Spy is built on a very cool idea. The Melissa McCarthy vehicle casts the terrific comedienne, at the height of her career, in the last role you’d think to put her in: ass-kicking, globe-trotting super spy (Jean Bond, if you will). For the most part, it succeeds, revitalizing the endlessly revisited 007 parody with some snappy comedy, an extremely compatible ensemble, and some genuine surprises that keep things moving at a speedy clip. Its biggest weakness, unfortunately, is pervading, and is one of the most infuriating clichés in modern comedy. I’ll get to that in a minute. (You’ll just have to wait a little longer and read through the rest of my review to find out what it is, Agent Whatsyername. Don’t look down…unless you enjoy the sight of sharks with freakin’ laser beams attached to their heads! Muahahahaha!!!)
Ahem. Anyway, Spy begins with McCarthy playing Susan Cooper, a CIA desk analyst who feeds remote assistance to super-suave field operative Bradley Fine (Jude Law, whose unrealized dreams of playing Bond are semi-realized here). Fine’s on a mission that goes terribly wrong when he accidentally shoots a baddie in the head while interrogating him, a shocking moment that proudly announces the movie as a full-on spoof. The bungled assignment leaves the CIA in a tight spot: the new big bad, an obnoxiously posh Brit named Rayna (Rose Byrne), has revealed that she knows the identities of every active CIA field operative, making she and her flock of henchmen virtually impossible to sneak up on.
Left without any options, CIA boss Elaine Crocker (Allison Janney) sends mousy Susan out into the field to track Rayna (the only person in the world who knows the secret location of a nuclear bomb) from afar and report any activity. Naturally, Susan disregards the “from afar” part and mixes it up with Rayna and her musclebound goons across Paris, Rome, and Budapest. She’s receives help from her very own earpiece analyst, played by an endearingly klutzy Miranda Hart (she and McCarthy’s sizable height difference is a nice visual gag). As a bonus, the agency sends a handsy Italian Lothario named Aldo (Peter Serafinowicz) to aid Susan, though he only seems interested in caressing her bosom.
Susan’s efforts to nab Rayna get dicey when she’s forced to go undercover and act as the bitchy Brit’s personal bodyguard. Making things worse in a hilarious way is Jason Statham, playing a cocky rogue agent with a long list of dubious war stories. He’s all bark and no bite, and his sloppiness only gets in the way of Susan’s mission, as she’s constantly having to save his ass instead of focusing on the mission at hand.
Director Paul Feig is smart to allow McCarthy to explore her range. Her comedic timing and delivery is world-class (she gives Samuel L. Jackson a run for his money when it comes to cursing people out), but she’s got dramatic chops as well, and the movie’s got enough serious beats in it (all of which McCarthy carries on her shoulders) to keep us invested in the story and the characters’ fates.
The ensemble on display perhaps isn’t the most comedically talented when taken on an individual basis, but as a collective they have shockingly effortless chemistry across the board. Statham overachieves in his role as the butterfingered, loudmouth lummox, and is arguably as funny as McCarthy. Bobby Cannavale plays a slick, international mob-boss villain; it’s a small part, but he nevertheless gave me the biggest laugh of the movie in a scene where he’s running towards a helicopter like a frightened school boy, squealing, “Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up!”
The best gags are set up by the inherent humor in the film’s premise. Susan’s rotating undercover identities run the gamut of middle-aged lady archetypes, from “cat lady” to “soccer mom.” In one scene, Susan giggles with excitement as she walks through a test lab full of cool, shiny gadgets she’ll get to use on her mission. To her disappointment, it’s revealed that, due to her being undercover, the only gadgets she’s able to use are disguised as stereotypical “mom products” like tampons and fungal spray.
Okay, time to lay it all out on the table: “You look like” jokes have got to be stopped. Enough already. Literally every mainstream comedy that’s come out in the past 5-7 years is chock full of them, and Spy is no exception. You know what I’m talking about. When Susan’s given a midwest-mom secret identity, she exclaims in disgust, “I look like somebody’s homophobic aunt.” When Rayna sees Susan and her earpiece buddy sitting next to each other, she says “you look like a pair of demented aunts.” When Susan sees Statham’s rogue agent wearing a ridiculous hairpiece and fake mustache as a disguise, she says, “you look like a perverted bus driver.” There are easily 20 or more jokes like this throughout the movie, and I couldn’t help but cringe as they piled up. It’s one of the cheapest trends in comedy today, its creativity level on par with the “yo momma” jokes from that insufferable Wilmer Valderrama MTV show from the mid ’00s.
Aside from only being mildly funny at best, these cheap one-liners actually do real damage to Spy. The movie’s two hours long (which feels pretty bloated for a comedy), and maybe if Feig had cut out a big portion of the mostly disposable schoolyard barbs, the movie maybe could have been cut down to a more appetizing 90-100 minutes. These jokes were a thorn in my side, and I’d be interested to see how the movie would play if Feig would just pluck it out.
Once I calmed down from my “you look like”-induced rage, I was able to clear my head and realize that, in hindsight, I had a really fun time with Spy. While Feig doesn’t reach same level of quality he did with Bridesmaids, he gives McCarthy’s talent the platform it’s deserved for a long time, and she makes the most of it. She’s pretty much irreplaceable in today’s comedy landscape, and this hopefully won’t be the last time we see her excel in a tailor-made starring role.
]]>Sylvester Stallone and his band of aging muscle-buddies probably had a blast making The Expendables 3, the latest by-product of Sly trying to help his pals out with a nice little payday in the twilight of their careers. Audiences get the wrong end of the deal, however, as the film is a messy action schlock that symbolizes the death knell for a franchise that’s worn out its welcome. The shameless appeal of the first Expendables–old action stars from the ’80s and ’90s teaming up to form a middle-aged super team–has long-since lost its sizzle, and Sly knows it: Here, he’s brought in a group of hot young actors into the fold to give the franchise a much-needed shot of vigor, but to no avail. Cursed by its PG-13 rating, The Expendables has lost too much blood (literally) and liveliness.
The film opens with Stallone’s Barney Ross leading his team of globe-trotting, government employed mercenaries (including series vets Dolph Lundgren, Randy Couture, and Jason Statham) on a rescue mission. Doctor Death (Wesley Snipes), a long lost teammate and friend of Barney’s, is being transported on a maximum security locomotive and, using a helicopter, big guns, and bigger balls, the Expendables manage to free the knife-savvy, old-school killer. The sequence pales in comparison to the train action scenes in Skyfall and Fast Five. Hell, even Toy Story 3 puts it to shame. But sadly, despite its mediocrity, the explosive train sequence winds up being the most entertaining set piece in the film. In other words, it’s all downhill from here.
Doctor Death, who’s been imprisoned for 8 years, has a little trouble integrating himself into the group, as all his old teammates (save for Barney) have been replaced. He trades barbs with Statham’s Lee Christmas, boastfully referring to himself as “the knife before Christmas” (hardy-har-har). Snipes’ snappy braggadocio wears thin quickly. No matter, though, because his storyline gets booted to the background for the remainder of the film. Let’s be honest; the writers just needed to get Snipes into the fray somehow so that he could kick and punch and jump off of high things.
Following Doctor Death’s recruitment, the Expendables carry out a routine mission that goes South when Barney spots Conrad Stonebanks (Mel Gibson), an old nemesis he thought dead. Deeming his team too old and beat-up to continue doing the government’s dirty work, Barney disbands them and subs in a younger team of tech-savvy killers played by UFC champ Ronda Rousey, boxing champ Victor Ortiz, and handsome newbies Glen Powell and Kellan Lutz. Call them “Team Viagra”. When the new team flubs their mission and are apprehended by Stonebanks, Barney and the old-fart-ables band together to rescue the young blood.
The film upholds the franchise tradition of delivering a ridiculously beefy cast: series mainstays Terry Crews and Jet Li return; Antonio Banderas pops up in an unintentionally grating role as a chatty, wannabe Expendable; Kelsey Grammar plays a gruff old-timer who helps Barney recruit the kids; Harrison Ford plays Barney’s government boss; and, of course, good ol’ Arnold makes an inexplicable appearance. Grammar brings the film down to earth (in a good way) in his brief appearance, and Gibson exhibits the same entertaining mega-villain gusto he brought to the table in Machete Kills, but no one else impresses.
The series is desperate to create snappy new one-liners like Sly and Ah-nold’s greatest hits (“Get to de choppa!” gets a shout-out), but they’re all duds. What’s worse, each new, lame catchphrase gets repeated for no reason at all. For instance, in an early scene, real-life badass Rousey beats up some D-bags in a club. Upon disposing of the jerks, she looks down and growls “Men” in a faux-feminist scoff. Later in the film, she beats up another jerk, looks down at him, and growls, “MEN”. It’s the same exact joke, repeated in the same context, for no reason. These demonstrations of the law of diminishing returns are actually a good metaphor for the Expendables franchise as a whole.
The charm of the first Expendables was its transparency; the first film was a blatant invitation to indulge in famous tough guys kicking ass and making things go boom. It was uninhibited fun, and the fact that the script was poorly written meant little in the grand scheme of things. It was fetishistic, kill-’em-all ecstasy. Expendables 3 is no fun, with its muted colors and piles of grey rubble adding to the numbing effect of the nonsensical action. Director Patrick Hughes shot most of the film in Bulgaria, and you can tell; the film is meant to take place in several locations across the globe, but none of them look authentic. The locales all sort of mush together, much like how the myriad stars mush together and the endless, forgettable kills mush together. 126 minutes of action movie mush is hard to keep down. More like, “The Indedibles”.