Guy Ritchie’s THE MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E.: A Stiff Yet Glib Exercise

Opening today at a multiplex near you:

THE MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E. (Dir. Guy Ritchie, 2015)

Guy Ritchie’s update of the ‘60s spy television series The Man From U.N.C.L.E. may be his best looking, and most stylish film, but sadly it may be his least interesting.

Now, I may be experiencing a form of formula fatigue after a summer of being bombarded by a bunch of big ass blockbuster wannabes, but this cold war action thriller struck me as so rote, and by-the-numbers that I almost nodded off a few times.

The duo of Henry Cavill (MAN OF STEEL) and Armie Hammer (LONE RANGER), as art thief/CIA Napoleon Solo and KGB agent Illya Kuryaki, the iconic roles previously played by Robert Vaughn and David McCallum, goes through the predictable motions: you know, at first they hate each other, then they build a grudging respect, etc.

The plot, which has them reluctantly paired together to stop an evil organization from building a nuclear bomb that could cause the “end of the world, that kind of thing” as one of the not so sharp lines in the screenplay by Ritchie and frequent collaborator Lionel Wigram puts it, is uninspired, tired stuff. It says a lot that Paul Feig’s Melissa McCarthy vehicle SPY from earlier this summer had a more involving narrative.

Alicia Vikander, an actress who is having a breakthrough year via major roles in EX MACHINA, TESTAMENT OF YOUTH, and this, plays Gaby Teller, the daughter of a German scientist who was kidnapped by the bad guys. Gaby joins Napoleon and Illya on their mission, travelling with them to Rome where we find out who the film’s villain is: the glamorous blonde bombshell arms dealer Victoria Vinciguerra (Elizabeth Debicki).

Some of the set-pieces pop – particularly a high speed chase involving a dune buggy, a jeep, and a motorcycle that slickly incorporates split screens – but most are workmanlike and without much momentum. It’s a shame that this project, that was in development hell since the early ‘90s, turned out to be such an unremarkable piece of product. And it’s one that’s stiff yet glib at the same time.

It’s also a bit amusing, more amusing than the actual material here, that almost everybody is playing another nationality. Cavill is British playing an American. Hammer is American playing a Russian. Vikander is British playing a German. Debicki is Australian playing an Italian. The British Jarred Harris, who plays Cavill’s CIA boss, affects an American accent that sounds like he’s imitating Ed Asner. When Hugh Grant popped up as the head of U.N.C.L.E. (which, by the way, stands for United Network Command for Law and Enforcement), I was just happy that he was speaking with his real voice.

Ritchie’s reboot, re-imaging, re-whatever THE MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E. isn’t without its charms – they are just in small supply. Cavill’s Solo exudes charisma, and gives us a little taste of what his Clark Kent could be like, but he’s crudely offset by the humorlessness of Hammer’s take on Illya. Vikander adds a nice splash of color to the proceedings, but mainly because of her mod dresses. Still, a bit where she dances drunk in a hotel room behind Hammer’s back is adorable.

So that’s another entry in this year’s summer cinema sweepstakes – a fairly forgettable re-branding of an old TV show. Fall can’t come soon enough.

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High Concept Holmes

SHERLOCK HOLMES (Dir. Guy Ritchie, 2009)

The recreation of the career of Robert Downey Jr. as a bankable action hero continues with this expensive explosive epic that re-casts Arthur Conan Doyle's classic character as, well, a bankable action hero.

It's a conceit that works grandly for considerable chunks of Guy Ritchie's period production, but an unfortunate feeling remains that such a literary icon as Sherlock Holmes shouldn't be shoehorned into James Bondian conventions or Indiana Jones-ish set-piece progressions. The thinking behind this is understandable (or elementary) - who wants to see stiff sitting room scenes filled with exposition? Audiences want high octane action and that's what they're going to get here. Holmes was a martial arts master in Doyle's books and short stories so that's an element Ritchie and Downey Jr. run with. Through stylized breakdowns of his fighting strategies we get into Holmes' head blow by blow. However the attempts to get into his head clue by clue are less successful. 

The movie begins with Holmes and trusty sidekick Watson (Jude Law) preventing a human sacrifice by the dark treacherous Lord Blackwood (Mark Strong). Though Blackwood is jailed and sentenced to death, he still inspires fear with threatening prophecies of terror that he'll orchestrate from beyond the grave. 

Three days after he's hanged and pronounced dead by Watson, he appears to have torn through the walls of his tomb and is back among the living. 

Holmes is, of course, back on his trail with distractions such as Rachel McAdams as the infamous Irene Adler and Watson's bromance blocking bride to be (Kelly Reilly) muddying up the waters. Muddy is apt for it's a muddled mess of a mystery - a fast paced muddle, but a muddle all the same. 

For most moviegoers it won't matter as there is fun to be had with Downey Jr.'s almost contagious satisfied smirk of a performance. His accent is much the same as it was in CHAPLIN (that is - not very convincing but still adequate) and his jovial demeanor does much to carry the film through dark passages dealing with black magic and a perplexing plot to overthrow Parliament. 

Law doesn't make much of an impression as he just seems to be along for the ride and his fiancée subplot could be dropped completely with no complaints. Strong's steely faced Blackwood is a worthy adversary, but his evil plans fail to fascinate making the murky mechanics of the third act bog down the proceedings. 

Its ending obviously broadcasts that SHERLOCK HOLMES wants to be the first of a franchise, club sandwiched between IRONMAN efforts, primed for event movie seasons but I pray that it's a one off. 

Downey Jr. is one of the most capable and interesting actors working today, but I fear his hipster appeal will make for major miscasting in future famous icon reboots: Robert Downey Jr. as Tarzan/The Shadow/Buck Rogers/etc. Maybe I'm being too cynical, but as much as I enjoyed particular parts of this film and would like to write it off as pure escapism, I couldn't quite escape the notion that it's a glorified waste.

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