2.5 stars (out of 5)
There’s something very wrong with Queensland-born director John Hillcoat’s oh-so-American latest, and it’s not just the fact that you’re left wondering how a decent budget, strong production values and a promisingly cool cast could have all gone to Hell. No, it’s also the fact that Hillcoat’s previous pics (The Road and his collaborations with screenwriter Nick Cave, Lawless and The Proposition) have all questioned masculinity in one way or another, while Triple 9 revels in it, soaking up all the macho sweat with dubious glee.
Five guys pull off an improbable bank heist (note how the police don’t turn up for what feels like five convenient minutes), and they’re such an edgy and secretive bunch it’s hard to believe they ever agreed to work together. And they include: Michael Atwood (Chiwetel Ejiofor playing mean for a change), a baddie with Special Forces training (of course); his buddy Russell Welch (Norman Reedus from The Walking Dead), who also has a military background, although he behaves like a wanker; a pair of corrupt cops, Marcus Belmont (Anthony Mackie) and Franco Rodriguez (Clifton Collins Jr); and Gabe, Russell’s drug-addicted brother, who’s played by Breaking Bad’s Aaron Paul (naturally).
We then discover that Michael is being manipulated by mobster’s wife Irina Vlaslov (Kate Winslet with weird hair and a credible accent), and she wants the lads to pull off an even more dangerous job while using Michael’s little son Felix (Blake McLennan) as a bargaining tool. It seems that the foolish Michael had the kid with Irina’s leggy sister Elena (Gal Gadot aka Wonder Woman), and Michael lives in fear of having Felix taken away and therefore is willing to contemplate a ‘Triple 9’ (code for officer down) as part of their next operation. And which cop’s in the firing line? Why virtuous Chris Allen (Casey Affleck), who’s investigating the robbery with Marcus and chasing down vicious gang members on the side, and whose detective uncle Jeffrey Allen (Woody Harrelson), a racist, slightly sleazy sort, has a bearing on all this cluttered plotting too.
With that cast (including Teresa Palmer in a revealing but two-dimensional role as Chris’ missus), steamy Atlanta mean-streets locations, thundering hip-hop soundtracking and pretty hideous violence, you might assume that this would at least be an excitingly amoral action thriller. And yet the glowering performances, jittery camerawork, odd script contrivances, nagging incoherence and endless testosterone-spraying make it a criminally unlikeable experience.
I Wake Up Screening 