"The Infiltrator" Review

I'm feeling a weird sense of legacy. One of my first reviews was Runner Runner, the gambling thriller with Justin Timberlake and Ben Affleck. That movie, directed by Brad Furman, was dumb but unfortunately took itself too seriously. 

Almost three years later (Jesus, I've been writing this long?), I've seen Hollywood fail to innovate, content with repeating artistically (but not financially) bankrupt moves. So, alas, who better to bring me a glimmer of progress than one of the men who brought me to the party? Furman directs The Infiltrator, a thriller that's dumb, but loves every minute of it.

In the 1980's, Robert "Bob" Mazur (Bryan Cranston) is an FBI agent whose "particular set of skills" lands him as an undercover money launderer for Colombian drug lords.

Bryan Cranston will be haunted by Breaking Bad until he dies, but typecasting (for once) produced the best candidate for the job. There's almost too much Walter White in Bob Mazur - the duality of family life and a life of crime; the personality shifts between meek and menacing; even Bob's partner Emir (an equally typecast John Leguizamo) brings to mind Jesse Pinkman.

Bob says in this job, one word out of place can equal death. The first half is tense, as Bob gets close to breaking cover on multiple occasions, most memorably in a restaurant with his wife on their anniversary.

This half is more fast-paced, featuring what you'd expect from an undercover thriller. Agents argue with their informants, listen in on intimate conversations; there's even a Bond-esque scene where Bob receives a state-of-the-art briefcase that can record with a turn of an eagle emblem.

For most of the film, Bob is establishing his cover, building trust with the drug execs, and that's where most of the tension and excitement lies. But there's a substantial chunk of the second act where the movie grinds to a halt and at that point, we're waiting on a climax. It'd be tougher to grind through if not for Roberto Alcaino (Benjamin Bratt), whose connections reach all the way to Pablo Escobar. Bratt is suave, and commanding but brings an element of heart that gives Bob the dilemma of potentially snitching on his friend. Unfortunately, the film sticks too close to its genre predecessors to convincingly suggest that struggle. 

The movie follows in the tradition of grimy '80s thrillers in the vein of Michael Mann or Brian De Palma. This is the kind of movie where the only thing greasier than men's hairstyles is the body paint on go-go dancers. There's an F-bomb a minute and a lap dance in between. The film is grainy, the car crashes practical, and the suits made with the expense only cocaine can buy.

The cinematography, like in Runner Runner, is stylish but overwrought. The grainy film works as a throwback and there are some fun tracking shots lifted straight from Scorsese. Speaking of the Brat Pack, Furman borrows the worst of Spielberg, keeping scenes so back-lit, it makes me think less glamour and more "Shut it off!"

The Infiltrator is not a bad film, and due to its strengths - namely Cranston, Bratt, a goofy Leguizamo and some vintage dirty '80s cheese - I recommend it. Anything to give an alternative to The Purge: Election Year.

Thank you all for reading. I'm the Man Without a Plan, signing off.