Bright begins with a rather interesting idea: what if fantasy creatures like orcs, fairies, elves, and yes, even dragons all existed in a modern world? Sure, it's a little dopey and preposterous, but it's still a different and unique idea for a big blockbuster. From there, it makes an inspired choice in regards to its placement in the cop movie genre, taking cues from both Training Day and Lord of the Rings, as star Will Smith said himself in an interview on The Ellen Show. It all adds up to a strange brew of a movie, and I'll say that I have immense respect for its originality. It's cool that Netflix can bankroll something like this for $100 million, even though the screenplay comes from accused sexual abuser and notorious troll Max Landis. Let's just say there's a reason he won't be returning to write the sequel.
But beyond these bold and weird concepts, there just isn't much else to admire about Bright. In the hands of director David Ayer, the man who somehow directed both the terrific End of Watch and the truly atrocious Suicide Squad over the course of the same career, Bright alternates between being borderline incoherent anti-cinema and a Michael Bay-esque cacophony of gunfire and explosions. Even though its thinly-veiled racial allegory has caused some to jump to its defense, neither Ayer nor Landis (it's hard to know just who exactly to blame for this mess) seem to have much to say beyond surface level comparisons. While it manages to gain a certain level of energy in its final moments, Bright is as shallow and silly as you've heard, wasting a clever world on one-dimensional characters and a narrative that is somehow both simplistic and convoluted. This is one bizarre movie, but that doesn't mean it's worth your time.
Officer Daryl Ward (Will Smith) is given a difficult and undesirable task- he's paired with the first orc cop in the Los Angeles Police Department, the bumbling and mild-mannered Nick Jakoby (poor Joel Edgerton, buried under pounds of makeup). Unfortunately, his partner makes him the target of hatred from both humans and orcs, as Ward is ambushed and shot by a rogue orc while patrolling the streets. While he ends up okay, Ward still begs for a transfer, which is promptly denied because everyone in the department apparently hates him (this is never really explored in any capacity). Later in the day, Ward and Jakoby are on their beat when a call comes in that shifts their collective destiny in a new direction. As they investigate a domestic disturbance, the two cops find a magic wand, a rare and powerful object in this universe. But the wand is bad news for them- everybody wants it, including local gangs, corrupt cops, and an evil Bright (someone who can do magic stuff) named Leilah (Noomi Rapace). As danger looms around every corner, Ward and Jakoby will have to survive the night and keep the wand from falling into the wrong hands.
From the outside looking in, it's rather easy to predict where Bright's story will go. It seems like a fairly standard buddy cop comedy, where two mismatched bros will have to come together for the sake of the greater good. In a way, the extent to which Bright seems determined to not tell that story is almost admirable. It skips the usual exposition, never bothering to go over how Ward and Jakoby met or their initial reactions to one another. It throws you right into the story without hesitation, opting for immersion over a slow and steady introduction. All of this is good in theory, but in practice, it's totally disorienting. Ayer throws you headfirst into this weird universe, resulting in a film that initially feels painfully awkward. As Ward and Jakoby make small talk and trade jabs, the viewer has no clue who these two people are, or why any of this is amusing in the first place. This movie legitimately could not get off to a worse start.
Even with the movie star charm of Will Smith, the cast of characters is a recurring problem throughout Bright, all so thinly written and poorly motivated that the odds of audience investment are slim to none. The genre trappings of the buddy cop comedy can quickly grow stale, but without them, you get a character like Daryl Ward. Smith tries his best- there's just nothing to work with here. Ward is supposedly disliked by everyone in the department, but we're never told why, and even though he has a daughter and a family, they're barely mentioned after the first few scenes. Joel Edgerton's Jakoby has a clear and specific objective, which inherently makes him more interesting and sympathetic than any other character. But the deliberately cringe worthy chemistry with Ward never works, only enhancing the choppy, unnerving structure of the movie. The supporting cast is no better- Edgar Ramirez's elvish FBI agent shows up at random to explain things, Lucy Fry's Tikka barely gets a line in, and Noomi Rapace's acrobatic villain is a waste of her talents.
I certainly applaud Bright's originality, but a movie like this reminds you why so many studios avoid these high concept movies like the plague. Simply put, it's really easy to screw it up. Bright's internal logic is never immediately clear, and it handles its necessary exposition so poorly that I found myself constantly wondering exactly what was happening. If asked to explain how the Bright universe works, I wouldn't be able to tell you much. The film throws out a lot of terms and lingo over the course of its runtime, and it's impossible to catch it all. To enjoy this movie, you really have to just turn your brain off completely. Don't ask questions or think too hard- just click the switch and just watch the pretty explosions. Bright turns into mindless spectacle in its final act, and honestly, that's when the whole thing works best. Once it stops having any real ambition, Ayer is able to gain some steam and tie things up with a bow.
Still, even in the moderately better second half, Bright slows to a halt for a lengthy sequence with an orc gang kingpin. It just can't help but indulge its worst instincts. David Ayer has done good work before, but his tendencies as a filmmaker can also produce something as bad as Suicide Squad. There's nothing inherently wrong with putting a ton of hip-hop music in your movie, or with having your lead characters almost always be cops and gangsters. But when that's all your movie has going for it, the shtick wears thin fast. While Netflix deserves props for greenlighting something as bonkers as this, the script might have needed a few more drafts. For all of its risks and initial ambition as a franchise starter, Bright makes a seemingly endless series of poor decisions, until it just opts to give up and become a series of shootouts. Surprisingly enough, I'm not entirely opposed to more adventures in this odd universe, but whatever comes next has to be a whole hell of a lot better than this clumsy, brutally tedious mess.
THE FINAL GRADE: D+ (4.5/10)
Images courtesy of Netflix
But beyond these bold and weird concepts, there just isn't much else to admire about Bright. In the hands of director David Ayer, the man who somehow directed both the terrific End of Watch and the truly atrocious Suicide Squad over the course of the same career, Bright alternates between being borderline incoherent anti-cinema and a Michael Bay-esque cacophony of gunfire and explosions. Even though its thinly-veiled racial allegory has caused some to jump to its defense, neither Ayer nor Landis (it's hard to know just who exactly to blame for this mess) seem to have much to say beyond surface level comparisons. While it manages to gain a certain level of energy in its final moments, Bright is as shallow and silly as you've heard, wasting a clever world on one-dimensional characters and a narrative that is somehow both simplistic and convoluted. This is one bizarre movie, but that doesn't mean it's worth your time.
Officer Daryl Ward (Will Smith) is given a difficult and undesirable task- he's paired with the first orc cop in the Los Angeles Police Department, the bumbling and mild-mannered Nick Jakoby (poor Joel Edgerton, buried under pounds of makeup). Unfortunately, his partner makes him the target of hatred from both humans and orcs, as Ward is ambushed and shot by a rogue orc while patrolling the streets. While he ends up okay, Ward still begs for a transfer, which is promptly denied because everyone in the department apparently hates him (this is never really explored in any capacity). Later in the day, Ward and Jakoby are on their beat when a call comes in that shifts their collective destiny in a new direction. As they investigate a domestic disturbance, the two cops find a magic wand, a rare and powerful object in this universe. But the wand is bad news for them- everybody wants it, including local gangs, corrupt cops, and an evil Bright (someone who can do magic stuff) named Leilah (Noomi Rapace). As danger looms around every corner, Ward and Jakoby will have to survive the night and keep the wand from falling into the wrong hands.
From the outside looking in, it's rather easy to predict where Bright's story will go. It seems like a fairly standard buddy cop comedy, where two mismatched bros will have to come together for the sake of the greater good. In a way, the extent to which Bright seems determined to not tell that story is almost admirable. It skips the usual exposition, never bothering to go over how Ward and Jakoby met or their initial reactions to one another. It throws you right into the story without hesitation, opting for immersion over a slow and steady introduction. All of this is good in theory, but in practice, it's totally disorienting. Ayer throws you headfirst into this weird universe, resulting in a film that initially feels painfully awkward. As Ward and Jakoby make small talk and trade jabs, the viewer has no clue who these two people are, or why any of this is amusing in the first place. This movie legitimately could not get off to a worse start.
Even with the movie star charm of Will Smith, the cast of characters is a recurring problem throughout Bright, all so thinly written and poorly motivated that the odds of audience investment are slim to none. The genre trappings of the buddy cop comedy can quickly grow stale, but without them, you get a character like Daryl Ward. Smith tries his best- there's just nothing to work with here. Ward is supposedly disliked by everyone in the department, but we're never told why, and even though he has a daughter and a family, they're barely mentioned after the first few scenes. Joel Edgerton's Jakoby has a clear and specific objective, which inherently makes him more interesting and sympathetic than any other character. But the deliberately cringe worthy chemistry with Ward never works, only enhancing the choppy, unnerving structure of the movie. The supporting cast is no better- Edgar Ramirez's elvish FBI agent shows up at random to explain things, Lucy Fry's Tikka barely gets a line in, and Noomi Rapace's acrobatic villain is a waste of her talents.
I certainly applaud Bright's originality, but a movie like this reminds you why so many studios avoid these high concept movies like the plague. Simply put, it's really easy to screw it up. Bright's internal logic is never immediately clear, and it handles its necessary exposition so poorly that I found myself constantly wondering exactly what was happening. If asked to explain how the Bright universe works, I wouldn't be able to tell you much. The film throws out a lot of terms and lingo over the course of its runtime, and it's impossible to catch it all. To enjoy this movie, you really have to just turn your brain off completely. Don't ask questions or think too hard- just click the switch and just watch the pretty explosions. Bright turns into mindless spectacle in its final act, and honestly, that's when the whole thing works best. Once it stops having any real ambition, Ayer is able to gain some steam and tie things up with a bow.
Still, even in the moderately better second half, Bright slows to a halt for a lengthy sequence with an orc gang kingpin. It just can't help but indulge its worst instincts. David Ayer has done good work before, but his tendencies as a filmmaker can also produce something as bad as Suicide Squad. There's nothing inherently wrong with putting a ton of hip-hop music in your movie, or with having your lead characters almost always be cops and gangsters. But when that's all your movie has going for it, the shtick wears thin fast. While Netflix deserves props for greenlighting something as bonkers as this, the script might have needed a few more drafts. For all of its risks and initial ambition as a franchise starter, Bright makes a seemingly endless series of poor decisions, until it just opts to give up and become a series of shootouts. Surprisingly enough, I'm not entirely opposed to more adventures in this odd universe, but whatever comes next has to be a whole hell of a lot better than this clumsy, brutally tedious mess.
THE FINAL GRADE: D+ (4.5/10)
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