Hey, everyone. "Moriarty" here with some Rumblings From The Lab.
I missed about 40 opportunities to see this one, thanks to the horrific month of scheduling I just survived. Sorry I did, too. Despite the nine different trailers that never quite managed to figure out how to sell the film, I wanted to check out the car chase and see if anything else sparked in it. Of course, according to Beaks, maybe I was the lucky one...
THE ITALIAN JOB (d. F. Gary Gray, w. Donna Powers & Wayne Powers)
For the quick answer to miffed film buffs as to why this remake exists, let’s get this straight: it’s the cars, baby! Mini-Coopers are back. I know this because, in the last year, three hipsters in my apartment complex have bought one of these Matchbox-sized vehicles, while they’ve become as ubiquitous in the L.A. traffic landscape as their automotive opposite, the Hummer. But they’re not nearly as obnoxious as those freeway cloggers; in fact, they’re kinda charming. Though they’re probably the least practical primary car outside of the VW Beetle, they’re just so *veddy* British in all the right ways
What’s unfortunate is that this newfangled run-through of THE ITALIAN JOB is so Hollywood in all the wrong ways. Working from a bland, bloodless script that seems to take pride in its lack of invention, F. Gary Gray has nonetheless constructed a good looking heist flick that tries for low-key ebullience. But the material quickly lets him down, causing his film to fall into a coma after its elegant opening credits from which it sluggishly awakens in the last twenty minutes for what sadly amounts to a ticking off of the greatest hits from the trailer and television spots. Normally, films like this are sure to leave at least one or two money shots hidden from public view until after opening weekend, but THE ITALIAN JOB has blown its load. There really is nothing to see here.
Unlike Paramount’s very good 2002 contribution to the post-Memorial Day box office derby, THE SUM OF ALL FEARS (loathed by techno-fetishist Clancy fans the world over for having the temerity to cast Ben Affleck, change the bad guys from Arabs to Nazis, and elide the book’s torrid sex scene between a stark naked Jack Ryan and a fully armed F-117A Nighthawk), THE ITALIAN JOB suffers from a stubborn lack of ambition, desiring only to go about its mediocre way until it “wows” the audience with its nifty finale. Hollywood has a history of making these somnambulant spectacles work, but they generally require a magnetic leading man to pass muster. Filling in for the always-watchable Michael Caine (for the record, he becomes “morbidly” watchable in dreck like ON DEADLY GROUND and JAWS THE REVENGE), Mark Wahlberg is a charisma vacuum, making this the second time in a row the likeably soft-spoken actor has been cast way beyond his seductive potential as a fill-in for a legendary movie star (he was the anti-Cary Grant in that CHARADE remake that shall not be named). Wahlberg’s Charlie Croker is a dead-behind-the-eyes thief whose loyalty to his father-figure/mentor, John Bridger (Donald Sutherland), seems more like a relationship of clingy dependency. Even after they pulls off the opening heist, and the gang commends Charlie on his brilliant plan, it comes off like everyone is being nice to the slow kid after they’ve performed countless revisions on his original plan to knock over a 7-Eleven. This Charlie Croker just doesn’t have the clever glint of his Anglo ancestor, nor does he possess the necessary gravity to quarterback a team of master criminals.
Though Wahlberg’s lack of authority in the role is troubling, particularly as he goes about rounding up the boys for revenge after being betrayed by their weasely co-conspirator, Steve Frezelli (a predictably preoccupied Edward Norton, who was forced into this role after a longstanding contract dispute with Paramount), the rest of the cast is pretty game. Charlize Theron is suitably smart and sexy as Bridger’s daughter, Stella, who’s now a safe-cracker working for the good guys as a security consultant. An undeniably attractive woman, Theron continually sets herself apart from most of the leading lady competition by virtue of her sassy energy and cocksure intelligence, and she acquits herself nicely here despite being saddled with some horrible banter. (“What’s your name,” asks one would-be lothario. “Ham and Cheese,” replies Theron, handing the guy his lunch. Wah-wah-wah!) Seth Green is also in fine form as socially challenged hacker extraordinaire Lyle who claims he invented Napster (which prompts an obvious, but very funny cameo in the early going), but the most enjoyable moments are provided by Mos Def and Jason Statham as, respectively, partially deaf demolitions expert Left Ear and ladies’ man getaway driver Handsome Rob. Had the filmmakers allowed room for a little improvisation, Statham and Mos Def might’ve been able to liven up this resolutely stale material. Meanwhile, Benny Hill is terribly missed.
Clearly, THE ITALIAN JOB is straining for OCEAN’S 11 (2001) coolness, which, in turn, was harkening back to the uber-cool of the Rat Pack. Soderbergh’s film got by (barely) because it didn’t try to imitate the boozy decadence that made its predecessor a cult classic. But Gray’s film nakedly aspires to simply cash in on that remake’s individual style, resulting in an unflattering familiarity that deprives the film of any cool points scored by its cast. This probably *shouldn’t* be a knock on Gray; it’s not hard to believe that he’s simply serving the studio’s commercial dictates, and, to that end, he keeps the limp plot moving along. When it’s time to deliver the action, he gets the job done. The climactic heist is handled well in every aspect; it’s just a shame that we’ve seen it already.
Finally, it comes down to those teensy Mini-Coopers, and, appropriately, it’s the machines that breathe life into this otherwise mechanical picture. It’s a blast to watch them zooming around the concrete L.A. River, particularly in the pre-heist trial run, where the viewer really gets a sense of the vehicles’ unique handling. Like all great action movies, it makes you want to go out and play stunt driver (though common sense and self-preservation instincts preclude such activity, or, at least, they should). Too bad the rest of the film makes you wish you were in the other adjacent theater watching FINDING NEMO.
Faithfully submitted,
Mr. Beaks
Thanks, buddy. Looks like it’s FINDING NEMO, FINDING NEMO, and then maybe FINDING NEMO again for me this weekend, then.
"Moriarty" out.
