Review: The Cold Light of Day (2012)

Cast: Henry Cavill, Bruce Willis, Sigourney Weaver
Director: Mabrouk El Mechri
Country: USA | Spain
Genre: Action | Thriller
Official Trailer: Here

Editors Note: The Cold Light of Day opens on Friday

It’s no surprise for us to learn, when we do, that Bruce Willis’ character in The Cold Light of Day is not in fact an attaché. Of course he’s not: he’s Bruce Willis. It’s the little things like these that make action thrillers fun, the wait for the reveal of the secret life, the build up to the McGuffin that will allow the set pieces to be strung together. That McGuffin here is a briefcase of classified contents taken by Willis from a group of terrorists, the recovery of which leads them to kidnap his family and force his oldest son Will—the soon-to-be Superman Henry Cavill—to recover it from Sigourney Weaver’s mysteriously motivated Agent Carrack.

If The Cold Light of Day is anything to judge by, Man of Steel’s fate is sealed: Cavill can barely support a sentence, let alone an entire franchise, his every line delivered with a ludicrous theatricality that sees him alternate between mumbling dissent and screaming frustration.

The inclusion of names the like of Willis and Weaver seems intended to spare the audience the danger of excess exposure to the hopelessly limited range of Henry Cavill, this his first expedition as leading man. If The Cold Light of Day is anything to judge by, Man of Steel’s fate is sealed: Cavill can barely support a sentence, let alone an entire franchise, his every line delivered with a ludicrous theatricality that sees him alternate between mumbling dissent and screaming frustration. Alas a man can only work with what he’s given, and the film’s awful script is heavily complicit in the creation of this dire protagonist we’re somehow expected to root for. Written as though ten, even fifteen years younger than he is, Will plays closer to whiny teen than put-upon adult, greeting his newfound responsibilities with agonising petulance. In response to a barrage of bullets, he screams “STOP” at the gunman; his expected reaction remains a mystery.

Of course even Willis and Weaver can’t manage to rescue a film so helplessly teetering on the precipice of awfulness, and nor does either really bother to try. Willis turns up to churn out his typical no-nonsense tough guy schtick before promptly exiting the film cheque-in-hand, dignity still moderately intact. For her sins Weaver is doomed to stay until the end, a task she meets with a woodenness to put the finest Redwood to shame. Between The Cold Light of Day this year and Abduction last, Weaver seems to have developed an allergy to apostrophes, her apparent aversion to normal speech making her characters appear more sophisticated automatons than functional human beings. Her adversarial role is a laughable effort at providing an evil foil to an unspeakably dull “hero”, leaving The Cold Light of Day devoid of either someone to root for or against.

Any praise deserved of The Cold Light of Day belongs to director Mabrouk El Mechri, who seems the only person involved in any way concerned with artistry and giving the audience what they paid to see. His camera shoots through windscreen bullet holes, defies reality by pursuing chase scenes through parking lot mirrors, glides without trace of gimmickry through 180 degrees to add visual complexity to scenes sorely lacking it narratively.

It’s no secret that The Cold Light of Day is out to make a few bucks: this is the kind of generic action thriller that comes off the dream factory production line several times a year in various guises. What’s annoying, insulting, and downright rude, though, is the lack of subterfuge with which this money hunger is masked. Twice in the film a character blatantly drinks a particular soft drink, ensuring their performance conveys—as much as is possible with ones so weak—its refreshing qualities. Product placement is standard fare for Hollywood, but to not even attempt a shred of subtlety is indicative of the sheer crassness of the film’s desire to turn a profit. We’re all happy to shell out some hard-earned cash every now and then for a decent ninety minutes of fun, but The Cold Light of Day never even has the class to ensure you get your money’s worth.

Even for all its hideousness as a slab of sheer product, it’s unfair to dismiss the film entirely for its producers’ motives. Let’s be clear here: with one of the executives also credited as a writer, the problems here lie on the shoulders of the financiers. Any praise deserved of The Cold Light of Day belongs to director Mabrouk El Mechri, who seems the only person involved in any way concerned with artistry and giving the audience what they paid to see. His camera shoots through windscreen bullet holes, defies reality by pursuing chase scenes through parking lot mirrors, glides without trace of gimmickry through 180 degrees to add visual complexity to scenes sorely lacking it narratively. El Mechri is a talent to be commended, and what few plaudits The Cold Light of Day earns are his. This is a terrible film, written with nonchalant haste to be served up half-cooked by actors with zero commitment to the material. Hollywood needs more directors like El Mechri. It’s nice to see somebody trying.

Ronan Doyle

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Assistant Editor and Senior Film Critic. Having spent the vast majority of my life sharing in the all too prevalent belief than cinema is merely dumbed-down weekend escapism for the masses, I was lucky enough to turn on a television at the exact right moment to have my perspectives on the medium completely transformed. Those first two and a half hours marked the beginning of a new life revolving around—maybe even depending upon—the screen and the depth of artistry, intellectual stimulation, and emotional exhilaration it can provide.