Clint Eastwood will be 88 years old in May. How many octogenarian filmmakers have we seen in cinematic history? It's really impressive that Eastwood has been able to keep going for such a long time, and he shows no indication of slowing down in any way. He could have called it quits after American Sniper, a genuine box office/awards behemoth and one of the biggest surprise hits in recent memory, but Eastwood kept plugging away, immediately switching gears and moving his next film into production. But as Eastwood approaches 90, I think it's worth asking if he still has it anymore. Look, he'll always get the chance to make movies at Warner Bros. if he wishes to do so, but will they even be worth watching?
If you examine the last decade of Eastwood's career, it becomes clear that American Sniper was a fluke. The rest of Eastwood's resume is peppered with movies that either flopped at the box office, missed with critics, or both. He had an impressive run in the early 2000s, winning Oscars for Million Dollar Baby and garnering additional nominations for both Mystic River and Letters from Iwo Jima. But as of late, it's been rough. Hereafter and J. Edgar were widely considered to be disappointments, Jersey Boys was a thoroughly mediocre musical, and Sully displayed such a stunning lack of storytelling control that I left baffled. When I heard what Eastwood was doing with The 15:17 to Paris, I was skeptical. Focusing on another minor event in recent history while also having the heroes play themselves seemed like such a bad idea. After all, if it didn't work with Tom Hanks, why would it work with three newcomers?
When I saw the trailer, I grew even more worried. It looked not just forced and tiresome, but genuinely bad. And sadly, it turns out my gut feeling was right on this one. For the record, nothing I say in this review is intended as an insult to the men who saved lives on that train. They are unquestionably heroes, and they deserve accolades for acting decisively in a situation where many would have been petrified. But their story deserves so much better than this tedious and aggressively terrible cinematic portrayal, a movie that makes so many staggeringly awful choices that I practically watched with an expression of horror on my face. When I sat down to watch this movie, I thought I was prepared for something that would be a bit of a mess. I wasn't, however, prepared to witness a monumental fiasco. This is one of the worst releases from a major studio in years, and if it wasn't directed by such a legendary figure, I doubt this even gets released. The 15:17 to Paris has nothing to say, no reason to exist. Even when it briefly comes to life, another awful decision is made and suddenly it's painful all over again. Make no mistake about it- this is a poorly written, blandly directed, totally misguided mess of a movie, and no amount of good intentions can save it. I promise I'm not exaggerating.
If you know the story, you probably have a good sense of what you're in for here. In August 2015, a man boarded a train from Amsterdam to Paris with a high-caliber rifle and several rounds of ammunition. He shot one man and planned to shoot many more, but thankfully, he was stopped by the heroic actions of Spencer Stone, Anthony Sadler, and Alek Skarlatos, three American men who were on vacation in Europe. The trio had help from Chris Norman, a British man who appears only in the final press conference with President Francois Hollande (when he appeared on screen, the elderly woman in front of me audibly said "Who's that?"), where he also received a prestigious medal. But this isn't Norman's story, nor is it really the story of anyone else on that train. It's about the lives of Stone, Sadler, and Skarlatos, three childhood friends who went through their fair share of trials and tribulations together. From their mischievous youth to their adult adventures, the young men share a bond that allowed them to save the day when the situation called for it.
Going into The 15:17 to Paris, it was clear from the marketing that Eastwood hadn't found undiscovered acting talents with the three heroes. This was a gimmick of some kind, and it's one that absolutely doesn't pay off. I can't fault Stone, Sadler, and Skarlatos for their performances- they try their best, and they probably didn't get much direction from Eastwood. That being said, I do question why they accepted Eastwood's offer in the first place, and I especially wonder why nobody told Eastwood that this was a bad idea that would never work. The film is already low on dramatic momentum and intrigue, and it doesn't help when the viewer is constantly reminded that these are three amateur actors struggling through each and every scene. But surprisingly, the professional actors don't fare much better. Judy Greer and Jenna Fischer, two clearly talented actresses, are atrocious in glorified cameos, forced to deal with dialogue that somehow manages to end up in George Lucas territory. "My God is stronger than your statistics!" is a real line spoken in this movie- and that might not even be the worst of it.
The script comes from first-time screenwriter Dorothy Blyskal (she worked on Sully, Logan, and Live by Night as a crew member), and it is so consistently bad that my jaw hit the floor on multiple occasions. I feel bad slamming Blyskal on her first attempt, but this screenplay should have received several re-writes before it ever became a shooting script. There is only one scene in this movie that feels authentic (more on that later)- everything else is so clearly scripted and brutally on the nose that it's almost physically painful. Each scene features introductions and banter that is so robotic and stiff that it made my eyes wander around the theater, pondering if everyone else was as shocked as I was. To give a prime example, there's a scene early in the movie where the boys play with airsoft rifles. When they collapse to the ground, one of them says "There's just something about war, man. The brotherhood." My hands plunged into my face and stayed there for a solid minute. To be frank, that level of obviousness is inexcusable in a major film, and it makes The 15:17 to Paris a cringe-fest of the highest order.
And not only does the film lack any kind of dramatic thrust, it also can't seem to develop its characters in any significant way. There's more horribly blunt dialogue about being pushed towards some "greater purpose," but the film never gives these men any room to grow as real flesh-and-blood human beings. I'm laying a lot of the blame on this screenplay, but of course, some of the burden is on Eastwood to properly translate the foundation into a compelling film. And he's just not up to the task. His attempts at realism through casting ultimately have the opposite effect, making the whole thing feel even more forced than it could have in the hands of professional performers. To make matters worse, almost nothing of interest happens for 95% of this movie. Despite occasional flash-forwards to the tense train attack, a good chunk of the runtime is devoted to the utterly boring lives of these three men. Eastwood films every scene in the most pedestrian style possible, never moving the camera in an interesting way or doing anything to make things feel lively or engaging. I get that the ordinary nature of these guys is part of the story, but I didn't need to see them wandering through Italy for 20 minutes to understand that.
There is one good scene in The 15:17 to Paris, and it comes near the very end of the film. No, it's not the train attack, which is as weirdly executed and surprisingly stale as the rest of the ordeal. The moment that comes immediately after the terrorist goes down is actually the best part of the whole movie, capturing the heroism and courage of these three men and the human power of this story. As the passengers run in fear, Stone, Sadler, and Skarlatos try to keep a wounded passenger from bleeding out, all while keeping everyone else calm. It's genuinely touching. But once that wraps up, Eastwood immediately decides to play pretty much the entirety of President Hollande's press conference, where the men are awarded their medals. Each decision made by Eastwood completely undercuts anything he does right in this movie. It makes for such a frustrating viewing, as anything interesting or moving is pushed to the wayside in favor of the strangest choices imaginable.
To be honest with you, this review isn't doing justice to the experience of The 15:17 to Paris. I just can't even put it into words- it's a film so poorly made on every level that you have to see it for yourself to believe it. Every line of dialogue is horrendous, each scene feels awkward and stiff, and there's not even a sense of urgency that pushes the film from one moment to the next. It's the rare film that is pretty much an unparalleled disaster from start to finish. I would say that it's fun to laugh at just how bad this movie gets, but at a certain point, I began to feel really bad for everyone involved. Eastwood's inadequate direction and Blyskal's catastrophic script are a massive disservice to the men at the center of this story, and it's disheartening to watch them flounder through a movie that doesn't even feel like a movie. Some true stories just don't deserve the cinematic treatment- we learned that with Sully. But The 15:17 to Paris is what happens when the basic lack of a story is pushed to the extreme. The results are so profoundly appalling that I couldn't believe my eyes.
There's also a scene where one of the three men wears a shirt that features Clint Eastwood as the Man with No Name.
This is such a strange movie.
THE FINAL GRADE: D- (2/10)
Images courtesy of Warner Bros. Pictures
If you examine the last decade of Eastwood's career, it becomes clear that American Sniper was a fluke. The rest of Eastwood's resume is peppered with movies that either flopped at the box office, missed with critics, or both. He had an impressive run in the early 2000s, winning Oscars for Million Dollar Baby and garnering additional nominations for both Mystic River and Letters from Iwo Jima. But as of late, it's been rough. Hereafter and J. Edgar were widely considered to be disappointments, Jersey Boys was a thoroughly mediocre musical, and Sully displayed such a stunning lack of storytelling control that I left baffled. When I heard what Eastwood was doing with The 15:17 to Paris, I was skeptical. Focusing on another minor event in recent history while also having the heroes play themselves seemed like such a bad idea. After all, if it didn't work with Tom Hanks, why would it work with three newcomers?
When I saw the trailer, I grew even more worried. It looked not just forced and tiresome, but genuinely bad. And sadly, it turns out my gut feeling was right on this one. For the record, nothing I say in this review is intended as an insult to the men who saved lives on that train. They are unquestionably heroes, and they deserve accolades for acting decisively in a situation where many would have been petrified. But their story deserves so much better than this tedious and aggressively terrible cinematic portrayal, a movie that makes so many staggeringly awful choices that I practically watched with an expression of horror on my face. When I sat down to watch this movie, I thought I was prepared for something that would be a bit of a mess. I wasn't, however, prepared to witness a monumental fiasco. This is one of the worst releases from a major studio in years, and if it wasn't directed by such a legendary figure, I doubt this even gets released. The 15:17 to Paris has nothing to say, no reason to exist. Even when it briefly comes to life, another awful decision is made and suddenly it's painful all over again. Make no mistake about it- this is a poorly written, blandly directed, totally misguided mess of a movie, and no amount of good intentions can save it. I promise I'm not exaggerating.
If you know the story, you probably have a good sense of what you're in for here. In August 2015, a man boarded a train from Amsterdam to Paris with a high-caliber rifle and several rounds of ammunition. He shot one man and planned to shoot many more, but thankfully, he was stopped by the heroic actions of Spencer Stone, Anthony Sadler, and Alek Skarlatos, three American men who were on vacation in Europe. The trio had help from Chris Norman, a British man who appears only in the final press conference with President Francois Hollande (when he appeared on screen, the elderly woman in front of me audibly said "Who's that?"), where he also received a prestigious medal. But this isn't Norman's story, nor is it really the story of anyone else on that train. It's about the lives of Stone, Sadler, and Skarlatos, three childhood friends who went through their fair share of trials and tribulations together. From their mischievous youth to their adult adventures, the young men share a bond that allowed them to save the day when the situation called for it.
Going into The 15:17 to Paris, it was clear from the marketing that Eastwood hadn't found undiscovered acting talents with the three heroes. This was a gimmick of some kind, and it's one that absolutely doesn't pay off. I can't fault Stone, Sadler, and Skarlatos for their performances- they try their best, and they probably didn't get much direction from Eastwood. That being said, I do question why they accepted Eastwood's offer in the first place, and I especially wonder why nobody told Eastwood that this was a bad idea that would never work. The film is already low on dramatic momentum and intrigue, and it doesn't help when the viewer is constantly reminded that these are three amateur actors struggling through each and every scene. But surprisingly, the professional actors don't fare much better. Judy Greer and Jenna Fischer, two clearly talented actresses, are atrocious in glorified cameos, forced to deal with dialogue that somehow manages to end up in George Lucas territory. "My God is stronger than your statistics!" is a real line spoken in this movie- and that might not even be the worst of it.
The script comes from first-time screenwriter Dorothy Blyskal (she worked on Sully, Logan, and Live by Night as a crew member), and it is so consistently bad that my jaw hit the floor on multiple occasions. I feel bad slamming Blyskal on her first attempt, but this screenplay should have received several re-writes before it ever became a shooting script. There is only one scene in this movie that feels authentic (more on that later)- everything else is so clearly scripted and brutally on the nose that it's almost physically painful. Each scene features introductions and banter that is so robotic and stiff that it made my eyes wander around the theater, pondering if everyone else was as shocked as I was. To give a prime example, there's a scene early in the movie where the boys play with airsoft rifles. When they collapse to the ground, one of them says "There's just something about war, man. The brotherhood." My hands plunged into my face and stayed there for a solid minute. To be frank, that level of obviousness is inexcusable in a major film, and it makes The 15:17 to Paris a cringe-fest of the highest order.
And not only does the film lack any kind of dramatic thrust, it also can't seem to develop its characters in any significant way. There's more horribly blunt dialogue about being pushed towards some "greater purpose," but the film never gives these men any room to grow as real flesh-and-blood human beings. I'm laying a lot of the blame on this screenplay, but of course, some of the burden is on Eastwood to properly translate the foundation into a compelling film. And he's just not up to the task. His attempts at realism through casting ultimately have the opposite effect, making the whole thing feel even more forced than it could have in the hands of professional performers. To make matters worse, almost nothing of interest happens for 95% of this movie. Despite occasional flash-forwards to the tense train attack, a good chunk of the runtime is devoted to the utterly boring lives of these three men. Eastwood films every scene in the most pedestrian style possible, never moving the camera in an interesting way or doing anything to make things feel lively or engaging. I get that the ordinary nature of these guys is part of the story, but I didn't need to see them wandering through Italy for 20 minutes to understand that.
There is one good scene in The 15:17 to Paris, and it comes near the very end of the film. No, it's not the train attack, which is as weirdly executed and surprisingly stale as the rest of the ordeal. The moment that comes immediately after the terrorist goes down is actually the best part of the whole movie, capturing the heroism and courage of these three men and the human power of this story. As the passengers run in fear, Stone, Sadler, and Skarlatos try to keep a wounded passenger from bleeding out, all while keeping everyone else calm. It's genuinely touching. But once that wraps up, Eastwood immediately decides to play pretty much the entirety of President Hollande's press conference, where the men are awarded their medals. Each decision made by Eastwood completely undercuts anything he does right in this movie. It makes for such a frustrating viewing, as anything interesting or moving is pushed to the wayside in favor of the strangest choices imaginable.
To be honest with you, this review isn't doing justice to the experience of The 15:17 to Paris. I just can't even put it into words- it's a film so poorly made on every level that you have to see it for yourself to believe it. Every line of dialogue is horrendous, each scene feels awkward and stiff, and there's not even a sense of urgency that pushes the film from one moment to the next. It's the rare film that is pretty much an unparalleled disaster from start to finish. I would say that it's fun to laugh at just how bad this movie gets, but at a certain point, I began to feel really bad for everyone involved. Eastwood's inadequate direction and Blyskal's catastrophic script are a massive disservice to the men at the center of this story, and it's disheartening to watch them flounder through a movie that doesn't even feel like a movie. Some true stories just don't deserve the cinematic treatment- we learned that with Sully. But The 15:17 to Paris is what happens when the basic lack of a story is pushed to the extreme. The results are so profoundly appalling that I couldn't believe my eyes.
There's also a scene where one of the three men wears a shirt that features Clint Eastwood as the Man with No Name.
This is such a strange movie.
THE FINAL GRADE: D- (2/10)
Images courtesy of Warner Bros. Pictures
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