Blood Father

August 12, 2016 by  
Filed under Brian, Reviews

Starring: Mel Gibson, Erin Moriarty, Diego Luna
Directed by: Jean-François Richet (“Assault on Precinct 13” [2005])
Written by: Peter Craig (“The Town”) and Andrea Berloff (“Straight Outta Compton”)

Setting aside for just a moment the strange and harrowing ways in which it happened, it remains something of a distinctly American cinematic tragedy that, beginning in 2006, the world lost anywhere from 4-10 years of potentially prime work from Mel Gibson, as big and exciting a movie star as ever there was. To date, comeback bids have (understandably) skewed dark, alternately recasting the twinkling-eyed, roguish hero of “Maverick” (man, remember “Maverick?!”) as a criminal (“Get the Gringo,” “Machete Kills,” “The Expendables 3”), a depressive alcoholic (“The Beaver”), or a man on a full-tilt, burn-the-world-down revenge-bender (“Edge of Darkness”).

Jean-François Richet’s “Blood Father” — based on co-screenwriter Peter Craig’s eponymous novel (which, in a striking bit of coincidence, was published less than five months before the infamous Malibu DUI arrest that more-or-less started this whole thing) — efficiently combo-wraps all three in the personage of John Link (Mel Gibson), a gruff, buff, bored ex-con and former Hell’s Angel who dutifully attends AA meetings and maintains his parole terms in the meager hopes of living out his remaining years on the outside. This middling goal is put into sudden and significant jeopardy, however, by a single, last-resort phone call from Link’s estranged and oft-drugged-up daughter Lydia (Erin Moriarty): Bad, bad dudes are after her for shooting her badder-dude, cartel-drug-runner boyfriend, and she needs a few grand to get lost. Unsure what to believe, he, nonetheless, scoops her up without hesitation — but when said dudes bring the hunt to his doorstep, Link fights back, old habits and reptilian brain function are dusted off, and the chase is on.

The driving premise and structure here aren’t especially new: It’s the same proven sensitive-and-charismatic-’90s-actor-turned-grizzled-vengeance-and-violence-machine formula that these days has “Field of Dreams”‘s Ray Kinsella slamming heads in car doors, say, or Oskar Schindler ramming faces with fire extinguishers. Movies, though, are so very often less about the “what” than the “how,” and it’s the “how” here that works — and works well. Very well, in fact.

I never saw “Edge of Darkness,” or Gibson’s turns in the “Expendables” or “Machete” franchises. The last time I saw the erstwhile Max Rockatansky in a theatrically released film, in fact, was 2011. But “The Beaver,” frankly, didn’t prepare me for “Blood Father,” one of the most unexpectedly kinetic, entertaining, limbically thrilling small action films I’ve seen in a long while. The action is sudden, hard, and impactful, the sort that raises eyebrows, widens eyes, crams your mouth into a tight, silent little “O.” The dialogue is clever, laced with satire, and sharply crafted, but not too much so; in spots, appropriately, it’s lightly reminiscent of Shane Black (which is almost always a good thing, in my book). It’s something akin to getting slammed about in the backseat of a leather-seated, steel-backed muscle car, and Gibson and Richel have a firm grip on the wheel. As Link, Gibson is in fine form: An introductory monologue feels a hair rushed or movie-ish, but thereafter he’s flawless. Regret; warmth; weariness; cockeyed humor; stubborn intensity; that familiar, mercurial spark — these pour forth in equal measure as he flits and swirls from one to the other as organically as ever, as organically as anyone ever has. Indeed, the film is bolstered by able, full performances: William H. Macy as a hoot of an AA sponsor, Michael Parks as a thinning but menacing former colleague. Erin Moriarty acquits herself well as Link’s troubled daughter, and provides an effective energetic and emotional counterpoint to Gibson’s heavy, leathered growl. The film, though, is Gibson’s to carry — and carry it he does.

Am I pushing the point here? Writing emotionally? Maybe. I mean, no: I genuinely think Gibson is excellent as Link; he brings to it what few, if any, could. But there’s something else at play. “Blood Father,” the first Gibson-led piece I’ve seen in a half-decade, both opens and salves a wound I’d long been burying, perhaps somewhat subconsciously: I, as a moviegoer, as an audience member, as a ’90s kid, have missed Mel Gibson. A lot.

In an era in which critics and commenters have lamented that the old-guard Movie Star is dead, it’s significant to be reminded what they look(ed) like. Gibson’s performance is great, but even more refreshing is the experience of being back in a story he’s leading me on, with all the quicksilver confidence, charisma, vulnerability, and impishness I remember so very well and so fondly. And it makes me happy, but sad, as well. As Link (and Gibson) intones, frankly and not-un-self-consciously, hands fidgeting with what appears to be a sobriety coin, during that opening AA monologue: “I did a lot of damage. Lost a lot of people along the way. … But you can’t be a prick all your life and then just say, ‘Never mind.’ You know. I can’t fix everything I broke. All I can do is not drink. So I won’t do that today.”

There’s a seeming mea culpa element to almost every role Gibson has played since 2006. By design, surely. He plays broken men, damaged men, “bad” men. In some ways, he always has, but it’s different now. Gone are the romantic leads, the lightheartedness. Gone are the “good guys with a little bit of damage in ’em, just enough to be fun.” “Blood Father,” at least, casts him as the antipode: “Fuck-up with a sliver of hope, looking for redemption.” “What Women Want” and “Bird on a Wire” seem far, far away.

I truly, truly don’t mean to minimize the pain that was caused by the real-world actions of Gibson the man. I truly do not. I hope it doesn’t seem like I’m doing so, and if it does, I’m sorry. It’s not at all my intention. Hurt is hurt is hurt; it should not be ignored or diminished. Nor do I mean to attempt to pass judgment in any way on a man I’ve never met. God help any of us who is judged publicly and/or primarily by anything but our best days. And even then. Certainly, like it or not, Gibson is giving it another shot: “The Professor and the Madman” casts him opposite Sean Penn in a long-gestating project based on a book subtitled “A Tale of Murder, Insanity and the Making of the Oxford English Dictionary.” The “Apocalypto” helmer is back in the chair for the intriguing-looking “Hacksaw Ridge,” though the trailer gives him the Affleck treatment, eschewing his name in favor of “From the Academy-Award Winning Director of Braveheart.”

It’s been a long time. There are questions, and the easy answers aren’t easy.

All I know is I’ve missed Mel Gibson, the movie star, and “Blood Father” gave him back to me, for a short while. Thank you.


September 19, 2014 by  
Filed under Kiko, Reviews

Starring: Justin Long, Michael Parks, Hayley Joel Osment
Directed by: Kevin Smith (“Red State”)
Written by: Kevin Smith (“Red State”)

After breaking into the independent film scene with “Clerks” in 1994 and developing a strong cult following with other projects like “Mallrats,” “Chasing Amy” and “Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back,” Smith, in recent years, has decided to switch gears and give audiences a peak into the more sinister sections of his creative mind. He started in 2011 with “Red State,” an ultra-violent film featuring a group of religious fundamentalists who abduct a trio of teenage boys and hold them prisoner in their church. While the movie was something completely different than he had ever tried before, the controversial storyline of the horror/action flick far outweighed Smith’s execution. The setback, however, hasn’t stopped him from continuing down this unfamiliar path for his next movie “Tusk,” an attempt at dark horror comedy that illustrates Smith’s total ignorance when it comes to separating shock value and humor. ”Tusk” would’ve been a barrel-full of laughs if it wasn’t so disturbing.

In “Tusk,” Justin Long (“Drag Me to Hell”) stars as Wallace Bryton, an obnoxious podcaster who, along with his sidekick Teddy Craft (Hayley Joel Osment), co-hosts a popular internet show called the “Not See Party,” wherein Wallace interviews (and at times exploits) interesting guests and then returns to the studio to share his experience with Teddy on the web. When an upcoming guest kills himself before Wallace can conduct his interview, Wallace is forced to find a replacement interviewee on short notice. When he stumbles upon a flyer from a man named Howard Howe (Michael Parks), who promises loads of fascinating stories to share with him, Wallace takes him up on the offer.

It turns out Howard is a maniac (think Buffalo Bill from “The Silence of the Lambs” meets Dr. Moreau) and before he knows it, Wallace is facing a situation many would consider worse than death. Without giving too much of the reveal away, let’s just say Howard has a sick fascination with walruses, a talent with the stitch, and a total disregard for human life. The twisted mess Howard creates isn’t the type of image you can easily scrub from your mind.

Compared by some as the second coming of a movie like the unfairly-condemned 2009 horror film “The Human Centipede,” which repulsed even audiences who didn’t actually see it, “Tusk” could have played out its own nightmarish scenario in the same vein as “Centipede” and gotten away with simply being an unsettling film to watch. There is nothing funny about “Centipede,” and it’s clear director Tom Six wasn’t playing up the narrative for shits (pun intended) and giggles. With “Tusk,” though, Smith is pushing hard for the extreme grotesqueness of what he puts on the screen to somehow find its way into a whole other genre. Sure, there are hilarious moments in “Tusk” to go along with the stomach-churning ones, but Smith is never really quite sure which are which. Because of that, the film is left to suffer in a sort of tonal limbo.

Where “Tusk” finds most of its footing is in the sharp dialogue Smith delivers in the first half of the film, especially with Parks’ insane character interacting with Long’s insufferable one. It’s like watching a spider teasing a helpless fly before it mercilessly bites its head off. That intensity is palpable as are the comedic jabs Smith sprinkles throughout. But once Smith begins to overexaggerate what is already exaggerated and then tries to hammer home a meaningful message, “Tusk” can’t find a way out of its own misery.