1 post tagged “clive owen”
Imagine for a second a Fleming Bond stripped of glamour and sophistication or a Bourne without the plot device. Imagine the tedium of the bland urban greys and cold metallic blues that make up real intelligence work.
Yeah, sounds terrible doesn’t it. But it’s exactly this that makes Tom Twyker’s ‘The International’ such a draw. The plot is Zeitgeist reality, picking at the nervous tension pervading modern society, surrounding the banking institutions and their less than scrupulous dealings.
In this chilling reality we have grizzled Interpol Agent, Louis Salinger (Clive Owen) and his investigation into the illegal dealings of the IBBC (an obvious reference to the BCCI scandal of the late 90s), believed to be brokering arms deals.
After losing a colleague and a potential informant to the bank’s operatives and stymied by the beauracry of his position, Salinger breaks with protocol and heads off on a country spanning mission to thwart their plans.
Owen was never right for Bond. Flatfooted and far too versatile an actor for glossy vacuity, here he seems to relish the irony of an agent with limited powers yet driven by a mania that has caused him trouble in the past. He’s blandly professional; charming in a blunt, fragile way and brings the right side of vulnerability to the superlative action sequences.
Speaking of action, it’s not such a great surprise Twyker’s at the helm. Similarly mismatched for commercial cinema, he brings a perfect blend of clinical kineticism to the edit. There’s a whiff of the choking paranoia of 70s Pakula and the horrible normalcy of Pollack’s Three Days of the Condor. And while his chilly direction means the film sags once the foot comes off the gas, it’s when it’s on that this film really bucks.
Astonishing is one word to describe some of the action in this film; the film evincing an impressive precision in a world of whirligig camera work and choppy editing. He’s one of very few Anti-Bays, and for that alone he should be commended.
In fact it’s rare to see action that actually articulates rather than just entertains. Each location of the film, whether it’s the blank, drizzle of a car park, the stark professionalism of a hit in a Milan square, or the channels of the NY streets expresses the same oppressive atmosphere evident in Twyker’s direction. And in the Guggenheim, Twyker has found a perfect location for a gunfight.
The curving architecture of the building, embracing, yet constricting. Action as expression of mood. Everything from the pure white of its walls, punctured by bullets; the ant-like people streaming, screaming from the floors below as the action takes place on the floors above; assassins mixing in with the confusion of fragmented and reflected images from the video installations and shiny panels lining the walls, screams tour de force filmmaking.
It’s little surprise really when you consider the influence of Krzysztof Kieslowski on Twyker, a similarly dynamic, humanistic director. The ending of the film resonates with his themes, especially moral dilemma and coincidence. Less deus ex machina, more cruel play of fate that gives us a happy ending while twisting the knife even more as the credits roll.
