‘Rhythm’ & boos
The name’s Bond. Jane Bond. The producers behind cinema’s most enduring spy franchise, Barbara Broccoli and Michael Wilson, are back with a new globetrotting thriller, “The Rhythm Section.” Only this time, it’s a woman wielding the gun. Unfortunately, it hits with all the potency of a shaken-not-stirred martini minus the alcohol. Stephanie Patrick (Blake Lively) is a Brit who sinks into depression, drugs and prostitution when her family dies in a plane crash. When she learns that the crash was no accident, but the result of a bomb planted by a radical cleric, she hooks up with a former MI6 operative (Jude Law) to seek revenge on the perpetrator. It’s not clear why Law’s paranoid, reclusive character immediately agrees to train Patrick, but after a brisk lake swim, rudimentary shooting lessons and some beans on toast, he determines her fit for fieldwork. Patrick is sent off to Tangier, then Spain and other exotic locales on the baddie’s trail. Requisite fights and car chases follow. The best spy movies generally come in two categories: intricate procedurals that offer a granular peek into the intelligence world, à la John le Carré. Or propulsive action thrillers that never allow the audience to take a breath, like the “Jason Bourne” series. “The Rhythm Section” is neither. The script (by Mark Burnell, based on his novel) never really coheres, and whatever momentum the action scenes build is quickly undercut by the endless, gauzy flashbacks of Patrick remembering happier times with her family. The only real tension left is seeing if Lively’s shaky British accent will show up in a particular scene or for a particular line. (Seriously, were no UK actresses available?) The film’s oblique title refers to Patrick keeping her fear in check by controlling her breathing (like the bass in a band) and her heartbeat (like the drums). And maybe in the hands of different bandleaders, the film would have been more successful. Lively’s journey from a literal crack whore to a hardened assassin who delivers droll comebacks while murdering someone never rings true. Early on, director Reed Morano seems to want to say something about how revenge is not healing — but the film’s finale delivers the exact opposite message. Take away the shaky cam and the indie-film sheen, the “brave” close-ups of Lively looking wretched, and what’s left has all the depth of a 1970s B movie.