Meeting Evil Chris Fisher

Meeting Evil Chris Fisher
Meeting Evil director Chris Fisher has carved a career out of directing broad, often campy, television programs like Chuck, Warehouse 13 and Eureka. This point-and-shoot dynamic, working more so in a technical and efficiency capacity, merely reiterating an existing aesthetic and thematic trajectory, tempers his somewhat adolescent instincts and sensibilities. The hope is that since making disasters like Street Kings 2: Motor City and s. Darko, Fisher might have smartened up and curbed his tendency towards self-indulgence and created something that, sadly, resembles something more akin to his television work. Unfortunately, Meeting Evil is the same sort of angst-y, puerile male nonsense that has made Fisher little more than a punch line in the film world. It features inexplicable close-ups of breasts, bizarre and unnecessary low angle and focal shots of items and factors unrelated to the plot or theme, and a smug sense of superiority unjustified by the text. The distinction here is that this time out, he has the charismatic Samuel L. Jackson and a surprisingly focused Leslie Bibb (and, well, Luke Wilson) classing up the trash with performances far more nuanced than the humdrum male fantasy script. Keen mainly on making fun of overweight people at any opportunity, the pseudo-noir formula twist follows cheating husband John (Wilson) around his balmy hometown after being laid off from a vaguely defined real estate job. With him is a mysterious and frequently violent stranger (Jackson), whose friendliness borders on malicious as he discusses the many annoyances he has with routine human behaviour and lack of consideration. Meanwhile, every person that pisses Jackson off winds up dead, leading the police to John's home where his wife (Bibb) inexplicably eviscerates the police officers, not because she logically would, but because, again, the entire film is little more than an exercise in misguided indulgence. While ultimately watchable ― if only for the sheer pleasure of watching Jackson and Bibb ― go ape-shit without restraint, there's little here for anyone that isn't an angry, but generic, 14-year-old boy, which is a shame since the film is restricted to people 18 and older. To boot, there's no special features. (Sony)