It’s edited to feel sluggish, and the camera rarely, if ever, moves in a way that captures momentum. But for the most part, every bit of fight choreography feels designed for minimum impact. It has one single sequence, involving Keaton fighting his way through a crowded market, where the punches have “oomph” and the environment feels like it’s part of the story - also known as the baseline for action in a visual medium. You would think the violence makes up for the film’s lack of, well, anything of note, but even the action feels limp, and there isn’t much of it that stands out beyond the first few scenes. The movie was rated R, though clearly not for its sexuality. The closest thing The Protégé has to sex scenes is a fight sequence that briefly threatens to become sensual, and a shot of two naked characters hidden under a blanket after they’ve done the deed off-screen. It’s like watching gold be turned to lead. These are characters who simultaneously want to kill and screw each other, played by actors who are more than capable of radiating appeal - all they need to do is show up - but they seem to want to be on camera less than the cast of Movie 43. Smith, with anything remotely risqué ripped out in favour of something absurdly conservative. There’s probably a much more passionate version of their scenes together somewhere on the cutting room floor.Īfter a while, it begins to feel like a VeggieTales reenactment of Mr. As the film goes on, their attempts to balance lust and animosity get lost in a haphazard edit that can only seem to conceive of human behaviour as what’s being said in words, rather than why those words are being said, or what conversations are being had by people’s body language and lingering glances. Both Q and Keaton speak at a rapid-fire pace, but neither one seems to consider or react to the other’s advances - at least, not in the shots that made it to the screen. Rembrandt carries himself suavely when he first meets Anna - who moonlights as an antique book salesman - but when their dialogue turns to flirtation, something feels deeply off. This stiltedness permeates the rest of the film, especially when Keaton’s character enters the fray. When Moody is attacked one night, Anna is forced to trace his assailants back to her home country, where she begins to untangle a web from Moody’s past as mysterious clean-up killer Rembrandt (Keaton), with whom she shares a connection, weaves in and out of her story. Their interactions with each other are warm and easygoing, but they work with cold-blooded, clockwork precision. The film follows Anna (Q), an international assassin trained by world-class killer Moody (Jackson), who once rescued her in her native Vietnam, and is now her partner on high-paying hit-jobs. You have to try extra hard to mess up a sure thing that’s as sure as this. The result is an anti-reel - an inverse-calling card for every participant, all of whom have proven time and time again that they could pull this off in their sleep. The Protégé, however, feels like it was assembled from filmed rehearsals on set, with everyone simply going through the motions and reserving their talents for the next proper take. Director Martin Campbell helmed Casino Royale. In practice, it’s a black hole that consumes any hint of tension, chemistry, and excitement, which is downright shocking when you consider who’s involved and how familiar this territory is for them. On paper, The Protégé has all the makings of a slick, sexy action thriller with a strong emotional core.
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