The Amateur (2025)

Score: 2 / 5

Rare is the film that makes you want more of that gritty, greasy feeling I personally associate with Tony Scott and those action-thrillers of the '00s, but The Amateur should have been done in that style. Written as a cheap, familiar plot meant as a star vehicle, the story concerns a CIA agent who embarks on a quest for revenge when his wife is killed in a terrorist attack. A remake, the film is also just not A-grade material; very few spy stories have that edge of novelty anymore. So an increase of style would make more sense in a film like this.

But style is one of the many elements lacking in this film. Its mostly blue-gray color palette invites torpor while its synth-heavy droning score never quite makes itself memorable. In fact, it's such a lackluster experience that I suspect the filmmakers had so much faith in the intrigue of the screenplay to make up for a lack of visual pizzazz. But the televised procedural realism of its aesthetics do nothing to distract from (or capitalize upon) the narrative doldrums in which we find ourselves. Unbelievable coincidence and giant leaps in logic pile up quickly, so we're never on the same page as the characters and we're being jerked along in obnoxiously predictable ways.

The star for this intended vehicle, Rami Malek, performs well here in the kind of role he has long since perfected. Awkward and jittery, yet appealing in his wide-eyed gaze, Charlie is a data analyst, and though he keeps himself healthy, you can't help but see a cave creature when you look at him, locked in a dark, sub-basement office surrounded by screens all the time. His personal life seems really lovely, and the film demonstrates the health of his marriage with startling economy, helped by an effortlessly winsome Rachel Brosnahan; it must be said, though, that her role as the "dead wife" plot device was so unabashedly tone-deaf right now that I had trouble swallowing it.

There's a strange subplot about Charlie's work environment that bears consideration: while mourning his wife and getting upset about the CIA's inaction in dealing with the sensitive situation, he discovers some unethical secrets about his superiors' use of drones and bombs. Taking this to his bosses, he blackmails them (including Julianne Nicholson) into getting him training as a field agent so that he can carry out revenge on his wife's killers. He gets assigned to Laurence Fishburne (there's a character name, but who cares? It's Laurence Fishburne) who does his duty before his trainee suddenly flees the country. The desk boy became Jason Bourne.

Well, sort of. I don't know for sure because I can't stand the Bourne movies. But Charlie does indeed enact vengeance over the remainder of the film, which overstays its welcome considerably. I suppose the agency having turned against him functions to increase Charlie's urgency as well as our sympathies for him. After all, he's a rogue agent for most of the film, and we're not given enough access to his interiority to otherwise have much sympathy. Malek's tortured visage and fearful rage in this film rarely come across as heroic but often as desperate and, oddly, smug. It's not a "wrong" or "bad" choice, and it arguably could work in a story like this, but it'd have to lean into a noir sensibility that isn't in this project. Similarly, the other big names in the film -- including a bizarre bit part from Jon Bernthal and an equally bizarre but far more disappointing cameo of sorts from Michael Stuhlbarg -- don't seem to know what they're doing and aren't treated with any interest by the camera.

Even as an action film, though, The Amateur fails to excite our attention. The fights are distractingly overedited and underlit, and chase scenes are no different. The screenplay can't decide where to focus or how to differentiate itself from the floodwaters of spy fiction. As a thriller, there are too many coincidences and too few stakes for us to be caught up in any real emotion. These uninspired choices aren't just a failure of taste; they're a failure of matching content with style. Apart from Malek's admirable work here, there is little in this film I'll ever want to revisit.

Ford v Ferrari (2019)

Score: 3 / 5

If you think racing cars is a sport, then this movie is definitely for you. I don't, and I still enjoyed it; the only other movie about racing I like is Ron Howard's Rush. James Mangold brings an absorbing, warm aesthetic to the (more or less) historical story that makes it accessible in the few times its eminently likable leads aren't stealing the screen. And yet, for all its high-octane tension and occasional sense of fun, I found myself constantly checking the time. At two-and-a-half hours, it's an exhausting exercise in trying to find something interesting.

In the 1960s, the Ford executives attempt to merge with Ferrari. Negotiations fail, and CEO Henry Ford II (Tracy Letts) declares war on the Italian car company to be determined in races, specifically the Le Mans 24-hour race. Ford hires engineer and former racer Carroll Shelby (Matt Damon) to design the car and find drivers. He selects Ken Miles (Christian Bale), a struggling mechanic and professional race car driver with strong personality and a fiery temper. Miles doesn't adhere to the image Ford presents, and so the executives attempt to deter his involvement. But eventually he succeeds in his race and Ford wins at Le Mans four years in a row as the only American company to win at the European race.

As far as sports dramas go, this is strictly standard stuff. The infighting and conflict between the tough-headed macho grunt-men and the equally stubborn, greedy money-men hits every predictable dramatic shift. Miles, a WWII veteran with a need for speed and thrills, has trouble with his wife (Caitriona Balfe) when he promises to stop racing after a near-death experience and then dives back in again. She, meanwhile, is the only woman of any substance in the film, and she calmly plays the dutiful housewife who exists only to support her husband (though she does occasionally yell at him before caving to his decisions).

But the more I think about Ford v Ferrari, the less I like it. It seems determined to hearken to an age of car-obsessed macho-man nostalgia -- read "very white and very straight" -- and even the humor of the film is profoundly sexist. At one point they joke about putting Doris Day behind the wheel, a throwaway line that hangs uncomfortably in the air as it reveals some strong unspoken assumptions the movie constantly makes. My favorite scene in the film works because of its inherent misogyny, when Shelby takes Ford himself in a racing car for a spin; Letts's performance steals the scene as he begins weeping from the thrill and emotional significance, but he stands in stark contrast to the mechanics, who comment on the un-manliness of anyone who doesn't race and estimate how long it takes for weaker men to lose control of their bowels.

And, while the film does end with Miles being killed in a car accident two months after Le Mans, it does not even come close to trying to understand the mystery of why Miles needed to race. He was almost killed multiple times doing it, knowing full well his wife and son did not want him to continue. We can guess his needs, especially in light of his prior service, but the film conveniently ignores the psychological reality of Miles's life and motivations. Similarly, the film conveniently ignores the seriously problematic parts of Shelby's life: while it paints Shelby as a hero, and he is in some ways inspiring, even a cursory Google search reveals the man's history of poaching, womanizing, suing, and even raping. So, taken for what it is, the film is aesthetically pleasing even as its substance lacks in every conceivable way.