..and plenty of other bodies line the circumference of this experience. The 90 minutes something extravaganza comes with enough “bodies” stretching across the Near Eastern chorography to make you think you were a post mortem specialist.
Somewhere in this rather patchy flick, Russell Crowe’s potbellied, microphone-loving, soccer dad-cum-CIA head honcho mouths off a fairly glossy, yet compelling statement – “They don’t want to negotiate.”
That’s the crux of the story. It’s not-so well preserved nucleus.
They, of course, are the terrorist squads hell bent of razing to dust “Western infidels/Capitalist dogs”, headed by a nefarious Al Saleem person(based on the notorious Zarakawi from the highest echelons of the Al Qaeda). These terrorists of the Islamic kind must be stopped. Enter Gringo – Leo Di Caprio. The rest is mystery! Or maybe not.
There has been a spate of Hollywood magnum opuses about lone American rangers infiltrating ranks amongst Middle Eastern terrorists and government agencies(simultaneously) to further Uncle Sam’s cause of wiping terrorism off the face of the planet. At least the American planet.
In Ridley Scott’s flawed but earnest fusion of Syriana with Munich with The Bourne Trilogy, something goes terribly amiss through the second half and you feel as though the director is piling explosion upon explosion to possibly seek an exit through the debris. This, he never really manages to find.
Body of Lies is watchable, at least once. It is. It’s not a masterpiece and the mediocrity bullet manages to graze it a little bit but you will live. The problem with this film, as with most American slick flicks about Roarke styled protagonists, is it’s weak research. And the usual jingoistic parade that is often the culmination of a possibly serious effort to diagnose a rather insidious issue. The movie shifts trajectory frequently. Geography and psychology wise. Syria, Amsterdam, Turkey, Jordan and good ole Virgina. The seemingly selfish CIA boss and his burdened-by-a-lopsided-altruistic fervor reportee have their moments. The verbal rabblerousing engages in parts and the chemistry between DiCaprio and Crowe plays to a different beat as compared to the one DiCaprio’s and the sizzling Mark Strong share. The polarity is captivatingly obvious.
Hani Salim is tranquil as an ocean before the torrent is unleashed. He inhabits that minute, generates the precise feeling of trepidation within the watcher. His eyes are magnetic and his words, minimal. His potential to hurt is evident. His power unquestionable even if his methods are. He reigns. And he is hot too!
Much of the movie is slapdash. It’s riveting upon commencement and suddenly Scott starts to get uncomfortable with the direction in which he ideally should’ve steered his ship, so he does the next best thing – Gitmo styled torture, over the top cowboy patriotism and a hastily pieced together climax that equates love and hope with survival. Or something like that.
I didn’t like the romantic angle, it was laden with superfluous valor. That whole infectious need to distinguish men from heroes, or some such. The digits-deprived DiCaprio sifting through a souk searching for pastries and dates is hardly the end I would have wanted.
Boy wonder is in excellent form though he looks a little too eager to please in certain frames. From Whats eating Gilbert Grape to this particular movie; Leo has evolved in a manner that most actors don’t and possibly can’t. Though, for some inexplicable reason, it suddenly hit me midway through the whole shebang – he is really short!
The technical glitches are glaring and plentiful. Linguistic, primarily. Leo baby speaks fluent Persian and Arabic – hell! with a skull cap and some serious hirsute pride, he passes for a local too – except that he can’t pronounce “Iraq” or “Iran. It comes out sounding like “I-rack” and “I-ran”. Tragedy.
The highpoint of the entire cinematic experience wasn’t actually an element of the movie, in fact it was the presence of Mr Yash Chopra in the theatre with the usual suspects.
I’m wondering is there will be a gentle change of scenery from sarson ke khet(mustard fields) to the grimy suburbs of Jordan for the next King Khan caper?
I doubt it but there is always hope. Like in the movie. Even if it doesn’t survive.
Also, Everything matters to Everybody.
French provocateurs are tres rad!
