Creasy (Denzel Washington, as stoic and rigid as ever) is a retired Marine
haunted by his violent past and unable to bring his life together. He
reluctantly accepts a job down in Mexico as a bodyguard to a young girl called
Pita (Dakota Fanning, putting a brake on her newfound smarm). Creasy tries to
keep a professional distance between himself and Pita, but they soon become
friends; Creasy even taking the place of her business-obsessed parents (Radha
Mitchell and Marc Anthony) on occasion. When thugs kidnap Pita, Creasy is
wounded in the firefight to save her, and when he emerges from the hospital
(with help from Christopher Walken), he sets out to kill every last individual
associated with Pita's abduction.
What makes "Man on Fire" (IMDb listing) stick out amongst the recent barrage of revenge films
released these past two weeks is its roots in authenticity. Based on the novel
by A.J. Quinnell (which also spawned a 1987 film of the same title), there is
nothing in the premise of the film that couldn't happen on the crime-infested
streets of Mexico. It's not based on a fanboy's wet dream, like "Kill Bill," nor
is it from a comic book, like "The Punisher." But seeing what aesthetic poison
director Tony Scott has given to "Man on Fire," I see no reason to judge it as
any more credible than the two previously mentioned, considerably better films.
"Fire" is a cartoon, but one that is unbearable to sit through. It features a
side-splittingly funny moral streak, and is ultimately a multi-million dollar
lesson on why some directors shouldn't have complete visual control over their
films.
Tony Scott ("Top Gun," "Spy Game," "The Fan") isn't known for his restraint in
pushing atmosphere and cinematography buttons during his career, but in "Man on
Fire," Scott goes completely bonkers. The film is captured with a relentlessly
zooming, heavily filtered camera, and pieced together with a strobe-like edit
rhythm that is sadly commonplace in all MTV product and commercials that sell
automobiles. Here is a picture that requires audience participation, but Scott's
saturation of style hinders the rah-rah flow of the film's widespread and
exceedingly violent vigilantism. In fact, it's hard to even look at the screen
since Scott has turned his film from a simplistic revenge tale into a
headache-inducing circus of fleeting images and throbbing cuts. It's backed by
pretentious, self-righteous Lisa Gerrardish songs, which provide an ideal
backdrop to the increasingly ludicrous nature of the story and the filmmaking. On top of all this nonsense, the film is padded with a Nerf wall
of pointless religious iconography and bible quoting that should induce Diet
Coke spit-takes in theaters across the globe. It's tough to understand Creasy's
imperative spiritual intentions when Scott takes greater pleasure in arduously
detailing the torturous tactics of his revenge, which include cutting the
fingers off one individual, then sealing his wounds with a car cigarette
lighter, and planting a tiny bomb up a villain's rectum.
Amen?
If you can believe it, even the film's extensive subtitling gets in on the fun:
leaping, exploding, and sneaking around the frame, regardless of if someone is
speaking English (huh?) or Spanish, then evaporating or wiping away from the
screen. When a movie has to resort to mucking with subtitles to make a point,
then you know the film is in trouble
The only element in Scott's favor is his running time. Clocking in at an
extravagant 145 minutes, Scott has time to build the relationship between Creasy
and Pita carefully, a crucial building block that many revenge pictures fail to
pay attention to. The film's first 50 minutes are devoted to how the two
characters learn to communicate with each other, and their blossoming
friendship, which soon slides into a paternal role for Creasy. Though he can't
control himself completely in these sequences either, Scott does dial down the
berserk visual scheme for this section of the material, easily making these
quieter moments the only thing viewable in the entire film.
The rancid frosting on this rotten cake comes at the very end where Scott elects
to dedicate the film to Mexico City, which he calls "a very special place."
Yeah, a special place full of unbridled crime, corrupt cops, kidnappings every
hour, awful traffic, and a complete disregard for any violent act that happens
in a public place. I'll make sure to book passage there as soon as my crazy
pills kick in.
Filmfodder Grade: D-
