As you may or may not be aware, Jackie Chan was awarded the honorary
Oscar in 2016 for his 56-year-long body of work (beginning at age six!) and
spanning over 200 films; an achievement arguably long overdue. However, the
honorary Oscar has historically carried the stigma of the recipient’s career
either winding down or being on it’s last legs (as Peter O'Toole once famously remarked
on his refusal to receive one). Regardless, he was all gratitude for having
received. Yet, despite that honor, the
international one-man entertainment industry continues his quest to earn
another one on the strength of his acting chops if "The Foreigner" is
any indication. The film, produced by (along with a myriad of others) and
starring Chan (based on the book "The Chinaman" by Stephen Leather,
adapted for the screen by David Marconi), and directed by Martin Campbell (The Mask of Zorro, Goldeneye, Casino Royale)
is not your standard Chan vehicle. Believe me when I say this is a good thing.
The film centers on Ngoc Minh Quan (Chan), a restaurateur in
London. When his daughter Fan (Katie Leung, the Harry Potter films) is slain in a terrorist attack attributed to a
group called "The Authentic IRA", a grief-stricken Quan goes looking
for answers. When his inquiries are rebuffed and himself dismissed as an old,
unassuming Asian man, he proves to be anything but as he embarks on a quest for
answers on his own; going so far as to challenge Irish deputy minister, and
former IRA leader, Liam Hennessy (Pierce Brosnan, Goldeneye, The Tailor of Panama) for the truth.
Director Campbell emerges from a six year sabbatical (after
the poorly-received Green Lantern) to
direct this taut thriller and evincing a true return to form. His pacing
strikes a healthy balance between action and suspense, understanding that a
mastery of the latter heightens the former. Unlike other films in his
filmography, however, there is little in the sense of fun here. Campbell goes
for a stark, dismal tone that befits the subject matter, which is unfortunately
all too topically relevant. Campbell and cinematographer David Tattersall establish
this at the outset visually, presenting the city of London and the vistas of
Ireland through an overcast, bluish shroud at times reminiscent of Mel Gibson’s
Payback (though shot in beautiful
panorama at times, quixotically highlighting the beauteous Irish landscape
despite its dreary climate). The sun doesn’t shine in this world; an apt
metaphor for the emotional state of not only its central character , but also
to the secondary players in varying degrees. Cliff Martinez’ score also adds to
the oppressive, almost funereal cinematic tableau without drowning in it.
But Campbell’s major achievement here is eking out
remarkable performances from his two leads. Most Americans remember the
cherubic, lithely athletic, self-deprecating Chan from films like Rumble In The Bronx, Supercop, or the Rush Hour series (or Cannonball
Run, if you want to go that far). In this film, Chan's transformation is
nothing short of astounding; his cherubic features worn and body weighted with age
and heart-rending grief. There is nothing sprightly or comedic in this
performance, which makes it all the more pronounced and startling. Chan's
always been a performer, but rarely do American audiences see him as an actor. It's a jarring yet remarkable
transformation that adds extra gravitas to the movie, but it’s an effect not
limited to his physical appearance. Chan's fight scenes have always been
extolled for their balletic skill as much as for their comedic bent. Here the fight
choreography is among the most gritty (though still somewhat over the top) ever
presented in his filmography even if the proof of his newfound use of stuntmen
is unfortunately present. While still super-human in execution, there's a slower
aspect to it, befitting a character in that stage of life. While Chan has
always been a self-deprecating cinematic presence, for the first time he evinces a
different type of vulnerability that really sells this role.
Yet, despite Chan's name being above the credits, the bulk
of the weight is equally carried on Pierce Brosnan's shoulders. Reunited with
the director who helped introduce him to the world as the fifth James Bond,
Brosnan arguably gives the performance of his career. His Hennessy is a
confluence of contrasts, leaving the viewer unsure regarding their sympathies. Yet he also gives a measured performance, by turns subtle
and explosive. Ironically, his native Irish brogue sounds exaggeratedly
affected at times, but it adds to his character's charismatic nature. Over the
years, Brosnan has grown as an actor, and that growth seems to culminate here.
Yet both actors are at their best when paired off with each other, the one
feeding and bringing out the best in the other. While the other actors acquit
themselves, particularly Orla Brady (Into
The Badlands), Michael McEllathon (Game
of Thrones), Charlie Murphy (Philomena),
and Dermot Crowley (Return of the Jedi),
Chan and Brosnan are the real performances to watch, both independently and
together.
