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Wrath Of Man (2021) [1080p] [WEBRip] [5.1] [YTS]
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A fit bald man (Jason Statham, who else) comes to the collection service for an interview. He says little, does not turn his face to the future boss during the conversation, continuing to stare stubbornly at the wall while the boss mumbles somewhere behind. And when he does get to work, he proves once again that he is not destined to shine with companionable abilities: at corporate gatherings he constantly remains silent and in the first few days manages to make enemies among colleagues.
All collectors have call signs — Sticky John, Machine Gun — so our hero gets his nickname, H. It couldn't be more boring, but the newly minted H. himself, let's face it, is a man without any distinctive features. One thing is for sure about him: he's too cool for these greasy, out-of-print collectors who troll each other in locker rooms all day long and wipe the chairs of work machines. Colleagues begin to suspect something when, during one of the attacks that have become more frequent in recent months, H. coolly, almost with the restraint of a professional killer, deals with thieves. Now ordinary hard workers, and with them the audience, will have to find out who the hero of Statham is — a cat in a bag or a wolf in sheep's clothing. And if it's a wolf, does it perform in a circus?
When a lion is hungry, he eats. When Guy Ritchie wants to make a kid movie (almost always), he makes it. And this time it's not some kind of cheeky ironic film about the life of retired criminals, but, you know, a refined Statham movie where everyone speaks in hoarse, strangled voices, where any cool phrase turns into a pathetic quote for a meme with a wolf, and the main character forbids himself to die until he takes revenge. After shooting "Gentlemen", Richie seemed to decide to relax and spend a short weekend, but still a marathon of Craig S. films. Zalera ("Roll into the asphalt", "Fight in block 99"). I did it. I didn't understand everything, but I learned the main lesson: if irony from my films is replaced with cold cynicism, something meta-patsy can come out.
Therefore, it is very funny to perceive "The Wrath of Man" as a remake of the original French thriller "Collector" (and he, no matter how hard it is to believe it, is). After all, Nicolas Bukhrif had a quiet drama about the boring everyday life of money carriers who smoke weed, chat about all sorts of nonsense, anneal at corporate parties, but are unable to hide their inner breakdown, their fatigue from life and themselves. Gradually, this plot focused more and more on the strange newcomer Alexander, and the viewer found out why he went to work in the collection. An awkward outsider, he revealed his true identity and turned into a cold-blooded avenger before our eyes. Change Dupontel (let's say, completely non—heroic appearance) to Jason Statham - you will get a completely different movie.
But Richie needs it—that is, it's different. He does not like to stand on ceremony with the canons at all: Holmes is not Holmes, King Arthur is a street thief, and only on "Aladdin" the rebellion against everything generally accepted seems to have stalled. To "break up" after a couple of films, turning almost a festival tragedy into a genre puzzle. Pretentious, of course, but pretentious in a rich way: again these expressive opening credits, again the non-linear structure of the narrative, and even the pathetic division into acts, the funniest thing in which is the duplication of chapter titles by the characters themselves (in "Scorched Earth", the six of H, for example, are outraged that they burned the whole earth in search of the right people). There is no trace of the French film, but there is not much left of the old joking Richie either.
He uses pretentious visual techniques more diligently than usual: one minute he will shoot the opening scene in one take, putting the camera in the car of the collectors, which is about to be robbed, then during the static dialogue he uses abrupt camera departures. Richie, simply put, it is more interesting to play with the matter of the genre, to transform the standard Statham cinema, where the well—known actor changes his profession again (from a carrier and mechanic to a collector) at the form level. The legacy is that Richie is the images of masculine bully men, joking about penises and mocking each other like bully eighth graders in between work.
In this situation, when a self-mocking author, who has always kept somewhere above the genre, takes on a simple, like two times two, and incredibly serious story, there are two ways out. The first is to get something in the spirit of a "Spy" with the same Statem. A thoroughly parody movie that turns hackneyed images of special agents into one big joke. The second is a post—ironic synthesis of these two forms, a concentrated genre fusion that is so outrageously vulgar and serious (and, moreover, aesthetically filmed) that it already gives a certain pleasure. The second one came out rather.
Perhaps this is all part of the Stockholm syndrome. I really don't want to believe that Richie just took and shot a mature male action movie with the star of "Adrenaline" and the latest "Fast and Furious". But there are too many strange elements in this equation that do not fit into the laws of logic for the answer to be so simple. Statham stubbornly communicates with boyish quotes, because it is better to live one day as a wolf than a hundred years as a jackal, and kills enemies (mainly traffickers of child porn and murderers, he is still a noble avenger), but Richie, as if realizing how absurd his hero is, just enjoys the texture of the story. Perhaps that's why in the second half H himself fades into the background and gives way to those to whom he, in fact, is going to take revenge — war veterans abandoned by their homeland, robbing collector cars