TROPIC SPROCKETS
The Trip to Ital
Two pop culture-obsessed people are at it again, traversing though Europe in funny voices. This is “The Trip to Italy,” by Michael Winterbottom, a sequel to an earlier “The Trip” where we saw a more hirsute and crestfallen Steve Coogan and a permanently upbeat Rob Brydon, doing versions of themselves.
Here they are in Italy now (Lord Byron territory) dining and chattering away while making fun of Hollywood. The key to the films have always been the easy chemistry that Coogan and Brydon possess, and it is in clear evidence once more.
The duo are now family men, but rather than worry about their families, they ramble on about actors and acting and try to outdo each other. Coogan rolls his eyes while Brydon goes on at length about Christian Bale and Tom Hardy. His favorite impression is Al Pacino.
While Brydon’s voices always seem to just miss, (every voice sounds the same) that adds to the fun. It’s a kick and a holler to watch Coogan’s irritation. The shots of the Italian countryside are nothing less than a visual Pannettone aflame with stars and the appearances of the cuisine are so buttery and sumptuous that all seems to roll and slide off the plate in a salacious salivary 3D.
There are poignant wraiths of mortality throughout. The couple’s journey to the beach on Tuscany where Shelley was roasted on a pyre and his heart (like a galvanic mollusk) was saved and given to Mary.
They journey to Rome and quip by the poet’s grave. There is a wonderfully sneaky shot of Shelley’s Memorial and it’s almost as if the camera were giving a respectful, if covert kiss with some singular and image-hungry eyes in shyness.
Shelley and Byron are thick ghosts and their shade seems to hang everywhere, mixing with talk of Robert De Niro and the ubiquitous Al Pacino to make a new spirit with appendages from an iPhone culture, transmuting into something truly rich and strange. The linen and gray pair also go to the catacombs and are promptly creeped out. The Specter of Death does make a cameo, but his scythe is more of a smile rather than a sharp edge.
Coogan has a son, Joe (Timothy Leach), and Brydon is having an affair with a deck-hand, Lucy (Rosie Fellner). While this might seem Allenesque, it isn’t. The duo seems more at ease retreating into a Hollywood carnival of their own making with a carousel of voices, which is interesting in itself.
Curiously, Steve Coogan emerges as the more confident one. It is he alone who tries to reconnect with his son, while Brydon encloses himself in a stream of silly imitations, whenever the recitation of poetry forces Brydon to give a little of his human self. These touches, akin to drizzles of red and yellow on a slice of fish or beef, make the film.
All in all, “The Trip to Italy” is a fine repast. Predictable at first glance it is, but Coogan and Brydon share enough intimacy under the nonsense, which gives the hilarity a hint of well placed haunt.
The November Man
In Roger Donaldson’s “The November Man,” Pierce Brosnan has a solid outing in the time honored genre of the spy/hit man film. Here Brosnan plays an aging agent and “fixer,” Peter Devereaux. He is sent to keep a watch over things, including the despicable and sadistic Federov (Lazar Ristovski) who has a repulsive past.
When Devereaux’s agent/wife gets shot, Devereaux, understandably has a death wish of sorts. His young disciple, David Mason (Luke Bracey) is working for a rival agency up to no good.
Through the witnessing of his wife’s shooting, Devereaux meets the smoldering beauty, Alice Fournier (Olga Kurylenko), and resolves to help her. Fournier has a personal vendetta against Federov with good reason. Brosnan is a steady as an iron compassionate savage, if that makes sense.
As a parallel to The Bourne films, the action is tense and apprehensive with Devereaux using his James Bond and even Macgyver wiles, usually involving explosives. Brosnan and Bracey deliver the bone crunching goods with some thrilling Saturday matinee chasing. The earnest and surprised Kurylenko does well too, as a smoky mascara femme fatale who is driven to brutally avenge a warlord and sex criminal.
There is also a sinister female killer, Alexa (Amila Terzimehic), who is as scary as Daniel Craig in a bad mood.
The film falters a bit, however, by being conventional. Brosnan does a good job doing his tight and terse act, but his emotions don’t vary much; he is beaten and battered, bruised and wincing throughout.
David Mason, while showing himself a nihilistic prick at the story’s beginning, is neither anti-hero nor angel. With a promising start, his manner never really surprises. He is a bit of a blank slate. A machine in the image of Matt Damon.
After a well done and jumpy prologue of twin father against twin son, the narrative goes through a bit of a checklist routine of bond-able moments (the hunted man, the sultry girl, the evil kingpin etc).
If you are in the mood for a cat-and-mouse thriller that shadow boxes and delivers the punch on time, “The November Man” does well in spite of some gratuitous, slow motion blood gushing. But for the more edgy among us, you will search in vain every nook and cranny from Montenegro to Milan for a more satisfying and ambiguous battle of wills between spy versus spy.
Write Ian at [email protected]
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