FilmBlather.com

"In the church, they say to forgive."
"Forgiveness is between them and God. It's my job to arrange a meeting."

Watching a Tony Scott film usually prompts me to ask what the man has been smoking and where I can get some, but when it works, it works. Man on Fire, Scott's latest attempt to set the world record in jump cuts, has moments of brilliance -- and by that I mean actual, best-of-the-decade-maybe genius -- but is hampered somewhat by a dreary and repetitive middle section. But even when the movie is mining traditional revenge plot territory, the director is always humming along, always experimenting. Many filmmakers, for better or worse, are content to simply let their material sit on the screen; Scott is always, always doing something.

It is true that his style gets to be predictable. Before the film began, I asked myself how long it would take before we saw a patented Tony Scott rock music montage; answer: approximately 15 seconds. One wonders if it takes painstaking effort for him to shoot and edit every scene in such a dynamic, seemingly intricate style, or if, at this point, he just takes a Jackson Pollock approach. But whatever the case may be, there is no doubt that he knows what he's doing, and his style transcends mere visual theatrics: there's a depth to his work here, a richness I couldn't spot in similarly frenetic efforts like Spy Game.

A kidnapping thriller is in trouble if we don't care a whit for the victim; if it's a child, and we would just as soon see him/her die as live, forget it. Man on Fire's most impressive accomplishment is making us like the kid (Dakota Fanning), really like her, and worry about her, and want her to be okay. This justifies the rest of the film -- there's at least theoretically a reason for John Creasy (Denzel Washington) to go on his quest for vigilante justice, and a reason for us to watch.

The lion's share of this deceptively impressive achievement must go to Dakota Fanning, the remarkably talented young actress who is becoming the go-to person when casting directors need a kid who is unobnoxiously cute. She developes a genuine rapport with Washington; there is obviously mutual affection there, but it's not forced on the audience and it never threatens to become syrupy. There's a scene where little Pita catches the usually morose Creasy with a smile on his face; a dreaded cliché, but watch how subtly the two actors play it out.

When Pita gets kidnapped and something goes terribly wrong at the ransom drop, Man on Fire ventures into Punisher territory, with the wounded Creasy swearing revenge on anyone and everyone who was involved in or profited from the kidnapping, as well as, as he put it, anyone who "opens his eyes" at him. Let me tell you: comic books have nothing on the creative ways that Creasy invents to dispatch his enemies. It would be uncouth to say too much, but let's just say one of the particularly gruesome executions prominently involves a pair of rubber gloves.

This part of the film lacks emotional drive -- we can see that the protagonist is very angry and very upset, but there is little motivation for us to accompany him on his vengeance trip (even if we can never take our eyes off the screen). It is also the point at which Scott's overstated directorial method becomes somewhat wearying; his dizzying camerawork is more difficult to endure when deployed on behalf of ultraviolence. I couldn't help but think the film would have been more interesting -- if more conventional -- if Creasy was trying to rescue Pita rather than avenge her death.

Fortunately, the midsection is bookended by an incredible first act and a moving, unconventional coda. The former triggered vague glimmers of hope for another "Masterpiece" rating, in the quiet, masterful way it builds tension while establishing a convincing relationship between Creasy and Pita. The latter, though hobbled by a pair of useless title cards, is unexpected and haunting, pulled off with admirable restraint (!) by Scott and benefitting once again from the exceedingly capable cast.

Oh yeah: the subtitles. They aren't even subtitles... titles, more like. At first, they simply translate certain words spoken in Spanish, but then develop an ebb and flow of their own, translating English into English, changing sizes, underscoring certain words. People are complaining about them already, claiming that they are a condescending way for Scott to make sure we don't miss what's really, really important. To me, they were more punctuational than expository, and I enjoyed the weirdness. It seemed to fit.