Man on Fire Review
by Harvey S. Karten (harveycritic AT cs DOT com)April 26th, 2004
MAN ON FIRE
Reviewed by: Harvey S. Karten
Grade: B-
20th Century Fox/Regency
Directed by: Tony Scott
Written by: Brian Helgeland
Cast: Denzel Washington, Dakota Fanning, Marc Anthony, Radha Mitchell, Christopher Walken, Giancarlo Giannini, Rachel Ticotin, Jesus Ochoa, Mickey Rourek
Screened at: Loews 34th St., NYC, 4/24/04
Think of someone you dislike intensely. No, don't pretend you're a saint and wish forgiveness and peace for all. What would you like to do to this person? Nothing wrong with contemplating horrors: As Tony Esposito's friends sing in Frank Loesser's "The Most Happy Fella," "Brother, you can't go to jail for what you're thinking." The vast majority of us thankfully do not commit serious violence even on those we hate, one of the reasons being (I think) that violent movies purge us of the desire for a while until the feeling comes back again. Then we go to another revenge fantasy or shoot some bad guys on the X-box and we're content. We take out our frustrations with the punching bag as well, maybe by jogging, but never not forget the role of films of revenge fantasy. "Kill Bill V. 1 & 2," "Walking Tall," "Mystic River" are popular because through them we sublimate our base desires. We feel better.
The latest of the genre, "Man on Fire," is a double whammy in that it couples vengeance with redemption, focusing on a guy, Creasy (Denzel Washington), who had been on a U.S. Special Forces assassination team, took too many swigs of the bottle, and is now wandering around the Mexican border and beyond with his best buddy and former colleague, Rayburn (Christopher Walken). Resigning himself to never working a decent job again, Creasy is surprised when he passes an interview for the job of bodyguard to little Pita (Dakota Fanning), though he's the sixth applicant to the home of Samuel (Marc Anthony) and Lisa (Radha Mitchell). Brian Helgeland ("Mystic River'), who wrote the melodrama and director Tony Scott hint that Lisa, despite living the good life with her allegedly rich husband, has the immediate hots for Creasy and who can blame her?
At 142 minutes' length, "Man on Fire" could have been divided into two parts like Quentin Tarantino's far superior, more stylized fare, since "Man on Fire" does feel like a pair of films. The opening half, the better one because it boasts some decent dialogue much like "Kill Bill 2," also more effective than its predecessor, Creasy who's in just about every scene and effectively portrayed as a drunk by the marvelous Denzel Washington registers a convincing performance as an alcoholic. He pours a considerable amount of whiskey into the coffee he's having with his friend Rayburn at a caf???. When his prospective employer asks him whether he has any faults, he replies "I drink." Here's a guy looking so hard for redemption that he's willing to risk his new gig by being self-destructively honest.
Imagine the blow to his ego (to say the least) when Pita is kidnaped outside her plush Catholic school and Creasy is left on the pavement a bullet in his chest. (Can't bodyguards afford bulletproof vests?) When the kidnappers fall prey to a bungled ransom delivery, they announce that Pita has been killed which prompts the guilt-ridden Creasy to relieve his sins in a deadly struggle with La Hermanidad, the Brotherhood, a Mexican mafia whose members include quite a few cops and higher-up
apparatchiks.
Where "Kill Bill" is an original, "Man on Fire" is formulaic. Photographer Paul Cameron is virtually a character in the film, with his tricky photography (some would same NYU film student camera moves) including shifts of light and color enhanced by rapid editing from Christian Wagner's clippers. But while the picture has style, including some striking vistas of Mexico City including Chapultepec Park, the Zocalo and an assortment of slums on cobblestone streets, the predictability takes away from Mr. Washington's excellent performance. Dakota Fanning steals every scene in which she appears, the small daughter of a pair of richniks who apparently hasn't a spoiled bone in her body. Lina Wertmuller's favorite actor, Giancarlo Giannini, turns up as a police chief with scarcely an Italian accent, rounding out a movie that's suspenseful, easy to watch, if prolix, and marred by the lack of a true breakthrough vision.
Rated R. 142 minutes.(c) 2004 by Harvey Karten at
Harveycritic@cs.com
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