'The Gunman': Guarantees a Murder a Minute
 Popcorn Column
by Michael S. Goldberger
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Open Road Films
Sean Penn has an itchy trigger finger in the aptly named 'The Gunman.' |
Watching director Pierre Morel's "The Gunman," starring Sean Penn as a so-called security guard who's really a mercenary in the employ of a big mining company in the Congo, two questions come to mind. First, what farfetched rationalization could possibly allow an actor as talented as Penn to appear in such a convoluted, unredeeming and shameless heap of rubbish? Secondly, and we fear we know the answer, what flaw in the human character assures a continually profitable market for this sort of mayhem?
I know, I know ... in the grand scheme of things it has only been a blink of an eye since we were clubbing each other silly over the carcass of a wooly mammoth, a nicer cave with a view of the valley or the prettiest prehistoric gal to ever don a leopard loin cloth.
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However, while we have graduated to a place where a kinder, gentler society can be imagined by our more visionary tribe members, there nonetheless is a strong contingent that believes all progressivism is a ruse to catch them off guard. A steady diet of this gritty swill keeps their teeth sharpened.
In such case, there's plenty of distasteful stuff to gnaw on here. When Penn's hired assassin becomes a target himself, for reasons not to be divulged just in case you're actually thinking of seeing this film, a conveyor belt of carnage employing all manner of ordnance is set in motion. So that we don't tire of the same old killing, they mix it up in a Lazy Susan-style rotation: 12 guys succumb to machine gun fire; six or seven are obliterated by hand grenade; a few get it by that gangsta favorite, the automatic handgun; and every so often someone gets his neck snapped.
Then it starts all over again, a repetitious onslaught that saves its sadistic, coup de grâce execution for the final scene. Telegraphed for our anticipation, but all the same a dilly, it has us speculating, "Oh no, they wouldn't dare." Note that I tallied neither the number of gunshots and explosions nor the body count. But I'm thinking, if that's all some folks want to fill their leisure time with after a hard day of grooming puppies or helping out at the soup kitchen, maybe a total of these vicarious revenge and tension-relieving atrocities should be listed.
That way, like the nutrition information on a box of cookies, where you know exactly how many calories you can expect to imbibe, the film company would denote the exact total of explosions and gunshots and the resultant number of deaths. Thus, the bloodthirsty consumer can make an informed decision about which butchery to view. The studio might also accommodate the savagely inclined by supplying a unit pricing ratio. That is, the number of slaughters per dollar spent: "Wow, 75 snuff-outs per buck. That's a good deal!"
Still, no rebuke of this genre can be administered without discussing the inherent hypocrisy that comes with any good-intentioned attempt to take the high road. By the time the Summer of Love instructed, "Thou shalt not like such stuff," this former weekend hippie had absorbed countless slayings via war movies and Westerns. Alas, they can't be removed from the moral hard drive. Which feebly explains why, since I'm in the theater anyway, and considering that Sean Penn's protagonist seems the lesser of two evils, I found myself rooting for him to prevail.
Oh, the shame of it dear reader, how I hoped one bad guy in particular, a venal swine of an underling in the employ of those powers that be, would get his gory comeuppance. In my defense, there wasn't an iota of good DNA in him, whereas at least Penn's title character was in love with Jasmine Trinca's Annie, a humanitarian doctor who gets caught up in the maelstrom. I'm assuming he approved of her work ... and that must count for something.
Further abusing the human ability for justification — and this, shamefully, is quite a stretch — we might defend Penn's decision to star in this abomination by suggesting the actor thought it the best way to call attention to the ugly politics of mining on the African continent. Heaven forbid we imply that, like the megalomaniacal company the movie disparages, this accomplished, purportedly righteous, activist/thespian did it for the money. Say it ain't so, Sean.
So OK, Penn, I hate the mining company like poison now ... worse even than the spoiled Andouille sausage I had in Paris. Also, I bemoan where goest the international corporation, originally just a tricky tax-evading idea turned multi-headed, Philistine enemy of all that is good in the world. Next time it's on the ballot to get rid of 'em all, I know how I'm voting. But gee, I sure wish you could have convinced me without having "The Gunman" kill practically everyone in the movie.
"The Gunman," rated R, is an Open Road Films release directed by Pierre Morel and stars Sean Penn, Jasmine Trinca and Javier Bardem. Running time: 115 minutes
