Mr & Mrs Smith fails to work or, in fact, add up on so many levels. Probably the most trying suspension of disbelief required is the notion that two chronically paranoid assassins take a whole 5 or 6 years to figure out that they're sleeping under the same roof. Or, from a crude perspective, that it takes Brad 4 or 5 years to put Angelina's lips to work on anything more saucy than a peck on the cheek. Yeah
right!
But none of that matters. No, really, listen to me, it doesn't. Because dwelling on such trivial matters as plot flaws, character inconsistencies, continuity problems and the like, you might fail to appreciate the majestic, hilarious nonsense of it all. Which would be a shame, really, as that's the whole point.
Think of it this way: Mr & Mrs Smith is Day of the Jackal meets Pirates of the Caribbean. It's bonkers (it would appear this is both literally and figuratively true). Leave all cerebral engagement, rumination and cogitation for later (it will only get in the way); lie back and think of Angelina - or Brad or both - depending on your proclivity and/or stamina.
Mr & Mrs Smith is saved from the Chris de Burg Award for Hollywood Mediocrity by two critical factors, neither of which alone would have been enough to save it.
The first is the extraordinary chemistry between two fine actors. There is a point early in the film where Angelina, who is wrapped in a sheet with a flower in her hair, approaches Brad after a night of well, you get the idea. Brad looks at her with what one might generously describe as raw, naked lust. It was a look that could have impregnated the unprotected from 30 paces. Someone really needs to bottle that and give it to Orlando Bloom. Anyway, I digress. What this does for the film is help you overlook some of the knottier problems with the characterisation like that fact that these two are, presumably, not very nice: y'know, the whole assassin, killing-people-for-money thing. To take another example, the whole Brad-cheerfully-and-repeatedly-kicking-his-wife-in-the-stomach (albeit off camera) thing.
The second saving grace is the dialogue. Fractious couples have been done comedically before, of course. But the counterpoint of marital strife and cold-blooded psychopathy has probably never been so funny. Think of the car chase in the Terminator, then think of it being used to relay two back stories not one. Then imagine it being played for laughs. It works, it really does. It's a skill.
There are some really deft touches too. Watch out for the lift sequence, and following dinner engagement. Watch out, also for the nice little reference to Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid at the end. It's worth remembering that the director was also responsible for a real spy movie The Bourne Identity, so he knows what he's doing on that score. And definitely watch out for an hilarious turn from Vince Vaughan now there's a man who knows how to spot an opening! Is this film high art? Erm no. Is it extremely difficult not to like? Yes it is. It's genuinely entertaining, and there has to be a place in cinema for that.
But none of that matters. No, really, listen to me, it doesn't. Because dwelling on such trivial matters as plot flaws, character inconsistencies, continuity problems and the like, you might fail to appreciate the majestic, hilarious nonsense of it all. Which would be a shame, really, as that's the whole point.
Think of it this way: Mr & Mrs Smith is Day of the Jackal meets Pirates of the Caribbean. It's bonkers (it would appear this is both literally and figuratively true). Leave all cerebral engagement, rumination and cogitation for later (it will only get in the way); lie back and think of Angelina - or Brad or both - depending on your proclivity and/or stamina.
Mr & Mrs Smith is saved from the Chris de Burg Award for Hollywood Mediocrity by two critical factors, neither of which alone would have been enough to save it.
The first is the extraordinary chemistry between two fine actors. There is a point early in the film where Angelina, who is wrapped in a sheet with a flower in her hair, approaches Brad after a night of well, you get the idea. Brad looks at her with what one might generously describe as raw, naked lust. It was a look that could have impregnated the unprotected from 30 paces. Someone really needs to bottle that and give it to Orlando Bloom. Anyway, I digress. What this does for the film is help you overlook some of the knottier problems with the characterisation like that fact that these two are, presumably, not very nice: y'know, the whole assassin, killing-people-for-money thing. To take another example, the whole Brad-cheerfully-and-repeatedly-kicking-his-wife-in-the-stomach (albeit off camera) thing.
The second saving grace is the dialogue. Fractious couples have been done comedically before, of course. But the counterpoint of marital strife and cold-blooded psychopathy has probably never been so funny. Think of the car chase in the Terminator, then think of it being used to relay two back stories not one. Then imagine it being played for laughs. It works, it really does. It's a skill.
There are some really deft touches too. Watch out for the lift sequence, and following dinner engagement. Watch out, also for the nice little reference to Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid at the end. It's worth remembering that the director was also responsible for a real spy movie The Bourne Identity, so he knows what he's doing on that score. And definitely watch out for an hilarious turn from Vince Vaughan now there's a man who knows how to spot an opening! Is this film high art? Erm no. Is it extremely difficult not to like? Yes it is. It's genuinely entertaining, and there has to be a place in cinema for that.