ATOMIC BLONDE (2017, David Leitch)
One cool long tracking shot (well, several cool shots with hidden cuts to look like one take) in the middle of a pile of sweaty garbage. That central set piece, though, is quite a doozy. Well choreographed action, terrific physical performance from Theron throughout, and a great sense of escalating tension and pace. Too bad the rest of it is a low-rent wanna-be spy thriller overly satisfied with its own twists.
80s MUSIC! CIGARETTES! PUNCHING! 80s MUSIC! CIGARETTES! PUNCHING! 80s MUSIC! CIGARETTES! GUNS! 80s MUSIC! CIGARETTES! CARS! Does that sound fun for 15 minutes? It is. Does that sound fun for 115 minutes? Didn’t think so.
Major spoilers here, so turn away if you haven’t seen this film and still want to, with a blank slate. If you look closely (and it’s hard not to, since the camera is right up the butt), Theron’s character is smoking American Spirits in one first-act scene. Looks like a prop mistake, but it turns out it’s a subtle clue that she’s actually an American spy (working for a sleepwalking John Goodman, even more checked out than he was in THE GAMBLER) playing double agent for the Russians playing triple agent for the Brits. But even if that’s a clue, why would a supposedly British agent under cover as a British lawyer be smoking American cigarettes? Too clever for its own good.
Somehow James McAvoy undoes the good will he generated with his first ever good performance in SPLIT, here just coasting on misperceived charm and a furry jacket. Sofia Boutella thinks she’s in a drama, and maybe she should have been, but this superficial action movie doesn’t have the brains of MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE or SPY GAME nor does it have the diesel-fueled kick-ass of Leitch’s previous JOHN WICK. It’s just a few loud New Order songs, a great actress trying her best to elevate trashy material, and a lot of work.