Tag Archives: Jason Patric

Narc (2002, Joe Carnahan)

In addition to starring in Narc, Ray Liotta also produced, which makes sense because the film gives him a great part. Narc is about disgraced ex-cop Jason Patric getting back on the job because the department (Detroit, with Toronto standing in but never noticeably) has a dead cop and they need a fresh set of eyes. Why Patric? Because otherwise there wouldn’t be a movie? Ostensibly it’s because Patric was an undercover narcotics officer (subtle title nod) and the dead cop was also an undercover narcotics officer (something writer and director Carnahan somehow manages to forget to establish, but hey, the script’s often messy). Basically it’s a Hail Mary pass.

Only Patric’s gotten to be a pretty okay guy since leaving the coppers and wife Krista Bridges doesn’t want him going back. He hems and haws a little bit about it, but he’s not going to listen to her, of course. Otherwise there wouldn’t be a movie. Also because Carnahan avoids doing real scenes between Bridges and Patric like the film depends on it. And it probably does. Narc relies on Patric to be able to give the impression of being the lead in some kind of character study when it turns out Narc isn’t going to be about Patric at all. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Patric takes one look at the files and decides the department needs to bring back Liotta, who’s the bad cop the good cops love (he beats up suspects, plants evidence, whatever). The silly liberals in the city have taken Liotta off the case—even though he knew the murdered cop (Alan Van Sprang in flashbacks)—and he’s got a great conviction rate. Patric convinces boss Chi McBride (great in a nothing part) to bring Liotta back and now it’s time for the second act. Second act basically becomes a study of Liotta, with occasional cuts to Bridges being mad at Patric and Patric ignoring her because it’s a cop movie and silly woman. Also there are these gorgeous shots of Patric by himself in the urban blight considering his existence, set to the wondrous Cliff Martinez score, with even more wondrous Alex Nepomniaschy photography. Narc often looks and sounds fantastic. Not so much when Carnahan’s doing this silly quartered screen thing showing Patric and Liotta’s amazing investigatory skills; the sound design is intentionally confusing and pointless. Kind of like the amazing investigatory skills—all Liotta and Patric end up doing is showing the dead cop’s photograph to various Black guys in bad neighborhoods. There’s a lot of lip service paid to the possible racial unrest Liotta will bring to the investigation—because he’s the racist bad cop good cops love, even Black commander McBride—but all the actual bad guys are white. Does Liotta ever realize he’s wrong based on empirical evidence? No. But whatever. It’s not like the investigatory aspect of Narc is its strength. Carnahan doesn’t write a great mystery, he directs a great gritty character study and pretends his script is going to match. It eventually doesn’t (the third act), but thanks to Liotta’s performance and the perception of Patric’s at the time, Carnahan is able to then pretend he’s been doing an intentionally peculiarly plotted mystery the whole time.

And he gets away with it. Narc is not, in the end, a success. It does not realize its initial ambitions or narrative gesture. But the film gets away with it because of the intensity of the acting, intensity of the filmmaking. Who cares if Patric’s character entirely changes in the last thirty minutes. Maybe we never knew him at all, maybe we were just projecting, maybe Liotta was just projecting, maybe everyone was just projecting onto Patric’s tabula rasa. We weren’t, of course, and not just because it’s impossible to project onto Patric; his handlebar mustache and soul patch would get in the way.

But Carnahan is able to get away with it, because of built-up goodwill and (apparently) de facto liberal sensitivities.

In its third act, Narc becomes one of those mysteries where the resolution doesn’t have to succeed so much as not screw up the previous two acts too much. A bummer to be sure, but still an extremely well-made film with two great lead performances. Even if Patric’s character goes absurdly to pot.

Carnahan and his production designers, Greg Beale and Taavo Soodor, do spectacular work. Especially on the limited budget. The limited budget kind of perturbs when you realize it’d have been very cheap to do those much needed scenes between Patric and Bridges and Carnahan just chokes on it instead. That Nepomniaschy photography is great, that Martinez score is great, Liotta is great, Patric is (mostly) great. So what if the second half of the script’s shaky and Carnahan doesn’t know how to establish ground situations.

The script is just a delivery system for the filmmaking, the acting. Not ideal, not successful, but… good enough. Especially since the dialogue’s solid (there’s just not enough of it).

3/4★★★

CREDITS

Written and directed by Joe Carnahan; director of photography, Alex Nepomniaschy; edited by John Gilroy; music by Cliff Martinez; production designers, Greg Beale and Taavo Soodor; produced by Michelle Grace, Ray Liotta, Diane Nabatoff, and Julius R. Nasso; released by Paramount Pictures.

Starring Jason Patric (Nick Tellis), Ray Liotta (Henry Oak), Krista Bridges (Audrey Tellis), Chi McBride (Captain Cheevers), Tony De Santis (Medical Examiner Art Harlan), Anne Openshaw (Kathryn Calvess), Bishop Brigante (Eugene Sheps), and Alan Van Sprang (Michael Calvess).


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The Beast (1988, Kevin Reynolds)

The Beast has a lot going for it, so its failure to connect–which is wholly director Reynolds’s fault–is a bit of a disappointment. The second half of the film has an accelerated pace. While the whole thing takes place over a couple days, the second half is an odd combination of summary and real time. Reynolds can’t pull it off. Peter Boyle’s fine editing can’t hide it either.

And some of the problems are writer William Mastrosimone’s fault. After establishing this wonderful antagonism between George Dzundza (as a Russian tank commander in Afghanistan who starts to lose it) and Jason Patric (his sane, and humanist, subordinate), Mastrosimone fails at establishing the camaraderie between Patric and Steven Bauer (as a Mujahideen). Patric and Bauer are both good enough to create said camaraderie and Reynolds certainly tries to engage it. But then acting and directing aren’t enough and the relationship needs the script and Mastrosimone’s too busy playing Patric’s dimwitted fellow tankers, played by Stephen Baldwin and Don Harvey, for laughs. It’s strange, especially since the first half of the film is able to balance it all out.

All of the acting in The Beast is strong. Dzundza gets the flashiest role, but Patric’s great, Bauer’s surprisingly strong (especially since once he and Patric cross paths, he takes a backseat in all his scenes). Baldwin, Harvey (especially Harvey). The supporting cast–Erick Avari, Shoshi Marciano, Kabir Bedi–all real good. When The Beast peaks and starts to slide in the third act, it isn’t the fault of the actors.

Reynolds shoots either close-ups or long shots. Whenever he does a medium shot, it’s a surprise; he’s composing for the eventual home video, pan and scan release, which is simultaneously unfortunate and also the only way he could have done The Beast. The desolate backdrops and the close-ups of the tank’s moving parts set to Mark Isham’s minimalist score work towards a certain transcendence.

Except, of course, Douglas Milsome’s photography is shockingly flat. Coupled with Reynolds’s impatience, the film’s visual sensibilities works counter to Isham’s score and the acting tone.

The Beast makes an intense impression throughout, but not much of one as the end credits begin to roll. It’s very close to being successful.

2.5/4★★½

CREDITS

Directed by Kevin Reynolds; screenplay by William Mastrosimone, based on his play; director of photography, Douglas Milsome; edited by Peter Boyle; music by Mark Isham; production designer, Kuli Sander; produced by John Fiedler; released by Columbia Pictures.

Starring Jason Patric (Koverchenko), George Dzundza (Daskal), Steven Bauer (Taj), Stephen Baldwin (Golikov), Don Harvey (Kaminski), Erick Avari (Samad), Kabir Bedi (Akbar), Shoshi Marciano (Sherina) and Chaim Girafi (Moustafa).


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Incognito (1997, John Badham)

Despite trying to appear dark and serious, Incognito is actually a rather light outing. Sure, protagonist Jason Patric is something of a jerk, but he’s a lovable jerk. And he’s usually in the right.

Patric is an art forger who reluctantly sets about creating a new Rembrandt. He’s working some very annoying people, played by Thomas Lockyer, Simon Chandler and Togo Igawa, but the money’s good and Patric also wants to tour Europe with his ailing father (Rod Steiger showing off he can still run away with a glorified cameo).

Europe’s a big thing in Incognito. It almost feels like a continental adventure until Patric ends up stuck in England, though he’s got Irène Jacob as a love interest and she’s definitely not English. Patric and Jacob have a nice little arc together, which probably takes up twenty minutes–Jordan Katz’s script is smart enough to bring her in earlier so the viewer is already hoping she’ll come back. Like I said, Incognito is a light thriller. There’s a lot of humor eventually

There’s also a lot of awesome montages involving art forging. Director Badham has some terrible crane shots in the film, but he does a good job for the most part. He makes England very exciting. It helps he’s got Patric and Jacob; they both do great work, even though she doesn’t have much of a character. Patric’s got more depth, but he brings it, not the script.

Incognito works out rather nicely. It’s confident, measuredly ambitious and rewarding.

3/4★★★

CREDITS

Directed by John Badham; written by Jordan Katz; director of photography, Denis Crossan; edited by Frank Morriss; music by John Ottman; production designer, Jamie Leonard; produced by James G. Robinson; released by Warner Bros.

Starring Jason Patric (Harry Donovan), Irène Jacob (Prof. Marieke van den Broeck), Thomas Lockyer (Alastair Davies), Simon Chandler (Iain Ill), Togo Igawa (Agachi), Michael Cochrane (Deeks), Pip Torrens (White), Ian Richardson (Turley) and Rod Steiger (Milton A. Donovan).


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Quality Time (2010, James Redford)

Redford sort of comes up with a new genre in Quality Time, the suburban amusement. It’s innocuous but realistic, with Jason Patric trying to get his kids to the school bus early.

Patric is the essential element as he’s able to bring the reality the film needs, whether it’s begging one daughter to hurry up in the bathroom, swearing as he searches for his keys (waking his sleeping wife) or yelling at another driver. Quality Time feels miserably real.

It all holds up until the last moment, when—even if it’s an amusing moment—Redford lets the film become a bad car commercial. He ends it on a predictable joke and kills the momentum.

Otherwise, Redford’s writing and direction are both strong. He’s got a good ear for dialogue and he has some great shots.

Quality Time was never going to be profound, but it shouldn’t have been cheap either.

1/3Not Recommended

CREDITS

Written and directed by James Redford; director of photography, John Kiffmeyer; edited by Stan Webb; music by Ken Cook; produced by Redford and Doug Nichol.

Starring Jason Patric (Dad), Lena Redford (Haley), Matthew Jackett (Evan) and Sacha Karnofsky (Sophie).


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