When mainstream genre-cinema attempts to affectionately parody itself, the results are rarely anything less than painful. Red is no exception to this. Setting itself up as a vaguely self-deconstructive action-comedy in which ex-CIA operatives are forced back into action due to improbable circumstances, the film seems to operate on the assumption that slightly unusual casting of high-profile actors is inherently amusing. Perhaps you are tickled by the thought of Helen Mirren shooting an uzi. Really? Off the top of my head, I can think of at least three similar but funnier hypothetical castings-against-type: Tom Cruise driving a really slow car, Kate Hudson as a baker who specialises in tompouces, Kurtwood Smith being extremely proficient at Cavandoli macramé… I probably couldn’t go on. Nor could the amusement I experience at the thought of said castings be sustained beyond half a minute or so. So why they chose to make a feature-length film out of such a flimsy script (I’m assured the comic book upon which it’s based is a good deal better) is beyond me. Red aims to send up generic convention while at the same time providing sincere entertainment, but it fails on both counts. Its knowing irony is dated, its action is spectacular in a boringly familiar way and the now tired realisation that every actor is presumably there only for financial gain does little to provide even a condescending level of amusement for the spectator. As a satirical meta-commentary on the paucity and innate arrogance of established cinematic convention, Red is an utter masterpiece, exemplifying as it does everything that is wrong with postmodern Hollywood, though it’s safe to say that this was the intent of nobody involved at the film’s inception. I bet your dad would like it though.
Oisín Murphy
