Movie Review: The Viral Factor/逆戰

Strange that they’re not really  pointing the pistols at each other.The Viral Factor/逆戰 is the first ‘big’ Chinese film of 2012, and Dante Lam’s attempt to break into the Hollywood blockbuster league.  Featuring locations such as Jordan and Malaysia, it is certainly a geographically large film.  The action, too, is often larger than life, with lots of vehicle chases, fights, shooting, explosions and other mayhem.

It’s the best thing  The Viral Factor/逆戰  has going for it. It’s big, loud, and (almost) totally devoid of CGI. It’s convincing, realistic (to a point), and thoroughly enjoyable as big-spectacle cinema.

Nicolas Tse does most of his own stunt work, and he deserves a lot of credit for both raising the film’s believability (at least in that department) and for getting very obviously knocked around a lot.

Lucas picked out Daddy’s pajamas.

Andy On also does very well in his action scenes. All I ever ask of action scenes and stars is that they make me believe in them. Andy is convincing, and these days that’s a rare talent.

“閉嘴, 你布朗的鼻子.”

Jay Choud does all right with his scenes, but in comparison, he is a distant third behind Andy and Nicolas.

三, 對吧?

The biggest problem for me with  The Viral Factor/逆戰 is that whenever the action stops, the movie stumbles and falls for two basic reasons.

First, the plot is so melodramatic and overloaded with pathos that it would be a hard sell no matter who did it.

The Viral Factor/逆戰 is the story of a policeman played by Jay Chou, who loses a scientist and his girlfriend on the same day after being betrayed by a colleague. The scientist is kidnapped and his girlfriend is murdered. Jay has a bullet lodged in his brain and has two weeks to live.

In that time, he must find the virus, seek revenge for his girlfriend, and locate his long-lost brother. All while suffering occasional debilitating headaches and, we are told, deteriorating mental and physical capabilities.

If he has time to cure cancer, that would be nice too.

That’s a lot to handle, but its not an impossibility.

Of course, it doesn’t help when the plot is never really given enough attention to foster its development. It is reduced to a convenient touchstone that tries to tie all the action set pieces together, and we are expected to suddenly care about people and situations that have been ritually ignored for the last 20 minutes.

Though it does give Nicolas lots of chances to do Award-Seeking Crying and Emoting.

“F@#$ Aaron Kwok!!! I am the Best (over) Actor!!!”

Andy On doesn’t fare much better in the dramatic portions of the film. While his action is convincing and he does a very good job projecting an air of malignant menace, he  is often given some hefty and clumsy lines to speak.

I could tell a good portion of his English dialog was written by a non-native speaker, and Andy apparently wasn’t given the leeway to make them more natural-sounding.

His diction is not always perfect, and that means that some of these lines are unclear.

But I get the impression that no one around him has the language skills to know the difference. It is also odd that he wasn’t given a chance to fix it in ADR, since so much of the other dialog is obviously (and very poorly) dubbed.

“There’s no pleasing this @sshole!”

But it’s not necessarily Andy’s fault.

For a bit of perspective, let’s look at an example of how Hollywood deals with foreign languages in native productions.

The Cantonese in Martin Scorsese’s  Departed is so glaringly awful that you would reasonably wonder how and why, in a  US$90 million dollar remake of a Hong Kong film that was in Cantonese, directed by one of America’s best directors, such an appalling and easily remedied gaffe could be allowed:Jesus eats a donut,  I could speak better Cantonese than that.

In 2006. 

Well, I’m pretty sure Dante Lam didn’t have Scorsese’s budget, and I’m  damn sure he’s not Martin Scorsese.

So taking that into account, it becomes easier to see that Andy’s dialog isn’t perfect for the same reason Scorsese’s Cantonese dialog is crap:  No one on the set could tell the difference, and probably no one really thought it was important enough to make it better.

If anyone put any thought into it, they would have made that character speak Mandarin anyway.

So you see what I mean.

It’s really a very small gripe, but it bugs me.

Let’s face it, that’s not a short list, is it?

The dialog issue is, by comparison, minuscule when compared to other things about the film that bothered me.

My biggest problem with The Viral Factor/逆戰 is the utter lack of logic and intelligence throughout the film.

Maybe I’m too educated, maybe I’m an asshole, or maybe I’m just too old. I really am starting to wonder why so many movies bother me so much strictly in terms of what I see as easily avoidable and grossly profound lapses in basic logic, reasoning and knowledge.

And The Viral Factor/逆戰 was full of them.

In the film’s opening action sequence, Jay Chou is part of a team protecting a scientist.

I feel safe, don’t you?

They are ambushed by a man wielding a rocket launcher who shoots the Humvee at the back of the convoy.

Thus allowing the other vehicles to keep moving. Away from him.

Why wouldn’t you shoot the vehicle in the front of the convoy, thus preventing their escape and trapping them in a kill zone?

It’s only the way everyone else in the (real) world does it.

But you wouldn’t know that unless you spent five minutes on the internet.

The film includes the mandatory ‘bullet-time’ shot of a pistol firing, with the round rotating ever-so-slowly out of the barrel, the slide moving backwards and the shell casing ejecting. The bullet and shell casing are CGI.

But in this instance, the shell casing is for a rifle.

What’s the difference? See the image below:

Pistol cartridge (L), rifle cartridge (R) 

Now, I already knew there was a difference. But let’s suppose I didn’t know.  How would I ever find out what shell casings for 9mm or .45 (the two most common pistol calibers) look like?

Gee, I don’t know, maybe spend FIVE GODD@MNED MINUTES ON THE INTERNET???

Or, if I was in Jordan on the film set, LOOK AT ONE OF THE SHELL CASINGS FROM THE BLANKS FIRED FROM THAT PISTOL, YOU F@#$%ING MORONS.

Am I overreacting? Or is this just a complete fail in professionalism?

Yeah, its a small detail. But it’s also a pretty standard, and some would say obvious detail. 

Some might say its not the filmmakers’ job to get these details right.

It isn’t??? Then whose f@#$ing job is it?

Some might say its not important.

That’s true. To some people, apparently,not looking like a f@#$tard isn’t important.

My point is that yes, its a small detail.

So is making sure the color or model of the car a character is driving doesn’t change, for example.

It’s assumed to be so self-evident and obvious that you’d have to be a complete idiot to hose it up. It’s assumed you would get it right because its assumed you would not GET IT SO TOTALLY WRONG.

Good afternoon, thank you for calling Stupidity Visuals, how may I direct your call?

I refuse to accept that my standards are too high. If that were the issue, I’d be arguing that the casing was a .380 and the bullet was a .45.

I don’t care that no one in this movie reloads, either. That’s just an action standard. No one in John Woo movies reloaded. So yes, he too was unrealistic. But he was also visually stunning, so you didn’t notice as much (or care at all).

I refuse to concede that I’m being picayune (!) about wanting a pistol not to eject a rifle shell casing.

Is that too much to ask? Apparently, yes it is.

But wait, there’s (lots) more.

Jay Chou’s character has headaches because of the bullet lodged in his brain.

It’s supposed to be a pistol bullet, but hey, who f@#$ing knows?

These headaches seem to happen at extremely convenient, predictable times.

One of which I did in fact predict, because it seemed like the most convenient time for it. I had no sooner said “Headache time!” to my friend than Jay grimaced and began writhing in pain.

He’s always sitting around when they happen. If he’s busy, the bullet leaves him alone.

What a thoughtful bullet. But they say that mixed ammunition is smarter and more open.

His first headache happens when he is flying to Malaysia. Luckily for him, there is a doctor on board to help him.

She just happens to be a virologist, too. What luck!

She blithely walks into the cabin (because ever since 9/11 they keep the door open) and tells the pilot that the air pressure is too much for Jay, so could they go to a lower altitude?

Because Malaysian aiplanes fly with the f@#$ing windows open. Malaysia boleh!!!

“This is your captain speaking. We’re approaching some clouds, so please roll the windows up to keep the cabin dry. Thank you.”

Hey scrīptwriter ( aka F@#$ Chop): Did you know that commercial airplanes have had SEALED CABINS since the 1940s? No? Look on the  internet, f@#$wit.

Speaking of headaches, I got one after a flashback meant to induce empathy only induced aggravation. Liu Kai Chi and Nicolas Tse’s characters are forced to jump off of a building.

“It’s better than being in Speed Angels!”

A six story building, we are told.

They both survive by landing on construction debris.

Because that stuff’s so soft you could use it for toilet paper.

I might have tolerated it more if you hadn’t told me it was six stories in an attempt to impress me.

Instead, it just made me want to jump off a 12 story building.

As time is running out, Jay Chou must find Andy On in Kuala Lumpur, a city with one and a half million people in it and traffic so bad that people I know who drive there have to keep heart medication in the glove box.

How does Jay find him?

He looks around, and there, driving down the f@#$ing street, is Andy On.

What luck!

But that’s nothing compared to the great luck (and innate immortality) of Jay Chou’s character. At one point, he is standing virtually next to a truck filled with propane cylinders:

“Dude, is that Macy Gray?”

Those cylinders explode while Jay is still next to them (see arrow below for his position).

He gets up and walks away. F@#$ the concussion, the shrapnel, all of it. He doesn’t get so much as a headache.

Because he’s busy, see?

He’s got to track down the virus and the female scientist who has been kidnapped. She’s busy working on an antidote for the virus that Andy On is forcing her to make.

Andy warns her that she better not try to make a false antidote, because he has an image of what the antidote is supposed to look like and if hers doesn’t look the same he’ll know she’s lying.

Latest poster for The Virus Monologues.

No, I’m not kidding. That’s the image of the virus.

F@#$ a bunch of science, he’s got a photo!

The woman is hard at work on the antidote in a shipping container that also has all the bad guys in it.

Which ostensibly explains why Jay Chou throws a grenade into the container.

磕磕. 土地鯊魚.

Don’t worry, the virus is probably explosion proof, just like Jay Chou.  The scientist is too. She is unscathed.

Doesn’t have a headache either, just like Jay Chou.

Naturally, I cannot say the same for myself. I really wanted to like and enjoy The Viral Factor/逆戰 . I just couldn’t.

I realize many of the above points may seem overly punitive or demanding, but are they really? When I watch an action movie, do I need to abandon every pretense of plausibility?

A good allegory here (I hope) is a video game. Like film action heroes, the protagonists in video games can take more damage than humanly possible. But they can (and do) die, forcing you to start over, or to work, or get emotionally involved.

If you enable God Mode, you not only become immortal, but all your emotional investment in the game vanishes, because it becomes just a landscape you wander through, immune to all and sundry.  If you look up all the solutions and secrets of the game, discovering them is no longer a part of the experience.

Ideally for me, when I watch a movie in which, for instance, a man with a terminal head injury needs to locate a single person in a strange city of 1.5 million people, I think I’m supposed to wonder “Gee, how will he do that?”

And yes, call me a snob, but I want something more interesting than “He looks around. Once.” 

That, to me, is the problem with films like **The Viral Factor/逆戰 . If the characters are constantly shown to not be at risk no matter how outrageous the situation, and never face any substantive challenges or problems, how can (or why should) I become emotionally invested in them in any way whatsoever? I don’t need to worry about them, because pretty soon I know they’re not in danger, much less going to get hurt, let alone die. And they’re bound to be virtually handed the solutions to all their problems.**

There’s a reason they don’t make movies with superheroes playing regular, human cops. The movie wouldn’t be interesting because the superhero wouldn’t have any challenges.

It’s impossible for me to care about a story so blatantly (perhaps even pridefully) dumb. If you can’t be bothered to use anything more than pedantic convenience and ham-fisted narrative to drive your story, why should I care about it?

Why didn’t it occur to anyone in this film that it would have been very interesting, engaging, and intelligent for Jay Chou to have gotten one of his headaches when he could least afford it? I would have found that interesting, and I think other people would too.

**I honestly can’t understand how the people that wrote this piece of junk either

A) never thought of it (because it is another action cliche, after all) or

B) consciously declined to do it. **

Instead of something interesting, we get the laziest, most crass (and downright insulting) ‘use’ of the idea possible.

So am I really asking too much?  

Am I not allowed to have even the most cursory of expectations?

Is it fair of me to want to see a movie (made by grown ups who are ostensibly film professionals) that doesn’t play like it was written by a ten year old?

Don’t get me wrong, Dante Lam is free to make whatever movie he wants. 

And I’m free to call it a moronic piece of sh*t.

Many people ask me why I don’t have, or try to get, a job reviewing films. It’s because if I did, I couldn’t write like this. I don’t manufacture or fake my anger. It’s all too (health-threateningly) real.

In an oddly philanthropic way, I firmly believe that when a movie is an irredeemable turd, someone has to use the words ‘irredeemable turd’ instead of ‘perhaps not his best work.’ 

Some critics might say they were disappointed and expected more. I’ll say don’t shit in my mouth and tell me its chocolate. 

Saving face is one thing, but at some point the truth gets smothered and dies.  Well, not on my watch.

I don’t mind suspending my disbelief, but I refuse to have my disbelief gang-raped by a bunch of  mouth-breathing idiots who can’t be bothered applying even minimal research, thought, or logic to something they are supposedly professionals about. If that’s the case, then f@#$ you too.