The word “programmer” is commonly used to denote a film with a shelf life valuable to distributors but not necessarily to viewers. Usually, it’s an effort churned out quickly by a studio needing product, regardless of quality, and as such, ends up littering Sunday afternoon broadcast showings and, in the past, video store shelves. These films were simple, focusing on a clear selling point (gore, slapstick, crime) and featuring easy resolutions that would allow for cruise control viewing for an undiscerning audience.
In “Cop Out,” NYPD cops Jimmy (Bruce Willis) and Paul (Tracy Morgan) are two longtime partners who find themselves embroiled in a case involving a Latin drug gang. Jimmy has another motivation, however, as the gang leader has stolen a mint condition baseball card he was hoping to pawn off to pay for his daughter’s expensive dream wedding. Meanwhile, Paul goes back and forth about his worries regarding his wife’s infidelities. Both men have their role as a “real man” threatened by current events, Jimmy insulted by his ex-wife’s new husband offering to pay for the nuptials, and Paul seeing his household usurped by a more sexually appealing neighbor.
This would be modest gruel for a middlebrow filmmaker to make hay with, but unfortunately director Kevin Smith still has the crude instincts of a child. More often than not, the film resorts to shit and dick jokes, mostly delivered by a seriously bloated, coked-out Seann William Scott. Smith making an 80’s throwback action comedy makes sense, since he’s always seemed late to the party — “Zach and Miri Make A Porno” felt like a film frozen in 1998, and here he’s packed a contemporary offering with references to decade-old Internet jokes and even a Parkour sequence. Like most of the film, the latter sequences are short and perfunctory, as if the least amount of effort and imagination was placed into realizing it for the screen.
Smith likely tried to cover his limited skill by handing the action reigns over to second unit director David Ellis (“Final Destination 2 + 4,” “Snakes on a Plane“), but the problem comes from Smith’s own dissonance with the material. He still directs his dialogue scenes with the rhythm of his old banter-heavy scripts, but this time, with the words coming from two other screenwriters (Robb and Mark Cullen), the effect is deadening. The Cullens have written a serviceable script that Smith has shot seemingly word-for-word, bringing no insight or verve to the dialogue, which drag additionally when sandwiched between competent action beats most likely shot by Ellis.
Smith has always been notoriously outspoken about his gunshy reputation as a potential director of bigger films. He notoriously backed away from his commitment on “Green Hornet” because he couldn’t visualize the action sequences, and he’s been similarly cagey when linked with other similar projects. His argument is that he excels with a single camera two shot, usually of two guys dicking around, and in his earlier works, he’s right.
Here, paired with Bruce Willis and Tracy Morgan, that theory no longer holds water (Rashida Jones, Kevin Pollack and Adam Brody also all appear in the film). Morgan is a jovial presence, his macho bravado covering up a soft vulnerability and genial potbelly that allows for a certain level of relatability. He’s ill-matched with the smirky, half-awake Willis, always a limited actor and here given only one facial expression to act: glowering. Willis obviously likes clowning around with his image (“Hudson Hawk” anyone?) but the results usually suggest that Willis is the last one to get in on the joke. And its often a joke delivered poorly (again, “Hudson Hawk”). Here, his eyes light up at the prospect of random cruelty and violence against his enemies, but he doesn’t seem anything other than well-adjusted, bulletproof moviestar John Diehard. Morgan and Willis don’t seem to actually dislike each other (which is a relief, because the movie feels eight hours long) but as longtime partners, their chemistry is dubious, especially considering Jimmy is constantly surprised and/or annoyed by Paul’s verbal free association and technical ineptitude.
Credit, we suppose, should be given to living up to their inspirations. “Cop Out” never does anything with its baseball collectors’ motif, and there’s nowhere interesting to go with generic evil crime lord Guillermo Diaz (also looking sweaty, bloated and coked out — what kind of set was this?), leaving listless gunfights and stale buddy-cop interplay. Which, of course, means that it feels like an 80’s cop programmer, down to its ugly cinematography and sloppy action rhythms. Smith deserves kudos for even delivering on the sound of the era, thanks to composer Harold Faltermeyer, who hasn’t worked steadily since the 80’s, where his cheap synthesizer work graced “Beverly Hills Cop,” “Top Gun” and “Tango and Cash.” Despite a few modern hip-hop flourishes (and a theme song sung by Patti LaBelle (!)), Faltermeyer delivers on his stock and trade, which is to say the score sounds like either an 8-bit Nintendo game, or Herbie Hancock farting on an electronic keyboard. It’s awesome, in other words. The movie itself? Mmm, not so much. [D+]
