Four stars. Rating: R, for strong violence, gore, profanity, nudity, crude sexual content and drug use
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.26.13
Truth really is stranger than
fiction.
And sometimes quite a bit more
deranged.
 |
| Having finally kidnapped Victor Kershaw (Tony Shalhoub, center) after several bumbling failures, Daniel Lugo (Mark Wahlberg, right) orders the wealthy businessman to start signing over his assets, while a nervous Paul Doyle (Dwayne Johnson) hopes that things won't spiral out of control. That turns out to be a vain hope... |
In late 1994, a group of
bodybuilders based at Miami’s Sun Gym went on a crime, kidnapping, torture and
murder spree that was both audacious and utterly beyond belief. Because the
gang didn’t collectively share enough brain cells to pass third grade, they
were, of course, eventually caught ... thus proving another old adage: We can
be grateful that most criminals are so bone-stupid.
The whole gory mess — and I do
mean gory — eventually landed in court in early 1998, resulting in the most
expensive criminal trial in Dade County history. The case was covered for the
Miami New Times by journalist Pete Collins, who also scoured court documents
and investigative reports, and interviewed the principal characters, for an
extensive three-part series that ran in late December 1999 and early January
2000.
The story is readily available at
the New Times website, and makes a jaw-dropping read. Check it out, and I’ll
wait for you to get back.
All set? Eyebrows raised to a
degree you wouldn’t have thought possible?
Moving on, then...
Director Michael Bay and
scripters Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely have transformed this vicious
circus into a hilariously warped dark comedy that signals its intentions with
an opening on-screen crawl that reads: “The following story is based on actual
events. Unfortunately.”
Yes, several characters and
events have been excised for the sake of expediency, and a 10-minute chase
toward the end is pure Hollywood nonsense. But the salient details, and the
major players, are 100 percent authentic. Unfortunately.
The farcical tone isn’t merely
perfect for the material; it’s also a necessary self-defense mechanism,
particularly when third-act events stray into the wood-chipper territory of
1996’s Fargo. As these meat-headed lunatics become ever more desperate, this
increasingly grim saga remains palatable only because stars Mark Wahlberg,
Dwayne Johnson and Anthony Mackie are so deliciously, delightfully dumb.
Some viewers will find this tone
quite tasteless — making fun of brutal psychopaths, no matter how stupid they
are — particularly in the wake of recent events in Boston and Sandy Hook. And
several of the actual people victimized by the gang are particularly incensed
that their ordeal has been transformed into a jocular burlesque.
Honestly, I’m sympathetic to that
view; quite a few of my chuckles were followed by wincing pangs of guilt. But I
can’t help admiring the outcome; Bay has delivered an indictment of modern,
American-style violence that — to me, at least — makes a much stronger (and far
more entertaining) social statement than Oliver Stone’s Natural Born Killers.
Wahlberg’s Daniel Lugo drives the
action. As the story begins, he’s a charismatic trainer at the Sun Gym: a guy
with a messianic fervor toward physical perfection, who nonetheless chafes at
the unspoken class structure that renders him little more than a buffed servant
to the aristocratic element of the gym’s clientele. Alas, for all his earnest
self-assurance, Daniel has more ambition than ability; his ego-boosting patter
couldn’t impress anybody with an ounce of sense — or education — but it
certainly works on the gullible and trusting.
In short, Daniel could talk some
people into drinking the Kool-Aid.
As he frets over his inability to
grab what he perceives is his share of the American dream, Daniel draws two
bodybuilding peers into his orbit: the mousy Adrian Doorbal (Mackie), who
clings to his new friend like a lost puppy; and the towering Paul Doyle
(Johnson, playing a composite of three actual individuals), fresh out of prison
and trying to live up to the ideals of his born-again conversion to Christianity.
With money constantly tight, and
newly motivated by a seminar session with self-help guru Johnny Wu (Ken Jeong,
a stitch as always), Daniel hits on the perfect scheme: He and his buddies will
kidnap arrogant, condescending businessman Victor Kershaw (Tony Shalhoub), a
regular at Sun Gym, and force him to sign over all his assets.
Daniel’s a bit vague on how,
precisely, this “force” will be applied, but that’s an insignificant detail.
The point is that Kershaw doesn’t deserve his wealth; he’s a spiteful jerk
(and, to Shalhoub’s credit, he makes us hate this guy).
The first few kidnapping attempts
are classic examples of blunders, mis-communication and hair-brained schemes by
Daniel, who fancies himself an expert on military-style stealth techniques, no
doubt thanks to what he has seen on television. If you took my advice and read
Collins’ newspaper articles, you’ll know that Markus and McFeely don’t
exaggerate any of these lame-brained schemes, either. If anything — and in the
interests of moving the film along — the script minimizes the number of failed
efforts.
Eventually, finally, Daniel and
his boys succeed; unfortunately, despite a duct-tape blindfold and half-assed
efforts at changing their voices, Victor immediately figures out who they are.
That’s problem No. 1. Problem No. 2, ironically, is that Victor moved his
family from Colombia in an effort to avoid just this sort of
kidnapping-for-profit scenario; he’s hardened, stubborn and not about to
cooperate.
Daniel and his friends take turns
babysitting Victor, working at him, while still maintaining their alibi-establishing
presence at the Sun Gym. Days turn into weeks; little by little, Daniel and his
gang wear Victor down. The cooked-up “cover story” will concern Victor’s having
liquidated his various financial holdings in order to fund a madcap fling with
some stripper.
Once Victor phones his wife and
orders her to grab the kids, leave their home and return to her native Colombia,
“for their safety,” Daniel moves into the newly vacated mansion ... genuinely
expecting that he can easily assume this new lifestyle.
You undoubtedly think I’m
revealing too much, but I’m not; this is merely the first act. Because, as
private investigator Ed Du Bois (Ed Harris) observes, after he takes an
interest in these doings, guys like Daniel never quit. Illegally obtained funds
eventually run dry, particularly the way it gets spent in Miami’s hedonistic
environment; and having enjoyed the taste, low-life losers naturally want more.
Although Wahlberg’s Daniel gets
most of the screen time, Johnson steals the film; he’s a natural for this style
of exaggerated farce. At the same time, we genuinely sympathize with this poor
guy; Paul knows that he’s getting in deeper and deeper, but — God help him — he
simply can’t refuse Daniel. Johnson’s desperate, anguished eyes speak volumes;
we understand that Paul keeps drawing mental lines that he promises himself not
to cross ... but he does, each time, and then the next line is that much more
dreadful on the ill-advised behavior scale.
Mackie’s Adrian is similarly
hapless and helpless, with an added element of personal torment; steroid abuse
has left him impotent, and his whole sense of self is wrapped up in the
illusion of physical perfection, which of course means bedding babes. Where
Johnson’s Paul engenders sympathy, Mackie makes Adrian a pathetic little misfit
who certainly doesn’t deserve the blossoming relationship he develops with
Ramona (Rebel Wilson), a lusty nurse he meets while seeking a cure for his, ah,
deflated ego.
Wilson is a hoot, her bland,
calmly serene attitude wholly at odds with Ramona’s earthy, foul-mouthed
dialogue. And lustful proclivities.
Harris’ Du Bois, who enters these
proceedings in the third act, is a welcome injection of sanity: the epitome of
calm and stability. As he has in so many other films — notably “Apollo 13” —
Harris conveys the resourceful intelligence of a methodical planner who can
solve anything and fix everything.
Du Bois knows exactly what to
expect from the likes of Daniel and his associates, and he certainly has no
trouble out-thinking them. Unfortunately, Du Bois can’t interest the Miami
police in this case, because Victor’s dealings — and his South American
heritage — have just enough whiff of larceny to bias the cops into assuming
there’s no point in bothering with an investigation. (Yup. That really
happened, as well.)
Bar Paly is suitably skanky as
Sorina Luminita, the stripper who first attaches herself to Daniel, and then —
once persuaded that he’s a CIA agent (!) — agrees to become Paul’s girl, in
order to “keep an eye on him.” Rob Corddry makes a properly dweebish John Mese,
the owner of Sun Gym, who also falls under Daniel’s spell. Michael Rispoli is
persuasive as a porn king who enters these proceedings in the third act, with
Keili Lefkovitz quite comical as his slutty girlfriend ... comical, that is,
until things turn dire.
Wahlberg, though, both anchors
and carries these increasingly absurd events. His voice-over narration displays
the matter-of-fact sincerity that Daniel employs to insist that his behavior is
never less than reasonable ... even as it becomes increasingly outlandish.
Wahlberg plays Daniel straight and sincere: just a guy out to make the most of
himself, even as he eyes a chainsaw in a big-box hardware store.
(We also must consider the irony
that this movie is being promoted, in part, by Wahlberg’s own line of fitness
supplements, Marked Nutrition, which he credits for having helped him gain
“over 40 pounds of muscle” while preparing for this role.)
I must point out, however, that
Wahlberg, Mackie and Johnson have “softened” Daniel and his buddies
considerably. These are bad, bad guys, and they don’t seem nearly as lovable in
Collins’ eyes. But, again, that makes the carnage a bit more palatable.
Steve Jablonsky’s score is as
wonderfully amped-up as everything else in this dog-nuts farce, and editors Tom
Muldoon and Joel Negron keep the pace lively, although — at a bit north of two
hours — the film does wear out its welcome during the final act.
The biggest surprise, however, is
that Bay — usually affiliated with shallow, overwrought popcorn epics such as Pearl Harbor and the Transformers franchise — has helmed a project with
genuine substance, and done an impressive job with it. While definitely not for
the timid or easily offended, Pain & Gain is a stylish dark farce that
demonstrates what can happen when somebody’s rancid notion of the American
dream goes very, very wrong.
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