“Skyfall”

Four stars

Rating: PG-13, for intense action scenes, sexuality and fleeting profanity

Starring: Daniel Craig, Judi Dench, Javier Bardem, Ralph Fiennes, Naomie Harris, Albert Finney, Ben Whishaw, Bérénice Marlohe

Daniel Craig’s stint as James Bond has been about rebirth and re-invention, and “Skyfall” is no different, albeit with an intriguing twist: It feels more like John Le Carre than Ian Fleming.

As also was the case with “Casino Royale,” things get personal.

The formula seems the same at the outset, with an audacious, action-laced pre-credits teaser set in Istanbul, which finds Bond and a fellow field agent (plucky Naomie Harris, as Eve) in hot pursuit of a baddie who has ambushed some MI6 colleagues and stolen a vitally important computer hard drive.

First on foot, then in cars and motorcycles, and finally atop a moving train, Bond relentlessly pursues this fellow, ultimately with the assistance of a backhoe (!), all to an exhilarating orchestral score from composer Thomas Newman.

Then, at the climactic moment … things take an unexpected turn.

And not just in terms of plot, as the scripting trio — returning scribes Neal Purvis and Robert Wade (their fifth 007 epic), allied with Oscar-nominated playwright John Logan (“The Aviator,” “Hugo”) — moves the narrative into increasingly un-Bondian waters. Director Sam Mendes gradually shifts the tone as well, utilizing the obligatory exotic locals as a means of moving the action from London to Scotland — the long way around — for a stripped-down third act very much akin to his masterful 2002 adaptation of “The Road to Perdition.”

An unusual approach, for our big-screen imbiber of cocktails shaken, not stirred? Indeed. But there’s a reason for the madness concocted by Mendes and his writing team: an artistic flourish that suitably honors this 50th anniversary outing in cinema’s longest-running continuous franchise. (“Dr. No” opened in London on Oct. 5, 1962.)

There’s also plenty of madness elsewhere, in the form of Silva: an adversary who stands among the most memorable of Bondian megalomaniacs, and is brought to chilling life by Javier Bardem. And if we see a bit of his horrific Anton Chigurh, from “No Country for Old Men,” that’s probably no accident.

And this fellow isn’t out to rule the world; he merely wants revenge.

For what, precisely? Ah, therein lies the tale.

Back in London, M (Judi Dench) finds her authority challenged by Mallory (Ralph Fiennes), a go-between for impatient politicians disenchanted with MI6’s cloak-and-dagger approach to spy craft. It’s too retrograde, superfluous and expensive in the terrorist-laden 21st century, they argue, and it’s also time for M to retire: an opinion that Mallory apparently shares.

Such internecine squabbles intensify — along with the question of M’s competence — when a cyber-attack triggers a massive explosion at the very heart of MI6, with considerable loss of life. Worse yet, the stolen computer hard drive has fallen into the hands of the same hacker, who, in WikiLeaks fashion, intends to expose its information and reveal the identities of British agents operating under deep cover within terrorist cells around the world.

One slim clue points to Shanghai, where Bond dutifully picks up the trail, accompanied by Eve and armed with a few gadgets from M’s quartermaster (Ben Whishaw, understated, mildly smug and simply delightful). These new toys seem oddly insufficient, if clever: a tiny radio transmitter and a pistol with a grip that will respond solely to Bond’s palm print, thus preventing its use by anybody else.

A brief skirmish later, we’re off to the Dragon Casino in Macau: a setting that truly lets production designer Dennis Gassner excel. The casino itself is done up in opulent reds and yellows, and boasts an actual dragon pit (!) and dragon lady; that would be Bérénice Marlohe, as Sévérine. But the water-based approach is breathtaking, as Bond glides to the entrance in a small boat that passes countless large floating luminaria. Simply gorgeous.

The film’s tone shifts at this point, however, as Bardem’s Silva takes the stage. The subsequent battle of wits grows dark and dangerous, and we’re reminded of the horrific punishment that Bond took at the hands of Le Chiffre, back in “Casino Royale.”

Gone is the immortal 1980s and ’90s superspy who glided breezily through so many big-screen adventures, rarely mussing even his hair; Craig’s Bond bleeds, endures poundings and doesn’t necessarily recover wholly intact. This is as it should be: The Bond from Fleming’s typewriter is damaged goods from the first novel forward, and we thus admire the grit and determination that power him through subsequent adventures despite these failings.

More than anything else, though, Craig’s Bond is loyal to the core: both to England, and most particularly to M. The biggest joy of this script is the degree to which it expands upon this relationship, which Craig and Dench display with plenty of prickly, feisty on-screen chemistry. They have the advantage of a quiet setting: the iconic, wind-swept landscape of Glencoe, Scotland, which Fleming selected for Bond’s family background in his penultimate novel, “You Only Live Twice.” (Bond’s Scottish heritage was the author’s gift to Connery, whom Fleming had grown to admire as the on-screen incarnation of his hero.)

The various character interactions — M and Bond, Bond and Silva, M and Mallory, Bond and Q — are this script’s strength, and they help camouflage some, shall we say, rather glaring plot contrivances. Let’s start with the notion that the identities of every British undercover agent would be entrusted to a laptop out in the field; with a decision like that, M deserves to be put out to pasture.

But other issues also crop up. Bond catches up with his pre-credits adversary in Shanghai, as this fellow prepares to assassinate an art lover in an adjacent building. Why? Who is the target, and what is his relevance to these proceedings? And I simply could not swallow the notion that Sévérine, no matter how desperate, would lead Bond to her employer, knowing full well that she’d be putting herself in mortal danger.

But you’re likely to forgive such sins, thanks to an epilogue-of-sorts that completes the necessary task of re-introducing the “classic” Bond to us, along with the, ah, accessories that charmed the world so much in the 1960s.

Craig’s proto-agent endured the whole of “Casino Royale” before he earned the right to introduce himself as “Bond … James Bond” in the final scene, to that film’s first use of the iconic “James Bond Theme.” This time out, all the elements finally at hand, he’s allowed to “star” in the equally iconic gun barrel motif, but only at the end of this film … which concludes with an acknowledgment of this golden anniversary and a revived on-screen promise that also was part of the ritual, back in the day: “James Bond will be back.”

With a quality production like this, we can safely believe it.

— Read more of Derrick Bang’s film criticism at derrickbang.blogspot.com. Comment on this review at www.davisenterprise.com

“Alex Cross”

2 stars

Starring: Tyler Perry, Matthew Fox, Edward Burns, Rachel Nichols, Cicely Tyson, Carmen Ejogo, John C. McGinley, Jean Reno

Rating: PG-13, and somewhat generously, for considerable nasty violence, disturbing images, profanity, sexual content, drug references and nudity

Popular book series is ill-served by vicious, noisy action flick

By Derrick Bang
Enterprise film critic

I realize James Patterson writes trashy airport novels, but he still doesn’t deserve this sleaze-wallow.

Director Rob Cohen signals his intentions right from the start, with a prologue that finds our hero and his Detroit Police Department colleagues pursuing a perp through a dilapidated slum building: ear-splitting gunshots, battered-down doors, pell-mell chases, smash-cut editing and cockeyed camera angles.

Forget all about the thoughtful profiler and methodical, imperturbable Alex Cross played so well by Morgan Freeman in 1997’s “Kiss the Girls” and 2001’s “Along Came a Spider.” That Alex Cross doesn’t exist anymore; as re-imagined by Cohen, scripters Marc Moss and Kerry Williamson, and star Tyler Perry, our man of science and sociology has morphed into John Shaft.

The results aren’t pretty.

Cohen made his rep on noisy, brain-dead action thrillers such as “The Fast and the Furious” and “xXx”: unapologetic eye-candy that reveled in audacious stunts and testosterone-fueled characters who traded dialogue in words of one syllable. Nothing wrong with that, of course, since we viewers understood that such films are the live-action equivalent of Road Runner cartoons.

But Cross exists in the real world — at least to some degree — and Perry tries to play him (during the rare quieter moments) as devoted husband, loving father and loyal partner. But those fitful efforts at emotional authenticity are wholly at odds with the nasty, brutal story line into which Cross gets dumped in this film: a kitchen-sink amalgam of elements more or less suggested by Patterson’s “Cross,” the 12th novel in his ongoing series (19 thus far, with No. 20 due next year).

Thing is, I can’t imagine Patterson’s fans will be happy with this film. Names and relationships have been altered, behavior and motivation are wholly different … often for no reason. Why, for example, would Moss and Williamson change the name of Cross’ childhood best friend from John Sampson to Tommy Kane (played here by Edward Burns)? Is it that important to leave clumsy screenwriter footprints all over Patterson’s original story?

The biggest change, however, concerns the depraved serial killer whom Cross faces: the Butcher (actually Michael Sullivan) in Patterson’s book, here re-christened Picasso (!) and played with chilling, scary-eyed credibility by Matthew Fox, late of TV’s “Lost.”

I’ll give Cohen credit for drawing such a memorable performance from Fox, who dropped 35 pounds in order to play this gaunt, heavily tattooed, bone-and-sinew pain freak. Fox’s Picasso is the stuff of nightmares: a believably unstoppable force who derives shuddery erotic pleasure from — as one example — snipping off a woman’s fingers with pruning shears.

“Cross” is, to a degree, the character’s origin story; Patterson’s novel begins with an extended flashback that depicts our hero’s early days as a Detroit police detective/psychologist, long before he becomes an FBI profiler. This glimpse into the past explains many of the details given as basic character background in the earlier Alex Cross books.

Moss and Williamson take that flashback as this film’s starting point; we meet Cross, his wife (Carmen Ejogo) and two children, and their feisty “Nana Mama” (Cicely Tyson), whose word is law in the attractive suburban home they share. At the precinct, Cross is teamed with Kane and Monica Ashe (Rachel Nichols), the latter a young detective looking to earn her department rep.

As the core story line begins, Cross and his team catch a multiple homicide at the home of a wealthy, hedonistic Asian woman whose carnal pleasures include betting on mixed martial arts cage matches. Her three bodyguards are dead; she’s also dead and missing her fingers. Cross studies the scene and labels this carnage the work of a single methodical and ferociously intelligent killer, albeit one with a few screws loose. (This would be Picasso.)

Somehow — and the frequently sloppy script never makes this clear — this woman is tied to German corporate bigwig Erich Nunemacher (Werner Daehn), who in turn is allied with multi-national industrialist Leon Mercier (Jean Reno), who has a bold vision for transforming downtown Detroit into a city of the future.

For reasons unknown, the shadowy Picasso is working his way up the food chain, with Mercier as his ultimate goal. Cross and his team are assigned by their precinct captain (John C. McGinley) to ensure that doesn’t happen.

Things … don’t go as planned. (Are you surprised?)

Longtime Patterson fans who worried about whether Perry could handle this role — he is, after all, best known for cross-dressing comic turns in the likes of “Madea’s Big Happy Family” — can rest easy; he’s eminently credible … at least, initially. Perry displays both a no-nonsense investigative manner and a sweet, sensitive side; he and Ejogo share a pleasant, easy chemistry as a couple.

Burns is properly laid back as the laconic Kane, who functions as Cross’ walking conscience: the longtime bro’ who often challenges his partner to be a better version of himself. Burns and Perry also do well at trading this script’s few quips: mordant commentary and gallows humor, which is appropriate, given the circumstances.

Nichols never successfully inhabits her character, mostly because she lacks the necessary acting chops; it’s impossible to get a sense of who Ashe is. McGinley is wasted in a one-dimensional, take-charge role that the screenwriters manipulate to ludicrous extremes; Brookwell’s “command decision” in the third act is too stupid for words.

But, then, “too stupid for words” is pretty common in this inept screenplay. The reason for Picasso’s name is specious at best, and a detail quickly abandoned. One prominent character’s off-camera death is so sudden — and so inexplicably forgotten, from that point forward — that I couldn’t help wondering if some key exposition scenes had been left behind.

Cohen’s bombastic directorial flourishes are irritating throughout, and the jumpy editing — by Matt Diezel and Thom Noble — is equally exasperating. This isn’t a film to relax and watch; it’s something to be endured. Everything builds to a silly, pell-mell climax in Detroit’s former Michigan Theater, now (sadly) transformed into a three-story parking lot with its ornate 1920s plasterwork ceiling hanging mostly intact 60 feet above the cars.

One gets the impression — from the way Cohen stages this scene, and cinematographer Ricardo Della Rosa shoots it — that the setting is far more important than the characters battling within in. And that, I think, says it all.

Patterson is one of 12 (!) producers credited on this mess. Clearly, he should have held out for a better jury.

— Read more of Derrick Bang’s film criticism at derrickbang.blogspot.com. Comment on this review at www.davisenterprise.com

Three stars

Starring: Liam Neeson, Maggie Grace, Famke Janssen, Rade Serbedzija, Luke Grimes, Leland Orser, Jon Gries, D.B. Sweeney

Case in point: “Taken 2,” which became inevitable after its 2008 predecessor turned into a surprise hit that earned $224 million in worldwide box office.

This new entry isn’t a bad film, per se; it’s simply unnecessary. It covers no new ground, except to soften the long-estranged relationships between Bryan Mills (Liam Neeson) and his ex-wife, Lenore (Famke Janssen), and their outrageously spoiled teenage daughter, Kim (Maggie Grace).

But that’s not the meat of director Olivier Megaton’s amped-up action thriller, which exists mostly so that Bryan can meticulously execute dozens of anonymous tough guys, who clearly flunked out of Thug School. Rarely have we seen such a careless, sloppy and unskilled collection of ruffians; even with automatic weapons, they couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn. They dishonor the tattoo that marks their clan.

In fairness, contrivance and coincidence also played a major role in the first “Taken,” but we weren’t quite as distracted by narrative implausibility; it was fun to see Neeson emerge as an unlikely but persuasively competent black-ops veteran. Mostly, Neeson’s Bryan was mesmerizing because of his shrewd and almost uncanny intelligence. Sure, he kicked plenty of ass, but mostly he out-thought his opponents. The concept felt fresh.

Yes, “Taken 2” finds a way to further explore Bryan’s smarts; scripters Luc Besson and Robert Mark Kamen are savvy enough not to mess with success. But that’s the point; they also haven’t expanded upon that formula. In some ways, “Taken 2” feels less like a sequel and more like a remake; it suffers badly from a sense of sameness.

But to cases:

Things have indeed improved between Bryan and Lenore, in part because Stuart, her second husband — never seen and only referenced; I guess Xander Berkeley wasn’t available to reprise the role — has been exposed as a louse. Bryan still monitors Kim too closely, although most parents could forgive his paranoia; after all, she was kidnapped and almost sold into white slavery.

When Stuart bails on a planned family vacation, Bryan offers a trip to Istanbul; he has a bodyguarding assignment, and would be happy to share that exotic city with Lenore and Kim.

Ah, but Bryan doesn’t know about Murad Krasniqi (Rade Serbedzija), a Balkan whose son was one of many killed by our hero in the first film. Murad vows vengeance, both for his son and for all the other young villagers who were executed by this American; the fact that all these “sons, brothers and grandsons” were violent scum who kidnapped young women seems not to be an issue. Parents forgive all sins, I guess.

The plan involves a three-person snatch, but Murad’s goons are only partially successful; Kim manages to slip through the net. Even more conveniently, Bryan isn’t searched properly, and thus is able to call his daughter via a nifty little gadget concealed in one sock. For a time, then, the narrative comes to life as the cosseted Kim rallies and becomes an incredibly resourceful — and lucky — amateur operative.

Emphasis on lucky. Even though Besson and Kamen attempt to set up a logical means by which Bryan can remotely help Kim orchestrate a family reunion, the necessary suspension of disbelief will be beyond many viewers. The degree to which Kim successfully navigates her way through a wholly unfamiliar and quite confusing city — and so quickly! — won’t merely raise eyebrows; they’ll literally leap off your forehead.

Okay, fine; credibility never has been an issue with Besson, who I’m convinced is responsible for half the movies made in France these days. The writer/director/producer has a marvelous talent for marrying engaging actors with high-concept action storylines, going all the way back to 1990’s “La Femme Nikita,” which begat a film and TV franchise that hasn’t quit to this day.

Since then, Besson helped make a star of Jason Statham, with the “Transporter” series (three entries, and counting); he also paired Gary Oldman with young Natalie Portman in 1994’s marvelous “The Professional”; and dabbled in science-fiction (“The Fifth Element”) and children’s fantasies (“Arthur and the Invisibles” and its two sequels).

Besson is most at home with sizzling, high-octane — and highly improbable — thrillers such as “District B13” and, yes, “Taken.” And while Megaton may claim credit as director here — having also filled that chair with Besson’s “Transporter 3” and “Colombiana” — “Taken 2” feels every inch like a film Besson directed himself: lots of flash, plenty of explosions and gunfire, and a primal urgency fed, in this case, by a man’s devotion to his daughter and ex-wife. How can we not relate?

Neeson continues to be cool, calm and capable, always rising to the demand of a given crisis. He gives Bryan the emotional grace of a bull in a china shop, but that’s the nature of the character; this isn’t a guy who’s comfortable with his feminine side. Most crucially, he really sells the material; when he utters the fateful statement, during a key phone call with his daughter — “Kim, your mother and I are going to be taken” — we can’t help feeling the thrill.

As iconic statements go, with its variant well remembered from the first film, it’s a corker.

Janssen, happily, shows a softer side this time out; she badly overplayed the bitch card in the first film. Unfortunately, “softer” quickly morphs into “helpless,” which is rather insulting for entirely different reasons. It’s also weird how Bryan keeps charging off at key moments, leaving her “safely” behind, when in fact she’s anything but safe. Like I’ve been saying, stupid and contrived.

Grace, never an actress with much range, steps up reasonably well to her greater challenges this time out. One does tire, however, of hearing her squeal “I can’t!” every time her father tells her to drive faster, faster, faster, during the aforementioned car chase.

“What are you going to do?” Kim later wails.

“What I do best,” her father replies.

But that’s actually the problem: What Bryan Mills does best, this second time around, isn’t that interesting. His blindfolded navigation skills aren’t nearly as captivating as, say, Jason Statham’s dynamic physicality; Bryan only shoots and kills, shoots and kills. He never misses; his adversaries always miss. Pretty thin gruel for a sequel.

And what could be next? Will Bryan turn commando again when somebody snatches the family dog?

Really, Luc, you should have let this concept go with just one successful shot in the barrel.

— Read more of Derrick Bang’s film criticism at http://derrickbang.blogspot.com. Comment on this review at www.davisenterprise.com

“The Expendables 2″

Three stars

Starring: Sylvester Stallone, Jason Statham, Jean-Claude Van Damme, Yu Nan, Liam Hemsworth, Dolph Lundgren, Terry Crews, Randy Couture, Jet Li, Bruce Willis, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Chuck Norris

Rating: R, for strong bloody violence

It’s time once again to buy stock in ordnance manufacturers; Sylvester Stallone and his geezer squad are back to wreak more havoc and shoot up fresh landscapes.

Really, even by the already crazed standards of Hollywood’s exaggerated action flicks, I’ve rarely seen so much gunfire. Or so many blood squibs spurting from the chests, limbs and heads of obligingly posed victims. Particularly the goons shot by long-range, high-power sniper rifle, whose heads explode in a spray of viscera.

It’s almost enough to harsh the laughably ludicrous vibe of this otherwise mindless live-action cartoon.

“The Expendables 2” is even sillier than its 2010 predecessor, which was a surprisingly entertaining AARP spin on “The Seven Samurai,” “The Dirty Dozen” and all sorts of other gang-of-losers-against-insurmountable-odds epics. The notion that Stallone and his old coot buddies still could raise hell, definitely raised smiles … and, yeah, it was a kick to see so many familiar faces.

With tongue even more firmly in cheek, Stallone once again shares screenwriting credit, but this time hands the directing chores to Simon West, a veteran of similar high-octane action fare such as “Lara Croft: Tomb Raider,” last year’s remake of “The Mechanic” and TV’s much-loved (if woefully short-lived) 2003 cop series, “Keen Eddie.”

The first “Expendables” at least made an effort to inject some actual character drama, with Dolph Lundgren’s Gunnar Jensen failing to play nice with the rest of the crew, most particularly Jet Li’s Yin Yang. Lundgren is sweetness and light this time — and has inherited a college-educated science background (!) — but Li makes little more than a token appearance in an audacious pre-credits rescue mission, which pretty much sets the tone for what follows.

Indeed, West errs slightly with this prologue; it’s far better staged than most of what follows. The folks who make these sorts of films really need to stop front-loading their best stuff; the rest of the film invariably feels anti-climactic.

But back to basics.

Any trace of squabbling has vanished, with Barney Ross (Stallone) and the rest of his crew — Lee Christmas (Jason Statham), Hale Caesar (Terry Crews) and Toll Road (Randy Couture) — joking and tossing brewskies like seasoned best buds. They’ve also taken on a rookie, a talented sharpshooter dubbed Billy the Kid (Liam Hemsworth), who seems to fit right in with the gang.

Or maybe not. With everybody else trading quips in the neighborhood bar and watching Lee’s flirty girlfriend (Charisma Carpenter, blink and you’ll miss her), Billy takes Barney outside and confesses that the group’s lifestyle isn’t quite what he expected, and that he’d rather spend more time with his own sweetie. Barney understands, of course; this allows Stallone to look pensive, as he reflects on his own life badly lived.

At least, what passes for “pensive” in Stallone’s limited range. Said expression also could pass for Stallone’s attempt at grim, unhappy or merely dyspeptic. Fortunately, he isn’t here to emote, merely to shoot bad guys and blow stuff up.

The eternally sour Mr. Church (Bruce Willis) pops up long enough to snarl at Barney and offer a fresh assignment, involving the retrieval of a mysterious computer whatzis from a plane that crashed in the mountains of Eastern Europe. This mission also comes with a resourceful woman — Yu Nan, as Maggie — who insists, with an enigmatic smile, that the politely sexist Barney won’t need to worry about “baby-sitting” her.

Indeed, as we soon discover, Maggie is equally adept at covert ops and martial-arts mayhem.

Although our team successfully retrieves the gadget, they’re just as quickly ambushed and forced to surrender it to the vile Vilain (Jean-Clause Van Damme), who is — you guessed it — the villain of this piece. Vilain is assisted by the equally nasty Hector (Scott Adkins), who we know is Very Tough because he scowls all the time.

Anyway, it turns out that the gadget actually is a map that leads to a huge, hidden cache of weapons-grade plutonium. Once this dangerous stuff is found, deep underground, Vilain and his goons kidnap all the able-bodied men from local Balkan villages, and force them to work themselves to death in the mine.

Mind you, these poor souls apparently die solely from fatigue, as opposed to the radiation poisoning we’d expect to afflict anybody who handles plutonium … or even gets anywhere near it. Stuff and nonsense, apparently; details of that nature don’t figure into this tale. Apparently, the cylindrical containers neutralize the radiation. Uh-huh.

Aside from stung pride, Barney is additionally motivated by revenge for a heinous act Vilain committed during their first meeting. From that point forward, we pause only briefly between explosive skirmishes, which grant spectacularly bloody deaths to — it seems — every stuntman in Bulgaria (where most of this picture was filmed).

These battles are (briefly) separated by bits of comic relief, mostly relating to predictable jokes based on various characters’ names — “Christmas came late this year,” somebody complains to Lee, at one point — or a given actor’s prior credits. Thus, Chuck Norris’ “lone wolf” operative is, of course, a nod to his 1983 film “Lone Wolf McQuade,” while his character’s name, Booker, references the guy he played in an even earlier film, 1978’s “Good Guys Wear Black.”

So yes, this is rather flimsy, lowest-common-denominator humor … which is appropriate, given the comic book sensibilities at work.

That said, West and production designer Paul Cross have a good time with several set-pieces, most particularly a hell-for-leather melee inside Bulgaria’s Plovdiv Airport, which grants everybody a slice of the action. Even Willis’ Mr. Church grabs an automatic weapon and starts blazing away.

One-handed, of course, the way all the cool kids utilize such guns … never mind issues such as recoil and kick-back.

Best friends Barney and Lee bicker a lot, and Stallone and Statham do reasonably well with these bits of light-hearted camaraderie. Crews has a good time with his character’s culinary skills, and Nan does a lot with irony, slow takes and deceptive smiles.

Van Damme makes a suitably oily scoundrel, while Hemsworth adds some actual narrative depth as the conflicted Billy. Couture isn’t given much to do — one Expendable too many, I guess — while Norris’ so-called acting continues to be wooden enough to warp. (Of course, even that is part of the deliberate silliness at work here.)

Schwarzenegger and Willis merely riff their outsized macho images.

Despite a plethora of shortcomings, however, this second outing with Stallone’s geezer gang qualifies as a solid guilty pleasure: the sort of mindless, camped-up pandemonium that goes down well on a fun-loving Friday night.

Dumb stuff and nonsense?

You betcha … but not without a certain degree of goofy charm.

— Read more of Derrick Bang’s film criticism at derrickbang.blogspot.com. Comment on this review at www.davisenterprise.com

Starring: Jeremy Renner, Rachel Weisz, Edward Norton, Donna Murphy, Stacy Keach, Dennis Boutsikaris, Zeljko Ivanek

By Derrick Bang

Enterprise film critic

Any doubts about the Bourne film series surviving Matt Damon’s departure can be laid to rest; replacement star Jeremy Renner capably opens a new chapter in Robert Ludlum’s popular franchise.

Although it’s perhaps not the chapter fans were expecting.

Ludlum, who died in 2001, wrote the three books made into the film trilogy that featured Damon between ’02 and ’07. Ludlum’s estate sanctioned Jason Bourne’s literary revival in an ongoing series of sequels by the prolific Eric Van Lustbader, who thus far has written seven more, starting with 2004’s “The Bourne Legacy.”

But although this new film shares the same title, that’s all it shares. Like most latter-day James Bond films, which also borrowed Ian Fleming’s book and short story titles — and nothing else — director/co-scripter Tony Gilroy concocted an entirely new narrative suggested by Ludlum’s conspiracy-laden premise.

And rather than tagging a new actor to play Jason Bourne — thus cleverly leaving the door open for Damon’s return, at some future point — Renner is introduced as Aaron Cross, one of several “sidebar assets” in the U.S. black ops agency’s clandestine Treadstone project.

Gilroy scripted all three of Damon’s “Bourne” films; he also wrote and directed the sleekly sinister George Clooney vehicle, “Michael Clayton,” and had fun riffing on industrial espionage with Julia Roberts and Clive Owen, in 2009’s “Duplicity.” So it’s safe to say that Gilroy knows the territory.

Gilroy wisely takes his time with the first act of this new film, introducing Cross during an extreme survival training session in the Alaskan wilderness. Details are sketchy, aside from the same heightened senses and reflexes that characterized Bourne; Cross also carefully maintains a daily regimen of pills — one blue, one green — that are safeguarded in a container worn around his neck.

Back in D.C., high-level spook Eric Byer (Edward Norton) frets over the public appearance of Dr. Albert Hirsch (Albert Finney), recognized from the previous film in this series. Similarly, Pam Landy (Joan Allen), Jason Bourne’s former handler, has threatened to go public with Treadstone’s seamier details.

Feeling that they have no choice, Byer and fellow conspirator Mark Turso (Stacy Keach) decide to shut down Treadstone and its half-dozen human assets, despite their highly effective work in various world hot spots. And in this realm of unsupervised behavior, “shutting down” has lethal ramifications for said assets.

Rather reprehensibly, the soulless Byer — quickly established as this story’s uber-villain — goes for total shutdown, which also means eliminating all scientists and medical researchers working to produce those little blue and green pills, in the concealed lab of a Maryland pharma-giant dubbed Candent.

Byer’s scheme isn’t entirely successful; one top-security researcher, Dr. Marta Shearing (Rachel Weisz), survives and withdraws, shaken, to the comfort of her magnificently dilapidated, three-story fixer-upper mansion in the Maryland woods. Shearing also knows Cross, but only as a man dubbed “Patient No. 5” who routinely submitted to blood panels and full medical work-ups numerous times, during the previous few years.

More to the point, Cross remembers Shearing; when everything goes pear-shaped, she becomes the one person who might be able to help him stay alive — and properly medicated — long enough to figure out what the hell is going on.

Assuming she lives that long.

Although you’ve just read a fairly straightforward précis of Gilroy’s narrative set-up, these details don’t arrive anywhere near as neatly in the film. Indeed, Gilroy and co-scripter Dan Gilroy (an older brother) go out of their way to deliver crucial details through flashbacks, confusing cross-cutting and just plain obfuscation. It could be argued that the screenwriters try too hard to be obtuse, relying overmuch on terse, heated and vaguely worded arguments between Byer, Turso and Cadent CEO Terrence Ward (Dennis Boutsikaris).

It’s difficult to get emotionally involved with the “crisis,” early on, when we haven’t the slightest idea what these guys are quarrelling about.

At the same time, though, Tony Gilroy’s leisurely pace allows us plenty of time to get inside Cross’ head. Like Bourne before him — whom he doesn’t know — Cross had a former life and career before being co-opted by Byer into this soul-deadening black-ops existence. Although properly grim and implacable when necessary, Renner also grants Cross gentler characteristics: curiosity, wary anxiety, compassion and a strong moral compass that Byer definitely wouldn’t admire.

Renner looks friendly, and his Aaron Cross believably slides from companionable smiles to lightning-quick lethal action in the blink of an eye. Renner is totally convincing, and when his expression turns grim, the results aren’t the slightest bit surprising. Indeed, we come to anticipate that transformation.

Unlike so many directors who front-load their action scenes and then have nowhere to go — I’m looking at you, “Total Recall” — Gilroy understands the effective art of building to a suspenseful climax. We learn much about Cross’ capabilities during the extended Alaskan sojourn, but these are hardly melees; his hand-to-hand skills don’t come into play until he returns to civilization. Cross doesn’t fully explode until he resourcefully finds his way to Shearing’s Maryland home, at which point Gilroy kicks his film into a higher gear.

But even this proves to be only an intermediate phase. Gilroy, editor John Gilroy (a younger brother) and stunt coordinator Dan Bradley throw everything into the climactic third act, which opens with a rooftop pursuit and builds to a jaw-dropping motorcycle chase.

Weisz is note-perfect as a lab rat wholly out of her depth, in this dangerous world into which Shearing suddenly is plunged. Her initial slide into hysteria looks and sounds just right, as Weisz digs deep for an inner core of stubborn defiance, in order to hold things together. Later, having (reluctantly) learned to trust Cross, Weisz brings considerable emotional warmth to what follows, her character’s sincerity doing much to elicit similar positive virtues from this man who, at other times, seems more killing machine than human being.

Norton is properly smarmy as Byer, and Tony Award-winning stage actress Donna Murphy is memorably persuasive as his capable and similarly pragmatic aide. Zeljko Ivanek is chilling as Foite, one of Shearing’s Cadent lab colleagues; Elizabeth Marvel is similarly creepy, as a government psychologist whose motives prove to be less than sincere.

Scott Glenn and David Strathairn briefly pop up in the roles they introduced in 2007’s “Bourne Ultimatum,” and Gilroy cheekily keeps Matt Damon firmly in our minds, with occasional photographs in files passed among key characters.

“The Bourne Legacy” layers slick, suspenseful action atop an intriguing, intelligent and emotionally involving narrative. Previous director Paul Greengrass definitely brought Ludlum’s Bourne series into the 21st century with authoritative snap, and Gilroy has continued the tradition quite honorably.

And as this film’s closing scene quite blatantly teases, we’ve not seen the last of Aaron Cross.

— Read more of Derrick Bang’s film criticism at http://derrickbang.blogspot.com. Comment on this review at www.davisenterprise.com