Haywire
I really wanted to like “Haywire.” Seriously, what fan of director Steven Soderbergh wouldn’t? I mean, after all, this is Soderbergh’s first collaboration with screenwriter Lem Dobbs since their classic 1999 thriller, “The Limey,” and their third if you include Soderbergh’s criminally underrated sophomore film, “Kafka.” (Are we EVER going to see that film on DVD or Blu-Ray?) And what makes my disappointment in the film even more crushing is that at its center is a physically and dramatically impressive performance by MMA fighter Gina Carano as a covert-ops specialist who is set up by her handlers, forcing her to go on the offensive, and kick the crap out of the killers sent her way. Watching Carano strut her stuff, especially against the likes of Channing Tatum and Michael Fassbender, is a particular treat.
Unfortunately, “Haywire” is a waste of Carano’s natural charisma. While Soderbergh remains an inspiration to me as a filmmaker (after all, he is STILL responsible for the likes of “King of the Hill”– another DVD/Blu MIA –“sex, lies, and videotape,” “Out of Sight,” and “Traffic,” along with the popular “Ocean’s” series), his cold, technical approach to filmmaking (he also works as his own cinematographer and editor) feels too much like a bored artist just going through the motions rather than the live-wire he was when he was younger and swinging for the creative fences. Of course, Soderbergh has voiced his intent to retire from filmmaking after his next couple of projects (he has at least two still to come in 2012), but I’m not convinced that such knowledge is coloring my judgement on a film that may be loaded with superbly-choreographed set pieces, but feels lifeless even as David Holmes’s lively score goes into overdrive. It’s like a lesser “Bourne” thriller, wasting a great cast (which also includes Michael Douglas, Bill Paxton, Antonio Banderas, and Ewan McGregor) on a chase that takes you to some great-looking places, with a hero that is plenty capable of kicking ass, but doing so with the excitement of going through airport security, and getting frisked by the old man with the leathery skin instead of the younger woman with a smoother touch.
