Jess Paine
BartoWanted: for crimes against logic
August 4th 2008 02:59
Wanted is the film you get when you write a script in between shots of vodka, casual matches of Russian roulette and taking turns punching each other in the stomach. Only one of those things doesn’t actually happen in the movie, and that’s the Russian roulette, which is remarkable when you consider the director is indeed Russian. Vodka and stomach punching all round. This is big, loud, stupid fantasy escapism that gets away with it because it’s done with commitment and charisma – something big, loud, stupid things from Hollywood typically lack.
James McAvoy plays Wesley Gibson, whose self-loathing voice-over introduces him as a nobody. He carries on his meaningless, repetitive existence, interrupted only by the occasional panic attack, until one fateful trip to the chemist. There he meets, Fox, Angelina Jolie’s alarmingly slender assassin. She’s there to tell him that the father he never knew was in fact a highly skilled hit man, and Wesley has inherited his abilities.
One high speed gun fight/car chase later he has joined The Fraternity, a group of assassin weavers. No, I kid not gentle friend, Assassin Weavers. You see they discovered a secret code in their weavings which was Fate’s way of telling them who to kill. Pretty self-explanatory really. An extended training sequence follows, in which we learn getting punched repeatedly is a viable way to learn combat skills… by osmosis. We also discover the existence of super fast, extra special healing baths that fix all injuries within hours, and coolest of all, how to bend bullets with a flick of the wrist. It’s all based extremely loosely on a comic book, which is to say it has the same name.
The key to the whole thing is they never wink at the camera and mock the enterprise. They just brutally go about their business. McAvoy is strangely refreshing in the geek gone wild role, evolving Wesley’s internal rage into a natural killing machine. Angelina Jolie is gripping, with minimal dialogue, but a lot of attitude. Morgan Freeman is ever so slightly bland as the leader of the pack.
They waste some interesting side characters called The Repairman, The Butcher and The Gunsmith. They’re never developed, instead we get Terrence Stamp appearing out of no where and doing his usual Terrence Stamp dance of grave expressionless-ness. The script writes itself into a corner, and an attack with rats probably marks the tipping point into straight-faced stupid, topped with stupid and some stupid on the side. After that it falls apart.
But until then it’s slick, loud and violent. We get a lot of them these days, but this one has a twist of Russian, and just the vaguest hint of vodka.
James McAvoy plays Wesley Gibson, whose self-loathing voice-over introduces him as a nobody. He carries on his meaningless, repetitive existence, interrupted only by the occasional panic attack, until one fateful trip to the chemist. There he meets, Fox, Angelina Jolie’s alarmingly slender assassin. She’s there to tell him that the father he never knew was in fact a highly skilled hit man, and Wesley has inherited his abilities.
One high speed gun fight/car chase later he has joined The Fraternity, a group of assassin weavers. No, I kid not gentle friend, Assassin Weavers. You see they discovered a secret code in their weavings which was Fate’s way of telling them who to kill. Pretty self-explanatory really. An extended training sequence follows, in which we learn getting punched repeatedly is a viable way to learn combat skills… by osmosis. We also discover the existence of super fast, extra special healing baths that fix all injuries within hours, and coolest of all, how to bend bullets with a flick of the wrist. It’s all based extremely loosely on a comic book, which is to say it has the same name.
The key to the whole thing is they never wink at the camera and mock the enterprise. They just brutally go about their business. McAvoy is strangely refreshing in the geek gone wild role, evolving Wesley’s internal rage into a natural killing machine. Angelina Jolie is gripping, with minimal dialogue, but a lot of attitude. Morgan Freeman is ever so slightly bland as the leader of the pack.
They waste some interesting side characters called The Repairman, The Butcher and The Gunsmith. They’re never developed, instead we get Terrence Stamp appearing out of no where and doing his usual Terrence Stamp dance of grave expressionless-ness. The script writes itself into a corner, and an attack with rats probably marks the tipping point into straight-faced stupid, topped with stupid and some stupid on the side. After that it falls apart.
But until then it’s slick, loud and violent. We get a lot of them these days, but this one has a twist of Russian, and just the vaguest hint of vodka.
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