War on Everyone (2016)

In an ideal world, every film would be judged purely on its own merits. Alas, every viewer comes with a cornucopia of past experiences and biases that inevitably colour how the movie plays with them. This was acutely felt during War on Everyone, the new film by John Michael McDonagh, because of his previous work Calvary. Calvary was a darkly humourous study of good and evil, and centred around a brilliantly humanistic performance by Brendan Gleeson. This point is mentioned only to put it back on the shelf and consider War on Everyone in its own right, because any comparison would be rather unfair.

The most immediately apparent feature of War on Everyone is the oddly bipolar nature of so many of the film's elements. This affects the setting, the characters, and even the plot itself. Taking these points in order, the setting is confused. This is McDonagh's first film to take place completely outside of Ireland, but precisely where it does take place is not very clear. This time the story unfolds in New Mexico, in what is definitely either 2016 or 1976. In spite of the certain presence of various modern objects (mobile phones, Xboxes, etc.), there seems to a a half-hearted effort made to create period detail from an earlier decade. Fashion sense, cars and even haircuts scream 'Disco era', as does much of the film's soundtrack, but with no commitment it seems more gimmicky than scene-setting.

This weird datedness carries over into the characters themselves, particularly the leading duo, Bolaño and Monroe (played by Michael Peña and Alexander Skarsgård respectively). Character construction is notably thin when "kinda racist" is in serious danger of breaking into the top three most significant character traits of our protagonists. This may well be another facet of the confused time setting - racist cops in the 1970s are hilarious, but not so much in 2016. Admittedly, this pair are billed as bad lieutenants archetypical crooked cops, albeit relatively toothless ones. But the problem with wanting your main characters to be self-serving and wanting to tell a fairly traditional buddy cop story is that one motive is incompatible with the other. Both characters are really just garden variety jerks, with a sprinkling of quirks masquerading as individuality. Bolaño spouts random factoids and potted philosophy, and remains likable or interesting mainly due to Peña's own obvious charisma. Monroe has slightly more in the way of development, but is still just a loose collection of tics. He's alcoholic, likes Glen Campbell, and has an unusual stooping posture that is a result either of his consistent state of drunkenness/being hungover or is a necessity in order to keep his face in the frame with Bolaño's. (Peña is reportedly 1.7m tall, while Skarsgård is almost 2m.) The supporting cast are serviceable enough without being exceptional, though David Wilmot's comedy Irishman Pádraic does land a few of the film's biggest laughs, and rather deserves his own spin-off with Malcolm Barrett's Reggie. But for the most part they exist only as a mechanisms to advance the plot, not as personalities.

Speaking of which, this movie would be fine if not for a certain plot development that comes roughly three quarters through its running time. Prior to this point, the film is cartoonish and excessive to an extent, but the tone is solidly light. The biggest dramatic aspect thus far has been that Monroe drinks too much. All of this changes with a particular revelation concerning the actions of the aggressively British villain, Theo James' "Lord" Mangan. Suffice it to say that he does something utterly reprehensible. This development lands like a drop of dye into a glass of water, tainting the entire thing a very ugly shade. Certain topics ought never to be used as merely incidental plot points or as lazy "noble" motivation for previously dodgy characters. It both fails to give appropriate attention and weight to the element itself, and it causes that single event to distort every part of the story that comes before and afterwards. McDonagh is capable of blending comedy and tragedy, but this is not blending. This is blue cheese in a bowl of cornflakes: it doesn't belong there in the first place, and it leaves a foul smell over everything.

Enjoyment of this movie is possible, but only through considerable audience indulgence and participation. We must ignore the appalling elephant in the room, and focus on jokes that run the gamut from genuinely hysterical to crashingly misguided. There is nothing sufficiently original to merit a real recommendation, and like so many "just okay" movies from this year, it will probably be quietly forgotten, save perhaps as a new example of extreme tonal dissonance.