SSIC Movie Review: The Hurt Locker

This is a movie about bombs. Lots of bombs. Desert bombs.

The End.

That's pretty much it. Oh sure, a few other things happened. You wanna hear about 'em? OK. I'll provide you with a little more, oh faithful reader.

I’m still not sure what the title The Hurt Locker refers to. It’s not about well-secured first aid kits, nor is it about gymnasium facilities for actors William, John, or even Mary Beth.

This celluloid endeavor was directed by Kathryn Bigelow; the deft hand behind such legendary screen classics as Point Break and Blue Steel. It stars Jeremy Renner as Staff Sergeant William James, an expert at diffusing bombs. Joining him on the Explosivity Disposaling Unit are Sergeant JT Sanborn (Anthony Mackie), and Owen Eldrige (Brian Geraghty).

Renner has been nominated for an Academy Award for his performance. I’m not sure why this is. The supporting performances — most notably Mackie’s — were, in my opinion, superior. All Renner did was act “cool”. Oh, so “cool”. Desert "cool". But if looking “cool” is the only criterion used for award recognition, then David Caruso should be nominated for a Nobel Prize.

The film centers mostly on the antics of Sergeant James. James loves dismantling things that can blow you into a zillion pieces. He’d rather do that than live a peaceful life in a nice home with his beautiful wife. We’re shown some of his domestic life, but the movie doesn’t show the good stuff. No. Instead we see him cleaning out the eavestrough of his house.

Now I’ve cleaned out a few roof gutters in my time, but the one depicted here has to be the gunkiest gutter in the history of home maintenance. And he’s cleaning it out with his bare hand!!! C’mon, use a scoop, or a trowel, or a toy shovel, a stick, a shoe, anything. I’d rather diffuse bombs in Iraq than have to clean out that gutter in that fashion.

Another scene worth mentioning shows the guys — after getting a little snockered — engaging in an activity where good judgment and mental acuity would be a distinct disadvantage. The “game” involves taking turns hitting each other as hard as possible in the stomach. My wife, while watching this powerful and touching scene, turned to me and asked, “Why do men do those kind of things?”

You know, we men just have to chuckle when women ask us such questions. It was obvious to me, but I patiently explained it to her that this was a gesture of endearment. Women hug. Men try to smash the bejabers out of each other. It’s their way of saying, “You’re OK in my book.” And nothing says it better than a ruptured spleen.

A word of warning here to those prone to seasickness: the camerawork in this film is of that hand-held style that so many directors are wont to use these days. I suppose they feel it gives their movies that gritty, realistic, documentary look — which is ironic, since documentary filmmakers rarely use the technique anymore. Besides, if it’s supposed to look realistic, then why don’t I see the real world that way through my eyes? Although if I did, I’d be making an appointment — and pronto — with an ophthalmologist or a brain surgeon.

If you have a tough time watching this film due to that camera style, then avoid The Bourne Ultimatum at all costs. You would not survive. Its visuals are worse than any bone-jarring experience you could imagine.

I once took a ride on a gigantically tall roller coaster. Its peak disappeared into the clouds. It was called the Red Ripper, or the Brown Streak, or the Green Puker — something like that. Anyway, all I know is that I was smiling after that ride. I wasn’t smiling after The Bourne Ultimatum.

In closing, I should say that even though I had some reservations about renting the DVD of The Hurt Locker, I was able to take something positive from it — a lesson.

The lesson learned is, pay attention to your reservations.