American Made (2017)

Lest 2017 go down as the year that the otherwise bankable Tom Cruise made a disappointing go of universe building in The Mummy, late in the game comes American Made, which sees Cruise reteam with director Doug Liman, both of whom made a rather good show of it in Edge of Tomorrow (later renamed Live. Die. Repeat. for the DVD crowd, a worse title for the fact that it sounds more like a shampoo tutorial than a science-fictional Groundhog Day). American Made ends up a strong outing in the “hapless intelligence agency” genre, almost as if the Coen Brothers had directed American Hustle.

Cruise stars as Barry Seal, a TWA pilot bored of his repetitive career and too weary even to pay attention to his wife Lucy (Sarah Wright). That’s all about to change for Barry, though, as he meets CIA agent Schafer (Domnhall Gleeson, doing a spot-on American accent), who recruits Barry for reconnaissance flights in Central America. Ever the capitalist, though, Barry, finds his way into smuggling drugs and guns for the cartels and later the Contras, all the while earning more money than he knows how to spend.

Tom Cruise is seldom anything less than engaging on screen. He’s a charismatic presence, a real charmer, but he’s also got a manic glint that makes him a little bit unpredictable, a touch dangerous. Recently he’s used that to great effect in the Jack Reacher films, and he sent up the sociopathic end of the spectrum as Les Grossman in Tropic Thunder. Here we see a man who is increasingly over his head, in scenarios that are entirely his fault, without the ability, the resources, or the intellect to ask for help. When we first meet him, Barry creates a little turbulence from the cockpit just to liven up the red-eye flight. It’s horrifyingly reckless and self-destructive, but there’s an infectious gleam in Cruise’s eye, an impish madness that invites us to play along. And as we saw in Edge of Tomorrow, Liman knows how to harness Cruise into a performance that bends that mad twinkle into something of comedic value, playing a touch against type as someone who’s not fully in control of a situation. Ethan Hunt, let’s just say, would never have gotten himself into this mess.

As the puppet master of said mess, Gleeson is fascinating. Indeed, I had a very difficult time to believe that Schafer, General Hux, and Tim Lake were all played by the same man within five years, let alone that he’s also the poor chap at the center of Oscar Isaac’s robotic machinations in Ex Machina. I’ve already mentioned his flawless concealment of his native accent for the nondescript voice of Schafer, but what’s truly compelling is the way he manages to make a smile sinister, imbuing subtle menace with every raise of the eyebrow, as if to indicate that things could go very badly for Barry Seal if he utters so much as one incorrect word. From behind that mighty beard – truly not since Aaron Eckhart in Sully has facial hair been so capacious – and in between impromptu dance moves, Schafer presents with the lean and hungry look of Cassius, the frantic desperation to escape blame. As if we needed one more reason to be excited for The Last Jedi, Gleeson proves himself a creditable supporting performer.

Although largely not advertised as such, the true-story nature of the film gives it an uncanny sense of madcap possibility. One almost expects the film to reiterate halfway through, “This is all still true.” (However, a crucial news broadcast, for one, actually aired after the events of the film but is rejiggered for dramatic effect.) But the truth, as they say, is often so much stranger than fiction, and the film gives Barry’s wild exploits just enough allure, wrapped in just enough of the American dream, that the film should also come with a “don’t try this at home” disclaimer. Despite the sparkle of the lifestyle Barry creates for himself, the film is careful to remind us that Barry is either too dumb or too ambitious to know when he’s in over his head – he acknowledges that he leaps before he looks, but it’s done in that disarming Cruise brand of self-deprecation. Nestled between blockbuster season and Oscar season, American Made shouldn’t be drowned out in that middle ground; it’s mind-boggingly true without losing the sense of fun I look to have at the box office.

American Made is rated R for “language throughout and some sexuality/nudity.” Directed by Doug Liman. Written by Gary Spinelli. Starring Tom Cruise, Domnhall Gleeson, and Sarah Wright.