Actors flock to Netflix to satisfy their most loyal fans
The fashionable notion that television is better than ever and that cinema or film is battling in vain to maintain relevance is, depending on where you sit, either a potent truth or a spectacularly tedious kernel of received nonwisdom.
The fact that popular streaming-video services are now investing hefty sums in the creation of content in formats that fit comfortably into commonly accepted notions of TV (varied series in half-hour and full-hour episodes) and motion pictures (self-contained features averaging two hours) puts a new spin on the debate.
Streaming services operate outside the constraints of network and cable television, and that theoretically allows more creatively risky material. Some have even heralded a blossoming of “auteur-driven” television. Woody Allen went on at great length earlier this year about how flummoxed he was by Amazon’s pursuit of him. Once worn down by the company’s escalating offers of autonomy and, one assumes, money, he delivered a comedy series “Crisis in Six Scenes” that functioned as the equivalent of a not-unamusing three-hour Woody Allen movie.
For Allen — a niche-mainstream filmmaker who makes modestly budgeted movies that don’t lose money as a rule, but are not blockbusters — the Amazon series can be seen as a form of brand extension. For other movie comedians, taking original content to streaming video is more like brand preservation. As their box-office revenues trail downward, they pursue their audience to the place they believe that audience is staying.
Hence, “True Memoirs of an International Assassin,” a Netflix original movie starring Kevin James that had its premiere on that streaming service this month.
It was nearly eight years ago that “Paul Blart: Mall Cop” rocked Hollywood by grossing almost $150 million in the U.S. James, whose television series “The King of Queens” established his goodhearted, working-class guy with a mildly smartmouth persona, was possibly a movie star. Or not. Movies in which he was billed below the bigger star Adam Sandler did well, but by 2015 the inevitable Blart sequel could muster only half the take of the first movie.
The risk-reward math of a Netflix original is less daunting than that of a theatrical feature. “Assassin,” directed by Jeff Wadlow from a script by Jeff Morris, using themes borrowed from Allen’s ’70s comedy “Bananas” and the metacomedy “Confessions of a Dangerous Mind,” begins with some mildly clever evocations of writer’s block.
James’ character, Joe, dreams of being an author and spends his lonesome home time writing a geopolitical thriller with a stand-in for himself engaging in all manner of weaponized derring-do. (There’s a “Walter Mitty” element at work here, too.)
During moments when James’ character is stuck, Wadlow shows Joe’s double and various villains sitting around their set, awaiting authorial direction.
The movie doesn’t get much more clever from there. Joe sells his book to an internet publisher and is soon mistaken for an actual assassin, kidnapped, and dispatched to Venezuela. Placing the trivial nonsense that ensues in a country that’s experiencing political and economic catastrophe is about as dicey as the movie gets. In an age when populist comedy seems to be competing in a permanent gross-out contest, “Assassin” is distinguished by its relative mild-manneredness.
The same cannot be said about the Netflix work of James’ crony Sandler. If it’s not a “Grown Ups” sequel or an animated picture, Sandler’s movies for theatrical distribution have largely flopped in recent years. Sandler has changed as a performer. In younger days, he traded on a persona that split the difference between high school jock and high school goofball; in his middle age, he largely comes off as a guy who talks back to the car radio on the drive to work.
In the recent Netflix film “The Do-Over,” he plays a guy named Max who shows up to his high school reunion wearing a name sticker that reads “Maxi-Pad.” Max tells a wimpy former classmate (played by David Spade) that he’s an FBI agent with eight “kills.” (What is it with comedians creating regular-guy characters who want to be assassins?) He then leads Spade on a life adventure packed with deliberately repellent sexual humor, misogyny and homophobia.
While James’ “Assassin,” like his new television series, “Kevin Can Wait,” leans to bland safety, Sandler’s madefor-streaming efforts are even coarser than his theatrical output, which can get pretty coarse.
Sandler has been contracted to create six movies for Netflix. The one he debuted with, “The Ridiculous 6,” is even more dispiriting than “The Do-Over.” I watched it only for the sake of research, and conveniently enough, it was waiting for me on my Netflix page.
Why? Well, as it actually said on my page, “Because you watched ‘The Do-Over.’ ” That was a daunting sentence to read — almost an accusation. What should follow those words, I wondered. “Your late mother is very disappointed in you?” “You are going to hell?”
A Western parody, “The Ridiculous 6” has relentlessly cretinous characters, moronic CGI slapstick and cluelessly idiotic ethnic humor. (Several Native American actors walked off the set during production.)
Under certain circumstances, its cast, which features Sandler regulars such as Rob Schneider and Steve Buscemi and also acting heavyweights Nick Nolte and Harvey Keitel, might qualify as impressive. In this case, the presence of these performers tends to inspire dark thoughts about the intelligence and sensitivity of actors as a class. Nevertheless, “The Ridiculous 6” was the most-watched movie in Netflix history, according to its chief content officer, Ted Sarandos, though Netflix does not disclose viewership numbers.
The value of “auteurdriven” television depends a lot on the auteur.