"Vengeance" Doesn't Understand the Meaning of the Word... or Anything Else

If nothing else, B.J. Novak's debut shows just how hard it is to make a good movie.

September 28, 2022

On the 24th season of the long-running CBS reality show Survivor, 29-year-old Kim Spradlin was the clear frontrunner for the million-dollar prize. On a season divided by sex, she’d formed a powerful alliance of women and strong bonds with the men. She entered the merge portion of the game with a thousand-watt smile, a keen strategic mind, the strongest bonds in the game, and endless options; all she had to do was chart her course.

‍

Unfortunately, in a game built on variables, one can only control so much. Despite Kim's charms, not everyone fell for the Texan beauty. “Troyzan” Robertson, one of the men with whom Kim aligned, sensed that she favored a women’s alliance. Concerned, he confronted Spradlin, who offered reassurance. Robertson didn’t buy it, nor should he have: Spradlin blindsided him that night, taking out his main ally.

‍

Robertson would get eliminated two rounds later; Spradlin would go on to win the game, notching four individual immunity wins and earning 7/9 jury votes; Robertson was one of the two dissenting opinions. After the finale, Spradlin gave an interview chronicling her game. When she described her conversation with Robertson and recounted his distrust in her, she opined that “it’s hard to convince someone of something when you don’t really mean it.”

‍

As Vengeance shows us, that’s equally true in a million-dollar bloodbath as on the silver screen.

‍

Movies are much like cooking. It starts with conceptualizing the menu, always with a purpose. We think of who we’re cooking for and what we want to make. If we fail to cross those streams, only one party will be satisfied: the cook or the diners. It’s hard to strike that balance on our first try. It’s how we wind up following a hearty appetizer with a rich entree with an even denser dessert, one American, one Italian, the other French. Eventually, we learn how to perfect a dish and learn what food creates the best experience when put together.

‍

Films are much the same way. Some of the most acclaimed directors began their careers with stinkers: David Fincher debuted with Alien 3 (although that disaster has its contrarian defenders) before going on to a string of critical darlings. James Cameron began with Piranha Part 2: The Spawning before eventually making the highest-grossing films ever produced. Not everyone can be a Kim Spradlin, slicing and dicing their way to greatness on the first attempt. The important thing is to be introspective to improve on your next outing. I mean, really, it's rough out there for first-timers...

‍

Vengeance is the story of New York-based journalist Ben Manalowitz, who ropes countless women into sexual encounters, who he lists in his contacts by location and what they do for a living or at what function they met.

‍

One such girl, Texan Abilene Shaw, an aspiring country singer, dies suddenly; her brother, Ty, believing Ben to be her serious boyfriend, calls him and beckons him down south for the funeral. Ben agrees. After the service, Ty confides in Ben that he believes Abilene was murdered and goads him into solving the mystery. After talking with his editor, Ben agrees, intending to use the family for a story about America. Along the way, he learns the true nature of humanity, connectedness, family, life, and vengeance… kinda.

‍

As a sleazy record producer encourages a singer with a monologue about the Big Bang and moments in time, Vengeance urges reflection on the role social media plays in our lives, how technology has shaped our perceptions of what matters, and how we leave our mark on the world. The young girl has one opportunity to tell the world who she is and all she has to say, to set herself apart and make it known why she matters. The intended lesson reverberates throughout the movie: we’re all offering up recordings of our life, choosing the optimal means of representing ourselves to curate an image that may not be entirely truthful. Unfortunately, Vengeance forgets that the girl needed that dose of inspiration; her first attempt was uninspiring, but the second felt like something more, that musical magic every artist spends their career chasing. A producer may be full of crap: that doesn’t mean he, and thus we, are wrong.

‍

The fallacy makes Vengeance struggle to hit any note it tries to reach. We all know the shameless womanizer, the one who only sees women as sex objects to such an extent that he can’t even spell or pronounce their names, if he even bothered to learn them. We all know the people who ignore the fruits life offers in favor of pursuing the instant gratification on which society seems completely reliant. If we looked inward, we’d see them in ourselves and realize that it’s just as possible to chase waterfalls in the big city as in a tiny Texas town.

‍

All of that is worth exploring, but Vengeance thinks that vocalizing an idea is the same as fleshing it out, and with so many ideas floating around, nothing seems to mean anything beyond the movie saying it. The emptiness largely stems from the error of choosing too many narrative paths instead of zeroing in on one and roping in thematics as the film progresses.

‍

It’s a comedy of errors where a lothario gets roped into feigning concern for the death of a girl who, to him, was nothing but a bunch of holes. It’s a murder mystery where a small-town singer's tragic death gets tackled by a family of kooks teaming up with an opportunistic city slicker. It’s a commentary on the differences we use to rationalize our judgments without realizing that when we point the finger, three point back. It’s a dissection of social media culture and its absence of meaning, appreciation, understanding, and empathy. It’s everything; by choosing to be everything, it is nothing.

‍

Vengeance does get one thing right: we love stories. The qualifications of a “good” story will vary on the individual and what they seek to gain. Game of Thrones’ most-viewed season was its last, which suffered mass repudiation and sank the careers of showrunners David Benioff and D.B. Weiss. Grey’s Anatomy has been on the air for nearly 20 years. Its recent seasons have introduced so many characters and ludicrous storylines that it feels more like a full-fledged soap opera instead of the medical drama it once cared enough to mimic, and fans have noticed. The Bachelor franchise reached its peak cultural relevance during an era where the show often ended in such dramatics that fans would not even get treated to the customary engagement that ended before After the Final Rose.

‍

We all want different things, quality aside. Sometimes it’s the communal experience, something inclusive to which we can attach. Sometimes it’s loyalty, the feeling that we’re sticking with something not everyone else can understand or appreciate. Sometimes it’s craving something ludicrous enough to make our own lives feel more stable by comparison.

‍

Vengeance fails because it wants to draw a throughline across every subset of America without honoring what makes a compelling story to everyone. Stories are about wanting something different, filling in holes, compensating for what’s missing, and reconciling what we cannot accept. The movie knows this in passing when it comments on concocting hair-brained theories to combat a truth we don’t want to embrace, but how often have we encountered people in life who pontificate about things upon which they never act? It’s easy to write a line and recite it; it’s hard to make your movie genuinely be about that thing.

‍

Hence, we have a movie titled Vengeance that cannot live up to that title. As the final scenes play out and everything comes to a head, it rings false. Vengeance is had, but to what end, point, or purpose? The why of it all vanishes into the Texas night. Life isn’t as simple as killing a man and walking off. Thematically, one can always argue intention, but when you make a movie, it’s your heart and soul; you can only ask the audience for so much, and no audience should give the benefit of the doubt.

‍

The movie ends quickly to pass itself off as the modern indie movie that cares more about getting discussed than getting consumed. On paper, this principle seems acceptable, but beneath the surface is the reality that discussion gets fueled by the need for discovery. A movie this desperate to say something should be something we process as individuals. If a dialogue occurs, it should be after we reach our conclusions about its conclusions.

‍

Vengeance has other flaws. It’s hard to buy BJ Novak as a douchey womanizer on the road to redemption. It feels like it wants to throw us off the scent of the murder mystery, even though a sleazy Ashton Kutcher playing a small-town record producer can only mean one thing. It’s a comedy without timing, a mystery without intrigue, and a social commentary that only offers new wording and not new ideas. It fails to entertain in any way a viewer could desire. The poster makes it clear: no one knows what Vengeance is: how can they? Vengeance doesn’t know itself. It's clear, even as the actors try to explain precisely what the movie intends to stay, the principles for which it stands. Ashton Kutcher struggles to articulate himself when simply describing the parallels one can draw from his character.

‍

Practice makes perfect; no one can master an art on the first attempt unless you’re Kim Spradlin or one of those fans who nail a half-court shot. Conversations rarely go well the first time; it’s only afterward, as we stand in the shower, the warm water washing over us, that we conceive the perfect way to articulate every point we bungled in the moment. If our sword is our work, Novak will sharpen his blade with time and figure out how best to carve up our perceptions of morality, cultural evolution, human connection, and vengeance. Unfortunately, his blade is dull and footwork spotty; it’s a fair first effort but is, without realizing it, dead on arrival.