Man on fire Movie Review

A substandard revenge flick made somewhat palatable only by the star power and unforced charisma of its two leads, Man on Fire tries for something approaching techno-cool but ends up looking only like a glossy magazine spread come to life. Director Tony Scott seems to pull every slick trick out of his meager bag of directorial flourishes to pump some life into this movie, utilizing a jumble of editing styles and film stocks, speeding up action then slowing it down, and slapping subtitles onscreen that look more like advertisement tag lines. But while it may be dressed up in some damn fancy cinematic clothes, with judicious dollops of classical music to patch over the transitional spots, Man on Fire is never more than two dimensional, hearkening back to the simplistic revenge movies of the 80s, but minus their visceral sting.

Denzel Washington, who standing still exudes more magnetism than most actors functioning at top speed, here brings his laconic grace to the badly-named role of Creasy, a former assassin-for-hire haunted by generic spirits of the past and a thirst for Jack Daniels. Making his way down to Mexico, where pal Rayburn (Christopher Walken, nicely subdued for once) has given up killing for a family life, he takes the only job he can get: bodyguard for hire. His charge? The badly-named Pita (Dakota Fanning), the ten year old daughter of a Mexican factory bigwig and his American wife, whose no-nonsense demeanor temporarily throws Creasy off-guard. After the formality of a job interview (where Pita's mom instantly hires him because he's, well, Denzel Washington), he sets up residence at the family's cavernous, artsy mansion, which is so stereotypically "Mexican" it could be called Villa de Cliché. Being all bristly and burly and gruff-like, he resists Pita's efforts at friendship, but soon his mercenary heart is melted, the two become fast friends, and Creasy finds a tender spot in is hard heart for the girl. Then Pita, of course, is kidnapped.

The kidnapping should be where Man on Fire kicks into high gear, but instead the movie takes it down a notch as Creasy goes on a (to borrow a phrase from Uma Thurman) roaring rampage of revenge. Pita's assumed dead, and Creasy decides to cut a bloody swath through those responsible, bit by grisly bit. Unfortunately, assuming that Pita is dead takes any urgency out of Creasy's mission, as all he's doing is just going from victim A to victim B with the monotony of a killing machine. Yes, I can hear you carping about how Kill Bill was pretty much the same formula, but at least at the end of Vol. 1 (or halfway through the whole movie), Quentin Tarantino unveiled the destination for all this violence: The Bride's daughter. Here, Tony Scott doesn't even give us that much, keeping the reveal of Pita's being alive until about the last 20 minutes of the movie. It's an awkward piece of plotting, and if it's not meant to be transparent and paper-thin, it assumes an idiocy on the audience's part that they don't know Pita's alive.

So with nothing really escalating, it falls to the various torturings/killings – including finger amputation, assorted shootouts and a bomb that can only be described as the suppository from hell – to keep the audience hooked, and it's here that Scott utilizes what could be charitably described as "technique" to keep your eye on the screen. All it does, however, is clutter up the screen, and his use of subtitles is particularly egregious, and resembles nothing less than those photo spreads in Us Weekly that draw a line to a certain point on the page: "Ashton's Kabbalah bracelet!" It's particularly strange when the subtitles appear during times that the characters are actually speaking English, as if to underline a certain plot point or emotion about five times – it's just a couple degrees shy of printing "Denzel's very angry!" onscreen. Various other cinematic tricks – which Scott used pretty effectively in Enemy of the State, given the movie's techno themes – are just distracting and not particularly exciting.

The only thing watchable in Man on Fire is its better-than-expected cast. Though Marc Anthony, as Pita's dad, is the one noticeably weak link, the rest of the actors all manage in small ways to transcend the paltry material. Radha Mitchell, as Pita's mom, goes effectively from sexy to sobbing to steely in a minimal number of scenes. Rachel Ticotin (as the movie's only decent Mexican citizen) and Giancarlo Giannini are welcome supporting characters who aid Creasy's quest for revenge, and Mickey Rourke does a deliciously slimeball turn as a lawyer who oozes corruption through his pinstripe suits. Still, it's Washington and Fanning who dominate the proceedings, and their smooth rapport makes their saccharine bonding pretty enjoyable. The tiny Fanning more than holds her own onscreen with the looming Washington, and he's graceful enough to defer to her at key moments throughout the movie; their last scene together is a peaceful oasis of calm and humor amidst the chaos of all the shootings and explosions that pepper the movie. Maybe someday they'll actually make a real movie together.