The period spy thriller “The Man From U.N.C.L.E.” is only
intermittently engaging and amusing, and those portions of the movie that
succeed are also frustrating. Because they’re cushioned by enervated,
conceptually befuddled, and sometimes outright indifferent stuff.
Adapted from the genuine-article 1960s television series,
which paired steely, no-nonsense, mid-Atlantic-accented veteran spy Napoleon
Solo with younger slightly petulant Russian moptop Ilya Kuryakin,
co-writer/director Guy Ritchie’s film situates itself in an early Cold War
wherein J.F.K. is still giving inspiring speeches. This movie’s Solo (Henry
Cavill) struts his bespoke-suited self right into East Berlin to spirit out
feisty femme auto mechanic Gaby (Alicia Vikander), whose dad is an A-bomb
expert now working, apparently against his will with some neo-fascist Italian
shipping magnates out to spread nuke terror. Solo’s here working for the
C.I.A.; hot on his trail is strong-jawed, Terminator-strong Kuryakin (Armie
Hammer). A chase ensues with all three parties ducking each other and Kuryakin
actually ripping the trunk door off of one of the cars involved. Solo and Gaby
cross the Berlin Wall by means of a sort of zipline; imagine Solo’s surprise
when he soon learns that for his next mission he has to collaborate with the
KGB agent who almost had him for dinner.
A gruff Agency honcho Jared Harris, approximating a Texan
accent, delivers the news and he and his KGB counterpart debrief the unhappy
new partners at a crowded outdoor café. Why these guys are spilling
international secrets in a setting where they can be effortlessly overheard is
the source for one of the movie’s better visual gags. Alas, the movie doesn’t
have too many more “gotcha!”s in its bag. The two spies soon touch down in
Italy, where they flirt—Ilya with Gaby, and Solo with one of the neo-fascists,
a blah femme fatale played by Elizabeth Debicki—and do spy stuff. In this
movie’s reimagining of the characters, Solo has a backstory as a master thief,
while Ilya is a chess-obsessed strong man with rage and daddy issues. This
gives Cavill and Hammer amusing bits to enact, but, and here’s a big rub,
whatever it is that Cavill and Hammer are supposed to bring to this movie, they
don’t. They fill out their clothes very nicely, it’s true, but other than that
they are to charisma what black holes are to matter. “Flat” really doesn’t begin
to cover it.
Then there’s the direction. Ritchie clearly wants to revel
in a pre-swinging-‘60s vibe, but he either can’t or won’t commit to it in a way
that yields any actual fun. Possibly he’s wary of bumping up against “Austin
Powers”-style pastiche, but whatever the cause, when he’s not being incoherent,
he’s being fussy. Even the soundtrack has a kind of stick up its fundament;
it’s chock full of the Right Names in early ‘60s international (and largely
Italian) pop, but it’s largely lacking in infectiousness. Seriously, they could
have thrown in a “Take It East My Brother Charlie” or something and only a jerk
like me would have pointed out the anachronism.
There are times when the movie uses its leads’ lack of
affect in service of a cheeky sense of humor, as in Solo’s sojourn in the cab
of a truck, after a frantic chase scene, sitting out (or so it seems) a
near-fatal brush with danger for partner Ilya. But much of the time Richie
seems uninterested in the action, although a final chase featuring a jeep, a
skeletal ATV, and a motorcycle unspools like a choose-your-own-adventure video
game, and I mean that in a good way. But the misfires are just as memorable, as
when Richie and company use realistic evocations of Nazi atrocities to fill out
the character of one minor villain. And if you were luck enough to have seen
Vikander in “Ex Machina” (and it you haven’t been you ought to change that),
you’ll be profoundly appreciative of just how much she’s wasted here. She’s
adorable anyway, however.
While it can’t be said that Hugh Grant saves the movie, his
return to prominence in the last half hour, after a plot-seeding-walk-on
earlier in the movie, peps things up considerably. Grant’s character is the one
that pulls the whole “U.N.C.L.E.” concept together, birthing an agency in which
KGB, C.I.A., and MI6 or 5 or whatever it is can cooperate to prevent mutual
assured destruction or something like that. Kind of like that agency in that
other summer spy thriller that this summer spy thriller is not going to present
any serious competition to. In and event, an entire movie in which the
weathered but still debonair Grant played the bluff, amiable puppetmaster to
the two hunky ciphers might have been great fun. I gather that Richie and
company still want to make that movie. I have mixed feelings about whether they
ought to, or will.
Source:: http://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/the-man-from-uncle-2015
