*A few spoilers will be discussed*
Reviews of David Leitch’s Bullet Train have definitely been split so far; critics claim that the film’s comedic stunts and charming characters don’t compensate for its curious combination of convoluted backstories and overall shallowness, in the end. Meanwhile, the audience’s reactions can be summed up in a chant like “toot-toot, the movie’s a hoot”. The same old question would be whom we should credit more. What can be established instantly is that both sides do acknowledge the film’s entertaining side, supported by the actors’ skilful approach to a story that could have easily been deemed familiar. Aboard a Shinkansen bullet train in Japan, diverse assassins seek to complete their separate missions, only to gradually discover that they are all strangely connected to one another, through a briefcase with ransom money, a fearsome leader (the White Death) in the criminal underworld and his unpretentious son. So how does this outline provide us with familiar elements? For instance, the unexpected, but delightful connections between the characters can make us recall Kenneth Branagh’s Murder on the Orient Express (2017). The blend of professional individuals and unrefined gangsters may take us back to Guy Ritchie’s The Gentlemen (2019). Some frantic and generally stomach-turning killing scenes may have us in fits of (shocked) laughter, much like Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time in… Hollywood (2019). Evidently, there are plenty of influences lurking around Bullet Train, but it also stands out successfully, all thanks to the various nuances added to the characters, going from their perks and quirks to repertoires of gripping (side) glances and tricks up their (rolled) sleeves.
By stating that the movie is superficial and has nothing to offer in depth, you also imply that it takes itself too seriously, when in fact it doesn’t. It’s often the case when films are meant to be regarded more light-heartedly from the very beginning. In addition, it is not even fair to suppose that the plot does not invite the viewers to further look at the construction and evolution of some characters. Bullet Train tackles the notions of fate and luck perhaps just enough for a two-hour motion picture, not aiming to give us any definite answers, anyway. Out of all the characters, Brad Pitt’s Ladybug is the one who openly laments his never-ending string of unfortunate moments, failing to see how he’s actually the luckiest out of everyone. It’s only towards the end that he recognizes the numerous occasions when he was on the brink of death, but managed to leave the scene unscathed. His understanding originates from nothing more than a mere change of perspective, which makes all the difference when it comes to how he tends to treat himself and perceive life.
In many ways, the film is made for Brad Pitt to be under the spotlight, despite the fact that oftentimes he comes across as a decoy, having others waste precious time on investigating the train compartments and lose sight of what (or who) is truly dangerous. Simultaneously, however, it is very tempting to believe that each character is meant to be in the centre – which is not far away from the truth, considering that everyone naturally thinks their mission is of the utmost importance. What is later revealed in the movie is that the White Death (Michael Shannon) has planned the conjunction of all the assassins down to the small details, his credo being that accidents do not exist. Therefore, his son’s (Logan Lerman) death was never a mishap, the presence of the Hornet (Zazie Beetz) and the Wolf (Bad Bunny) was no coincidence and the clash between Ladybug and the “twin” duo, Lemon (Brian Tyree Henry) and Tangerine (Aaron Taylor-Johnson), had always been a must. For these reasons only, Michael Shannon’s villain is definitely a fascinating individual, one who is attempting to outrun fate, be in control of it and have everything arranged and placed at his feet, for his own ultimate satisfaction and opportunity to avenge the death of his wife. Indeed, he does allow destiny to play its part, given that, after boarding the train, all the characters go from being the White Death’s puppets to a bunch of seemingly hopeless agents of fate, all at each other’s throats during the journey from Tokyo to Kyoto. It is an unusual setting, though, with everything still controlled from a distance by a cunning crime lord, borrowing the position of something like an omniscient narrator. He plays one such part as soon as he explains his entire scheme to Ladybug, confessing how he has expected his “pawns” to kill each other, step by step; he is very much a God-like figure in this moment, not even perturbed by his daughter’s (Joey King) unplanned appearance, which has only contributed well to his “story”.
Cracks start to form when the first actual flaw pops up in the White Death’s intricate plotting: our antagonist wished to personally kill an assassin called the Carver (whose cameo may have people in a brief frenzy, as they think to themselves “of course they picked him as a little bastard”), the one directly responsible for the murder of the White Death’s wife; the Carver had been specially assigned to board the train and steal the briefcase with ransom money, but due to last-minute changes, Ladybug was called in to replace him, thus leaving the White Death perplexed for the very first time. What we could notice here is the progressive demise of an omniscient storyteller, whose outlook remains an unrealistic one, since human perception is inherently limited. Regardless of the meticulous design we may lay out, there can always be an aspect which has never crossed our minds, but ends up changing everything up until that point. Opposite from the White Death stands the Elder (Hiroyuki Sanada), one who would take the stance of a first-person narrator at any time. He discloses to Ladybug that fate has “permitted” him to fulfil his long-lasting wish of avenging the death of his own wife, caused a long time ago by the antagonist himself. In this context, the Elder would be a “creator” aware of the fact that a “text” writes itself or, in other words, life happens as it should, according to what is “written” for us. Within another type of parallel, we may also agree that the White Death and the Elder fit in the plotter – pantser debate (referring to two main types of writers). The plotter would be the one who plans their story in great detail, whereas the pantser “goes with the flow”, trusts the process of writing and is able to fill in possible plot holes (or in other terms, give meaning and coherence – in retrospect – to fragments of reality that are visible to us in time).
Bullet Train has one of its characters (Lemon) point out that today’s entertainment equals violence, twists, drama and no message. It almost feels as if the line is meant to poke fun at negative reviews which place our movie precisely in the category of shallow productions. It is not meant to be a full-on philosophical movie by any means, but it has the interesting potential to raise some “big questions”. In tandem with the novel it’s based on (written by Kōtarō Isaka and first published in 2010), it can ignite more interest towards the characters and the modifications brought to the original story.
Having read the book, I can say that I have equally enjoyed both versions, as they complement one another, making each other shine in distinct ways. The novel, for instance, focuses a whole lot more on the Prince’s backstory and portrayal, compared to David Leitch’s film. In the latter, the character receives a captivating aura as a result of Joey King’s performance, for the actress masterfully conveys the manipulative side and sharp mind of the teenage girl. She is faking emotions on cue, relies on innocence and sweetness and ends up winning people on her side, using them to carry out her similarly thought-out plan (much like her own father, whom she wants to kill, out of spite and because of years of total neglect). In the novel, on the other hand, the Prince is actually a young boy, far more chilling than its movie counterpart; he is not the son of the antagonist, but he still seeks to torture and even murder people, as he also studies their psychology. He throws in the question “why is it wrong to kill people?” whenever he encounters an individual whom he wishes to “test”, only to be left disappointed by each answer he receives (despite the fact that all answers are valid and do reveal something about the respective person’s mentality). After discovering two possible interpretations of the Prince, one may wonder how Joey King would have constructed her vision around the more psychopathic version of the teenage boy, in a miniseries which would allow the action to stretch more and could combine features from both the book and the movie.
Other characters who are already expected to have their own spin-off as soon as possible are Lemon and Tangerine, depicted as a peculiar couple, often being mistaken for twins in the novel (although they are not even brothers). In the movie it is clearly established that they are siblings, having grown up together, and their distinguishing banter and bickering are one of the movie’s strengths. While Ladybug may deliver a line or two in a manner that sort of unveils his subtle anticipation of laughter from an imaginary audience (but still not coming off as self-pretentious), Lemon and Tangerine seem to get fully immersed into their conversations with one another or with fellow passengers, frequently stating the most trivial or burdensome observations with deadpan expressions – and that is precisely what lures the audience in. Around them, people ponder over the “wrong” things, related to their puzzling codenames, their actual relationship or how loony they can become; what is in fact fascinating about them is that they derive life lessons or behavioural patterns from Thomas the Tank Engine (in Lemon’s case, in both the book and the movie) and literary works (in Tangerine’s case, only in the novel). Initially, it may be a pity that Aaron Taylor-Johnson’s Tangerine doesn’t recommend books to an indignant Lemon, but in reality, it wouldn’t have fully worked as it does in the novel, as it holds increasing impact over there. The movie aims to emphasize that a pair of opportunistic contract killers (willing to go to great, gruesome lengths if needed) may base their people-reading skills on Thomas the Tank Engine characters – an unusual but plausible (because why not?) mixture of techniques. There’s nothing more charming than Lemon praising a kids’ show (for encapsulating life’s essence within it) and him figuring out whether someone is a Diesel (the annoying, concerning troublemaker) or a Percy (far from being a threat in a world of criminals). Actually, there is something more charming than that: Tangerine ultimately trusting Lemon’s name-assignment strategy, even though he is being reluctant in the early stages of the story.
Whether you are watching Bullet Train first, then reading the novel, or vice-versa, you are bound to recognize the merits of each version. In some cases, the book may convince people that David Leitch does offer a thoroughly engrossing movie, adapted perfectly and set to showcase if not likeable assassins, then at least some you cannot dismiss completely (although a few characters are asking for it and peace would be guaranteed if they were just wiped out). The core of their work dynamics (and need to dominate one another in crucial situations) can easily remind us of our own daily interactions and struggles, as trifling as they may be. We may even begin to speculate about how a normal lifestyle would turn out to be for our characters – but until then, they cannot help but fight to stay alive till the end of the line (and the Japanese version of Stayin’ Alive from Avu-chan shall blast in the background). Their funny moments will leave us thrilled, their resourceful battles in contained spaces will have us gawping (for who would have thought that it would be captivating to watch people making use of tray tables, seat belts and water bottles in order to hinder their opponents?) and some of their misfortunes will feel devastatingly lingering. The film’s less obvious asset at first is its power to push us towards a couple of substantial questions and even a form of self-evaluation later on. (Trust when I say that, upon watching the movie for the second time, one of Ladybug’s lines – as zany as it may be – can hit different: “When you point a finger at someone in blame, there are four fingers pointing back at you”. Or three.) Therefore, if Bullet Train is far from actually making us wonder how a writer should create stories (keeping up the analogy with the White Death and the Elder), it may still have us asking the following: are we supposed to bite the bullet or dodge it? Should we “decipher” life through literature or can we simply stick to children’s shows / movies / books? Are we merely in fate’s hands or can we count on free will, allowing ourselves to stand on our own two feet? Our movie, with its characters huffing and puffing on a racing train, may have already proven to us that it can safely be a little bit of both in each situation.
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