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You don’t go into a Jaume Collet-Sera thriller expecting a reinvented or even lightly innovated wheel. He’s a B-movie maestro, with a skill for making a brand new film feel as if it’s something you’ve half-seen on TNT a dozen times already. (Although I will genuinely, earnestly ride for House of Wax and The Shallows—arguments for another column perhaps.) Most of his films feature an increasingly grizzled Liam Neeson in the midst of some insane scenario—murder conspiracy on an in-transit flight, “reverse amnesia,” etc.—taken to and then beyond its logical extension for peak, controlled ridiculousness. After a couple snoozefests in RockLand that I didn’t even bother to see, JCS is back in his bag with a new muse in Taron Egerton and a new What If: suppose a TSA agent was threatened into letting something really bad through security?
Taron is no Liam, but Carry-On is pretty solid nonetheless—the three-star-out-of-five film that it was born to be, to adopt the Letterboxd ranking scale here. But it wasn’t long before both the core concept and the setting had me thinking about the other, better films that it reminded me of. Save for a sparse handful of tense in-person faceoffs, the film pits Egerton’s would-be heroic LAX TSA officer, Ethan, against Jason Bateman’s diabolical bad guy—unnamed throughout the film and credited only as The Traveler—via an earpiece. With the help of an off-site evil tech henchman with access to the airport cameras and Google, The Traveler is in Ethan’s head literally and figuratively: he can see Ethan’s every move, and he has enough information to psychoanalyze him and hopefully manipulate him into doing his bidding. And Ethan, being in a professional rut made even more pronounced by the news that he’s going to be a father, is feeling especially insecure. There are stretches where the Traveler’s needling of Ethan—about his station in life, his failure to launch, his shortcomings as a partner—makes this hostage situation feel more like a harsh therapy session.
Shades of Collateral, which, in between the assassinations, is really just a bromance dramedy. (Out of all of the indelibly classic scenes in that film, the last one in the cab still hits the hardest: “What the fuck are you still doing driving a cab?”) But comparing a Netflix thriller to one of the best movies ever made is unfair. What Carry-On really took me back to was two early-aughts films that both serve as showcases of how truly insane that era was when it came to letting auteurs cook with ludicrous premises. A terrorist working within the confines of an airport/airplane to execute a political agenda for shadowy clients? That’s all Red Eye, the 2005 Wes Craven movie that jams Rachel McAdams in the economy seat from hell next to Cillian Murphy. And a homicidal maniac lodged into his victim’s ear for the film’s duration? That has the DNA of a film from three years earlier in the extremely 2002 Phone Booth, one of the nuttier star vehicles of this century.
It’s not even that they’re vastly better films—all three are ridiculous in their own ways, in both a laugh-at and laugh-with capacity—but respectfully, it’s hard for the Carry-On crew to formidably box with Colin Farrell, Kiefer Sutherland and Joel Schumacher or McAdams, Murphy, and Wes Craven. Both films have loglines that would be Rod Serling wet dreams and, unlike Carry-On’s flabby two-hour runtime, don’t overstay their welcome, getting in and out at around 80 minutes.
