Film Reviews

Nice Guy Denzel Kills in the Cartoonish Equalizer

Before its regular-Joe hero gets bitten by a radioactive equation and becomes the Equalizer, who's sort of the Rain Man of puncturing Russian mobsters' windpipes with corkscrews, Antoine Fuqua's eye-gouging, brain-drilling, crowd-pleasing latest gives you a reel or two to remember what movies felt like back when they were about people. Denzel Washington's Bob McCall toodles about a Home Depot-like store, helping customers, decked out in New Balance shoes and jeans so last-century you'll be looking for pleats. He declaims a term paper's worth of thoughts about The Old Man and the Sea to his prostitute pal (Chloë Grace Moretz) at a greasy spoon. Surprise: The themes he IDs in Hemingway turn out to be the themes of the movie, too. The Equalizer is so dead-set on not playing like some cheapjack TV adaptation that it actually includes a thesis statement.

Moretz's character tells him he has sad eyes, that he looks like he's lost something, but we know that already: Fuqua shows him reading alone, and then contemplating the light through sheet-plastic curtains on a loading dock. Here's a man without a mission.

As luck would have it, just after he tells that prostitute that he's now reading Cervantes, McCall gets some windmills to tilt at — and shoot and gut and let bleed out while delivering hard-ass monologues. Russian pimps rough up his sex-worker friend, so McCall one-man-armies them in a howlingly crazy scene that's mostly too fast to make sense of: He sets his stopwatch, mutters he'll take them down in 18 seconds, and then dispatches each lickety-split.

The contrast between friendly McCall and this murdering savant isn't played for laughs, really, but it is wildly funny. A heartbeat after one bloody triumph, McCall is beaming and sunlit and surrounded by flowers in his big-box store's garden department. It's like the producers decided the reason Larry Crowne bombed was that Tom Hanks never killed every motherfucker in the room. Once the killing starts, Washington still works a few oddball tics, but all the promise of getting to know an interesting character is dashed. What we're left with is increasingly up-sized action.

The Equalizer is gloriously dumb, hilariously violent, even neurotically embarrassed. As Marton Csokas's chief Russian bad guy revenges himself against McCall by strangling a second prostitute, Fuqua frames one shot as the reflection in a mirror, as if this tense, quiet, despicable scene is about something. Later, Fuqua cuts from a close-up of a knife slicing a slab of meat to one of C-notes being shrink-wrapped into plastic bags, which is as succinct an indictment of modern Hollywood as I can imagine. If that's a mea culpa, it doesn't make up for sticking Washington with the old don't-look-back routine as Death Star-sized explosions unleash hell behind him. A better apology for the hackneyed stuff is the surprising stuff, the imaginative and bewildering stuff: McCall getting a crook to talk by cuffing him in a car and pumping the interior with its own exhaust; the drillings and hangings and other mad deaths during the long, climactic stealth battle inside a warehouse-size hardware store.

Fuqua steadily parades his big moments, and the movie works as unhinged spectacle. As a thriller it's less certain. Once he's revealed as an impossibly skilled killer, McCall never seems in danger for a moment. Contrast that to the caution Liam Neeson's Matt Scudder displays in A Walk Among the Tombstones, a film whose New York felt like it might disembowel him at any moment. McCall's Boston is more like a declawed cat he might one day have to put down. Outside the first battle, and a cheat scene in the middle where the editing suggests McCall's in danger when he absolutely isn't, the movie's only tension comes from our wondering when — and in what horrible way — he'll kill the next guy. He spends much of the last 20 minutes in the dark, offing baddies with power tools. It's great if that's what you're into, but is this the best use our culture has for a talent like Denzel Washington?

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Alan Scherstuhl is film editor and writer at Voice Media Group. VMG publications include Denver Westword, Miami New Times, Phoenix New Times, Dallas Observer, Houston Press and New Times Broward-Palm Beach.
Contact: Alan Scherstuhl

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