Spy is the latest attempt for the extremely talented Melissa McCarthy to find her footing in Hollywood. Unfortunately, despite an admirable effort from her and a great supporting cast, this film isn’t quite what it could be.
Like many films in the spy-comedy genre, the plot is a tad overly complicated with double-crosses and unreliable characters everywhere. The gist is that a nuclear weapon has been stolen, and the CIA must track down its sale as quickly as possible. However, the bad guys (Rose Byrne and Bobby Cannavale, among others) know the identities of America’s top agents, so McCarthy, playing a desk agent who assists her partner in the field (Jude Law), volunteers for a surveillance mission, hoping to gather intelligence unnoticed. A fellow agent (Jason Statham) thinks she is in over her head, and she must show her boss (Allison Janney) that she is a legitimate agent with valuable skills.
The premise, as absurd as it sounds, has promise, and the film aims to show the “anything you can do, I can do better” mentality of a woman participating in a man’s world. However, there are simply too many things that get in the way.
Spy has definite problems with tone. On the spectrum of James Bond satire, you have the tongue-in-cheek fun and romance of the original films from the 1960s and ‘70s and you have the outlandish ridiculousness of the Austin Powers series. Spy does the one thing it shouldn’t—it lands smack in the middle. And being in the middle is almost always the worst place to be.
Espionage-action-comedies should either be moderately serious with clever quips sprinkled throughout or over-the-top silly with jokes around every corner. The violence should be mild, opting for bloodless action, and the language tame, hiding clever double-entendres. This way the viewer knows none of it is really that important, and the ride is more the point than the plot. This is not to say that conventions cannot be broken, but such a risk must be executed perfectly in order not to confuse an audience primed for a genre piece. With this, Spy makes a huge mistake. The plot of the film involves the all-too-real purchase of a stolen nuclear weapon, which we later learn may be intended for detonation in New York City. While the terrorists are vaguely European (continuing a lame trend in action movies that attempts to avoid all discussion of actual terrorist nations), such a storyline hits a little closer to home than is deserving for a parodic film. Original Bond films had impractical stories (see Dr. No, Moonraker), and the Austin Powers films had Dr. Evil’s goofy schemes. The fun is found in knowing most of these nutty ideas couldn’t really happen. Spy ends up coming off as more serious than it ever should.
We are also led to believe that McCarthy has the athleticism of a ninja, which is fine if that characterization is consistent; however, she also tires instantly when chasing criminals and crashes miserably when trying to slide across a car hood. You can’t have it both ways—she can’t be superagent in one breath and maladroit buffoon in the next.
And the film is missing a great villain. Cannavale is woefully underused, and Byrne ends up not being quite as bad or dangerous as she thinks she is. Spy movies need memorable villains, and this one has a giant villain-shaped hole in the middle of it.
On a positive note, there are several brilliantly humorous elements here, such as McCarthy receiving her special spy “gadgets,” Statham’s insane anecdotes, and Byrne’s icy retorts delivered with a perfectly dry British bite. However, many of the laugh lines in the script fall flat due to the juxtaposition with what we see on screen. It’s hard to chuckle at a quick quip when we are also chatting quite seriously about nuclear destruction. And there is an ongoing gag involving mice and bats that I couldn't believe made it past a script supervisor. (Honestly, my theater was way quieter than it should have been for such a big-budget comedy.)
There is a smart critique about the roles female undercover agents receive (slobbish cat lovers with minimal employment, while men are always dashing international businessmen), but this is ultimately undercut by McCarthy forced to play the same role by the end of the film. McCarthy eventually has to act like a male, with violence and vulgarity, to accomplish her mission. And while she seems to stand on her own by turning down the smarmy Jude Law at the end, she winds up in bed with someone even crasser. Women can’t simply be smart and talented here. It’s as if the film wants to portray important deconstructions of feminist film clichés, but then chickens out.
But, ultimately, we are supposed to laugh at McCarthy. Her size is almost always the joke, and her filthy language is meant to shock. Such devices are just too tired. If she keeps rolling in the cash for such films, that is her choice, I guess. I don’t know the answer for her film career, because McCarthy is truly talented, but Spy isn’t it.
Spy is a film that tries to be daring but actually shows us more of the same. It offers some mindless fun if you’re looking to kill two hours and you’re okay with loads of unnecessary f-words. But it could have been so much more. And I hope McCarthy knows she could be so much more, as well.
Grade: C
Like many films in the spy-comedy genre, the plot is a tad overly complicated with double-crosses and unreliable characters everywhere. The gist is that a nuclear weapon has been stolen, and the CIA must track down its sale as quickly as possible. However, the bad guys (Rose Byrne and Bobby Cannavale, among others) know the identities of America’s top agents, so McCarthy, playing a desk agent who assists her partner in the field (Jude Law), volunteers for a surveillance mission, hoping to gather intelligence unnoticed. A fellow agent (Jason Statham) thinks she is in over her head, and she must show her boss (Allison Janney) that she is a legitimate agent with valuable skills.
The premise, as absurd as it sounds, has promise, and the film aims to show the “anything you can do, I can do better” mentality of a woman participating in a man’s world. However, there are simply too many things that get in the way.
Spy has definite problems with tone. On the spectrum of James Bond satire, you have the tongue-in-cheek fun and romance of the original films from the 1960s and ‘70s and you have the outlandish ridiculousness of the Austin Powers series. Spy does the one thing it shouldn’t—it lands smack in the middle. And being in the middle is almost always the worst place to be.
Espionage-action-comedies should either be moderately serious with clever quips sprinkled throughout or over-the-top silly with jokes around every corner. The violence should be mild, opting for bloodless action, and the language tame, hiding clever double-entendres. This way the viewer knows none of it is really that important, and the ride is more the point than the plot. This is not to say that conventions cannot be broken, but such a risk must be executed perfectly in order not to confuse an audience primed for a genre piece. With this, Spy makes a huge mistake. The plot of the film involves the all-too-real purchase of a stolen nuclear weapon, which we later learn may be intended for detonation in New York City. While the terrorists are vaguely European (continuing a lame trend in action movies that attempts to avoid all discussion of actual terrorist nations), such a storyline hits a little closer to home than is deserving for a parodic film. Original Bond films had impractical stories (see Dr. No, Moonraker), and the Austin Powers films had Dr. Evil’s goofy schemes. The fun is found in knowing most of these nutty ideas couldn’t really happen. Spy ends up coming off as more serious than it ever should.
We are also led to believe that McCarthy has the athleticism of a ninja, which is fine if that characterization is consistent; however, she also tires instantly when chasing criminals and crashes miserably when trying to slide across a car hood. You can’t have it both ways—she can’t be superagent in one breath and maladroit buffoon in the next.
And the film is missing a great villain. Cannavale is woefully underused, and Byrne ends up not being quite as bad or dangerous as she thinks she is. Spy movies need memorable villains, and this one has a giant villain-shaped hole in the middle of it.
On a positive note, there are several brilliantly humorous elements here, such as McCarthy receiving her special spy “gadgets,” Statham’s insane anecdotes, and Byrne’s icy retorts delivered with a perfectly dry British bite. However, many of the laugh lines in the script fall flat due to the juxtaposition with what we see on screen. It’s hard to chuckle at a quick quip when we are also chatting quite seriously about nuclear destruction. And there is an ongoing gag involving mice and bats that I couldn't believe made it past a script supervisor. (Honestly, my theater was way quieter than it should have been for such a big-budget comedy.)
There is a smart critique about the roles female undercover agents receive (slobbish cat lovers with minimal employment, while men are always dashing international businessmen), but this is ultimately undercut by McCarthy forced to play the same role by the end of the film. McCarthy eventually has to act like a male, with violence and vulgarity, to accomplish her mission. And while she seems to stand on her own by turning down the smarmy Jude Law at the end, she winds up in bed with someone even crasser. Women can’t simply be smart and talented here. It’s as if the film wants to portray important deconstructions of feminist film clichés, but then chickens out.
But, ultimately, we are supposed to laugh at McCarthy. Her size is almost always the joke, and her filthy language is meant to shock. Such devices are just too tired. If she keeps rolling in the cash for such films, that is her choice, I guess. I don’t know the answer for her film career, because McCarthy is truly talented, but Spy isn’t it.
Spy is a film that tries to be daring but actually shows us more of the same. It offers some mindless fun if you’re looking to kill two hours and you’re okay with loads of unnecessary f-words. But it could have been so much more. And I hope McCarthy knows she could be so much more, as well.
Grade: C