two of them exiting said car and into another) but it does little to alleviate all the false noir elements, its brooding atmosphere that pounds into your subconscious that the color wheel consists mostly of shades of grey and all streets at night are filled with nothing but shadows.

In two days the FBI will take over the case, and the duo, convinced he's the guy, end up in the desert where Al claims a missing girl is buried. This is where the film loses its creditability, and for two reasons: 1) if Sparma was innocent, why would he make such an allegation, and 2) if Sparma was not so innocent, why would he make such an incriminating allegation? Maybe he's just some loon in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it doesn't matter. What happens is purely to service the main character's reasonings, and for a script that has apparently been floating in Hollywood for thirty years, it shows that writer/director John Lee Hancock has spent that time finding funding instead of a resolution.

In its favor, for a flick dealing with the grisly deaths of like a half dozen women, there is a refresh lack of perversion. This elevates this over lesser, repugnant pictures like last year's "The Devil All the Time," which is an endorsement on its own. But I can't recommend it. Not like this. Maybe in another thirty years.

Outside the Wire Review

"Outside the Wire" tackles some heavy issues about artificial intelligence, war, and race (well, in a throwaway line, but hey, it's there), but it gets itself bogged down by mindless violence that, ironically, is what the film is trying to caution against.

Debuting on Netflix, this confused and confusing release benefits from its direct-to-streaming, allowing viewers the luxury of pausing the character's action to try and get a better grip on everyone's true motive. Plot twists can make for a fun time at the movies, but there is nothing here except for ambiguous motivations.

The film opens with a botched mission, where drone pilot Thomas Harp, played by Damson Idris, breaks chain of command by sending in an air strike, resulting in the death of two soldiers. Given a second chance, he ends up, boots on the ground, in action, under the supervision of Leo, played by Anthony Mackie, who happens to be an android. Leo handpicked Harp for his assignment for his ability to "go outside the wire," hence the title. This inherently creates distrust between the protagonists, but also with us, at home and on our couch. Can we trust a synthetic human more or less than a rogue lieutenant? It's a pretty decent setup, but it ultimately settles for the obvious choice without offering any real insight as to why.

Anyway, their job is to deliver vaccines, and then stop Russian terrorist Victor Koval. Characters speak his name, the same photo of him is blasted across the TVs in the refugee camp, and then they just say his name again, and again, and again. It's so tiring!

But he's the nasty guy, in any event. He's after nukes, like all antagonists in cinema, something the Americans want to avoid. There's also the resistance, led by Sofiya (Emily Beecham), who are also working to stop him, and you might be asking yourself: "why don't the two work together and stop their common enemy?" It's a good question, one the film does indeed answer, but it's an unsatisfying answer. There is potential here for some interesting conflict, but the end product ends up bogged down in this nebulous international politics: nothing is any more complicated than "We good, Russia bad." What is this, "Rocky IV?"

No, it's not. At least that film had Ivan Drago, a masterful villain who you loved to hate. The issue here is how little development is made with him, since by the time he does make an appearance in the last thirty minutes or so, he's just some generic guy, with generic body guards and some generic computers (for those nukes, naturally). His car is at least name brand (it's a Cadillac Escalade, in some not-so-subtle product placement), but whatever. He doesn't matter. He poses no threat to the narrative, and therefor, there is no reason for us to care about him (or what happens to him).

That's not the only crippling issue here: Leo is perhaps the most egregious of all. He's not human, that's a given, but what exactly makes him so special? He's faster, smarter, and more clever than us in the flesh, but the specifics are barely established. We see him taking bullets several times, but that's nothing a quick patch won't fix. Arms dealer, protected by three or four men? No problem, he'll just throw some punches while hardly breaking a sweat. He's not invincible, but since most things in the story are no more dangerous than a bullet or a fist, our heroes are never really in any danger, robbing the narrative of any true suspense.

If you can look past its blind intentions, there are some decent qualities: the action is relatively well staged, cleanly shot and edited so that you always knows who's shooting who. The performances are adequate across the board, and you can just tell that the stars and director Mikael Håfström found something special in the script. Unfortunately, screenwriters Rowan Athale and Rob Yescombe don't know what that is.

The Marksman Review

Liam Neeson self cannibalizes his own career with the release of his latest thriller "The Marksman," which debuts just three months after this last thriller, "Honest Thief," which is probably still in cinamas. Imagine the confused movie goer, ten bucks in hand, mask on face, standing in a socially distanced theater, when they ask for the matinee showing of "... the new Liam Neeson film," and the person at the counter, behind the plastic safety screen, says "... which one?"

Neeson plays Jim, a rancher who's widowed, in debt, and seems to have developed a drinking problem. He also lives on the Mexico-Arizona border, when a mother Rosa (Teresa Ruiz) and son Miguel (Jacob Perez) crash through from the border, which he's conveniently driving off a hangover from the night before. Hot on their trail is the cartel, where talk is talked, shots are shot, but the three escape just long enough for a gunshot to take the poor woman's life. Honestly, I think Jim was more upset about the bullet holes in his truck (he doesn't look like the kind of guy who can pay for automotive insurance).

Before passing, Rosa begs for Jim to take Miguel to her relatives in Chicago, in exchange for "all the money she's got, or something to that effect, which in the world of movie making means "bag full of money." The bankrupted marine (because of course he was in the US Marines) drops the boy off to border patrol, cash in toe, only to grow a guilty conscience when he spots the bad guys waiting outside the station. The men, who hilariously use passports of elderly women, manage to make it past the country line after flashing the officer their tattoos. What happens had the gang not been checked by that one bent deputy is the type of question you don't ask here. Anyway, back to what's left of the plot:  Jim snatches the kid and the duo drive off with his dog to the Windy City, cartel not far behind.

As stated in the ye olde "Laws of Movie Clichés" book: the dog must die, the kid must bond with the grumpy old white guy, and gun store owners ignore background checks. All those things happen here- in fact there are so many stereotypes here, from the dialogue to actual plot points, that the next day you'll be talking about this over Zoom to your coworkers, only to confuse major moments with Clint Eastwoord's "The Mule," or perhaps his "Gran Torino," or if you're really into old action movies, something like Charles Bronson's "Borderline" from 1980. The only difference between those flicks and Neeson's latest is how talkative he is, at least compared to the famously silent aforementioned tough guys; even if he does more here than grunt, what he does say isn't all that remarkable.

That, I suppose, and that his face doesn't look like it's carved from rocks.

I'm conflicted here, since the film depicts all cops as corrupt, the government as useless, and all Mexican citizens as gang members with itchy trigger fingers. Yet it's well-made, a polished piece of entertainment with a more concrete vision than most of Liam's star vehicles. He's given some internal  confliction between "right and wrong" to work through (or at least this movie's version of it), and the relationship between his character and Miguel is almost poignant, even if it is, at the same time, forced to service the script. The commitment from the actors is commendable, despite Juan Pablo Raba's performance as Mauricio, the leader of the cartel, is hammy to the point of parody. Director Robert Lorenz, long-time producer of many Clint Eastwood projects, handles the material with refreshing restraint, and combined with some surprisingly decent cinematography by Mark Patten, "The Marksman" almost escapes its relentlessly fraudulent "American Dream" agenda.

I dunno. I don't think anyone goes to see Liam Neeson, during a pandemic mind you, expecting anything else but approximately two hours of approximate distraction.