The canon of popular American films from this period of the millennium includes several crime comedies, including Steven Soderbergh’s “Ocean’s” trilogy, David O. Russell’s “American Hustle,” and Shane Black’s “The Nice Guys.” Ten years later, the previous film’s star Russell Crowe is headlining Derrick Bolte’s Get Out, an almost overwhelming reminder of the potential thematic richness of this type of film and how difficult it is to pull it off.
Crowe plays Manko Capac, a nightclub owner from Albania who says in an opening voiceover that he has been happily settled in the United States for many years. Crowe seems a natural fit for the comedic play, which uses the clichés of a heavily accented, creepy Eastern European criminal. His ability to hint at an undercurrent of violent anger bubbling beneath the surface of his unforced charisma was already put to good use in Borte’s previous directorial effort, the 2020 road rage thriller Unhinged. However, the joke here is that looks can be deceiving. So, more specifically, it’s reckless and unwise to try to act like a movie character.
Early in the film, Manco suffers a heart attack while having sex with his girlfriend Sunny (Teresa Palmer), but contrary to what the genre and character type would suggest, he plans to slow down, change his diet, sell his club and retire to a tropical island with the partner he loves. He’s been laundering small amounts of cash for cartels over the years, but he’s no Tony Montana, greedily climbing his way to the top of the food chain and relentlessly attacking his competitors. Some might think his relaxed approach to saving a little money is distinctly European, simply because it goes against the alarming, moralistic rhetoric of many American crime films.
So the role brings out more of Crowe’s easy-going charm, his level-headed businessman a calm eye in a chaotic storm. One night, on his way to the bank to deposit cash, Manco is robbed by a masked gunman, but he only takes out his cash savings, his emergency fund, to make sure he gets the money the cartel is owed. He doesn’t panic, but others do, and that’s where his real problems begin. Cartels worry about receiving negative attention, and frightened employees begin to act out of character. Things escalate when Manco is robbed a second time by the same masked person.
Crime stories where the action is driven and fueled by desperation, incompetence, misunderstandings and sheer bad luck pose a challenge for filmmakers. Torn between the seriousness of violence and the comedy of failure and incompetence, most directors find a way out of this conundrum by resorting to extremely dark humour. This is not an option for Bolte. His films are at their best characterized by a breezy, good-natured tone and positive outlook on humanity. After the first robbery, Manco reluctantly begins carrying a gun, fearing it will only lead to more violence. When he noticed that an employee was snorting cocaine on the job, he scolded him, but never threatened him with bodily harm. And he manages to reduce the temperature of the situation when a young relative of the cartel boss forces him to get into the car with her.
But the unexpected friction between the expectations of a violent crime story and the protagonist’s fundamental humanity requires great skill to build a consistent tone and atmosphere. Shot without any of the visual flair that made Unhinged so effective, if not particularly impressive, The Get Out veers awkwardly between unfunny crass humor and more unusual flat sincerity. Most of the comedy consists in drawing out the characters’ ridiculous attempts to fit into crime movie archetypes, but many times this only serves to draw attention to the film itself’s failure to live up to the genre’s standards.
When Jeff, played by Aaron Paul, attempts to make a suspicious deposit, a bank teller (played by Nina Dobrev in the game) demands that he take part in the transaction, a neo-noir twist that hints at a rich cinematic world filled with all sorts of bizarre freaks. Instead, and through no fault of any of the actors, this development feels incredibly forced and a cheap way to create more chaos on screen. Similarly, the goofiness of Luke Evans’ flashily dressed nightclub buyer is in keeping with the film’s palette.
After a limited theatrical run, Get Out should easily find an audience on VOD thanks to Crowe’s presence and general popularity and relative lack of crime comedies. But despite the narratively and thematically interesting premise, the film is too slowly paced and shot anonymously to fully pass as an outrageous farce with the occasional promised heart of gold.
