[img]7|left|||no_popup[/img] Bankers, bankers, everywhere. Tykwer brings the paranoid in this tightly-directed return to the old-school conspiracy thriller set amidst the stunning modern architecture of buildings by Zaha Hadid and Daniel Liebeskind, but is it really paranoia when the premise hews so close, “Law & Order” style, to the headlines? Casting banks as villains isn’t a stretch, especially not today, but “The International” takes it beyond credit crunching and into the realm of war, weapons, and international geopolitics – Machiavellian operations supported by staggering amounts of money and debt that form an insidious web of influence, and whose integrity is enforced with assassination. A credible SPECTRE, in other words – or “Quantum” to use the Bond franchise’s reboot name – here called the IBBC (International Bank of Business and Credit). IMDB’s trivia section tells us that the IBBC is modeled after the real-life BCCI (Bank of Credit and Commerce International), whose operations – money laundering, arms trafficking, nuclear technology sales, bribery – became exposed in 1991. And here we have a villain, drawn from life despite seeming too Bond-ish for suspending disbelief, that is more sinister than the traditional faceless entity skulking in the shadows, a destabilizing force that operates, seemingly with impunity, from behind a shiny, street-corner corporate façade.
Facing off against the IBBC, the proverbial flies in the web, are New York ADA Eleanor Whitman (Watts) and Interpol Agent Louis Salinger (Owen). Their investigation – swinging sledgehammers at stone walls – is already underway as the film starts. But of course it’s a bad beginning for the flies, who suffer the death of one of their own and the loss, by “accident,” of a key player whose knowledge could have brought the IBBC down. “The International” doesn’t waste any time getting to the chase, which rarely involves literal chases (as in, by foot or car) – although Tykwer does stage an electrifying humdinger of a shootout scene set in the layered curves of the Guggenheim museum – but a lot of procedural chasing, old-fashioned police work that, with the support of street savvy cops in Italy and New York, also brings to mind “Law & Order” on adrenaline.
“The International” is unusually thoughtful for a genre film that could easily lose itself in efforts to manipulate the audience. Commendable are seemingly small, but very revealing, details, like screenwriter Eric Warren Singer’s resistance to presenting Salinger’s Interpol analyst as some sort of international supercop. To emphasize the point, just as Salinger is about to go over the rails an associate reminds him that Interpol’s purpose is to gather intelligence and facilitate trans-national policing efforts, not enforce the law. When Salinger does deviate from his job description, as of course he must, it’s part of a plan that twists the plot and refines the character. Salinger’s desperation in the face of an overwhelming enemy turns out to be not merely a populist gesture that appeals to our visceral desire to see justice done, but a deliberate move that contrasts against Whitman’s hold on the light side of the law. It also sets up a resolution, if it can be called that, which nicely defies the extremes of bleak failure or exuberant success that typically define genre endings.
So in Salinger we get, yes, the distinctively simmering and introspective Owenian hero, but also a character whose actions and struggles are subject to self-reflection. One of the film’s best scenes is a locked-room conversation between Owen and the broken, world-weary cold warrior played by Armin Mueller-Stahl with a rich, heavy sense of resignation. Not with a bang, but with a quiet meeting of minds, we watch in Owen and Mueller-Stahl a human-scale philosophical debate pitting the rule of law versus the gratification of vigilantism, the individual versus the system, surrender versus persistence. It’s always a gamble to slow the pace for conversations like these, illustrating just how alchemical a task it is to balance action and exposition in a film, but it feels right. The conspiracy central to “The International” is not a conspiracy of body, but one of mind. The bullets, really, are less important than the numbers.
Naomi Watts gets less attention, but like the film’s chief villain, IBBC president Jonas Skarssen, the film does allow some glimpses of supporting characters beyond their part in the drama whenever the plot has an opening. A snapshot of Whitman’s family life, for example, which explains why Singer doesn’t indulge the usual cliché of leading romance. A bonding scene between Skarssen and his son, over a game of strategy, serves as a none-too-subtle but not overplayed analogy to Skarssen’s business mind. Would that the film have paid more attention to Whitman instead of more or less shunting her aside as Salinger’s accessory – at least she gets a headline news mention in the epilogue. But, for a narrative driven by plot, there are enough of those little character moments to be satisfied that these aren’t cardboard placeholders in a wonkish thriller.
Entertainment Value: ** (out of two)
Technical Quality: ** (out of two)
The International. Written by Eric Warren Singer. Directed by Tom Tykwer. Starring Clive Owen, Naomi Watts, and Armin Mueller-Stahl. 118 minutes. Rated R (for some sequences of violence and language).
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