By Amy Nicholson
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Michael Atkinson
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Abby Garnett
By Amy Nicholson
By Alan Scherstuhl
Arnold Schwarzenegger's name is only about one-seventh the font size of the title on the poster of Sabotage (formerly Breacher, formerly Ten), his third attempt -- after the full-auto Western The Last Stand and the goofy Stallone-co-headlined prison-break joint Escape Plan -- in fourteen months at a post-gubernatorial comeback. A dirty half-dozen of his co-stars get equal-font-size, name-above-title status, too. Harold Perrineau, from Romeo + Juliet, the Matrix sequels and LOST, has more lines than several of those above-the-line cast members; in fact, he's the man charged with informing us that Schwarzenegger's character, veteran Drug Enforcement Administration agent John "Breacher" Wharton, is "a drug-war god." Still Perrineau's name is buried in the credits. He should fire his agent.
The point is, this isn't a Schwarzenegger solo vehicle. It's a bloody-minded, testosterone-soaked team movie wherein Arnold is merely the Alpha Prime among a pack of Alphas getting picked off one by one -- just like he was in Predator 27 years ago, when he was only about forty. (Caught it on the Spike network lately? It holds up.) Besides Sam Worthington, Joe Manganiello, Terrence Howard and Josh Holloway, this neck-tatted band of brothers -- an elite DEA undercover squad and SWAT team who all have G.I. Joe-style nicknames like "Monster" and "Pyro" -- features Mireille Enos as a drug-addled alpha female, easily the baddest of the bunch.
Naturally, her job is to infiltrate cartels by posing as a whore. In the crisply executed drug-raid-or-is-it? that opens the movie, the sleazo she's distracting refuses the condom she offers him, saying he wants her "raw." So maybe we cheer a little louder forty seconds later when she disarms and kills him with his own pistol, then vaults over a balcony to meet the DEA battlewagon that's just crashed through the front gate, quick-changes her cocktail dress for fatigues and body armor, and rejoins the fray -- all after snorting a line of dodgy coke.
So far, so great.
SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Sabotage is vulgar. It's violent. It's profane. It's preposterous. It's deeply irresponsible and impossible to defend rationally. Q: Is it the most amusing film the Austrian Oak has been a part of since the nuclear terrorism comedy True Lies, twenty years, two terms in office and several flops ago? A: Pretty much.
This is the disreputable, even disgusting diversion the Expendables pictures should've been. Following a decade and change of overpixelated, PG-13-rated, danger-free blockbusters wrapped in spandex and 3D glasses or else marred by the wide-area excitement-negation field known as Vin Diesel, Sabotage, for all its missteps, still goes down like a belt of bourbon after years of sipping Diet Pepsi.
For this we must thank co-writer and director David Ayer. He wrote Training Day, as will no doubt be inscribed on his tombstone. That crooked-cop flick -- a sort of buddy movie in reverse -- started off even stronger and took longer to go off the rails than Sabotage ultimately does. More recently, Ayer wrote and directed the experimental beat-cop drama End of Watch. (He also penned the first of the Fast and Furiouses before leaving that wheel-spinning, inexplicably long-lived franchise in lesser hands.)
Sabotage dials back End of Watch's headache-inducing handheld digital-video aesthetic one notch, but remains firmly rooted in the amoral cop milieu Ayer understands so well (film bleu?). That pervasive grime overpowers any residual sense of what a Schwarzenegger picture might be now; this film could and would exist without him. Perhaps for that reason, the gray-streaked governator's acting is arguably better than it's ever been. He seems like a human being here, albeit an unfathomable one. (It's the first picture since the '70s documentary Pumping Iron where we actually see him lifting weights to maintain that still-hulking frame.) With his ska-band hairdo and his dye job and his stogies, he looks like he smells horrid. "Sweat, bad breath, everything!" as the hopelessly outmatched Terminator-fighter Kyle Reese said, once upon a time.
Miraculously, Sabotage packs surprises, plural, that its marketing campaign has somehow permitted to go unspoiled. So allow me spoil the most notable of them now: In a movie crowded with burly dudes sporting there-oughta-be-a-law facial hair, the most intriguing, fully realized characters? The women. By a lot.
Besides Enos's nervy performance as that unstable, thrill-seeking narc, we have Olivia Williams -- gentle Miss Cross from Rushmore! -- all but unrecognizable in her butch haircut and questionable Georgia accent as the detective investigating the increasingly elaborate murders of Wharton's agents on her turf. The first guy offed, Max Martini -- one of the busiest cop-soldier That Guys in film and TV nowadays -- gets locked in his mobile home and stranded on train tracks. It feels more like a 007 deathtrap than something that belongs in Ayer's grim world. Williams's Detective Caroline Brentwood -- no badass nickname for her, sadly, as she's just a local cop -- is tough, she's capable, she's horny. She's the only person we can possibly root for. She is, in other words, an action hero.
Also, she's got her hands full. Who's hunting these elite cops? Who could be fearsome enough to make them afraid? How could the DEA ever keep an agent with a history as tragic and horrible as Wharton's (it's eventually revealed) in the field in the first place?
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