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The Son of No One

It would appear that Channing Tatum is quickly becoming the Keanu Reeves of a new generation.  He is good-looking, likable and a reasonably good actor, but he keeps getting cast in roles that are simply beyond his range. 

Just in the last few years he has played a medieval Roman soldier, a gung ho Iraq vet, a ruthless CIA assassin and a tragically cuckolded husband.  It’s probably not just a coincidence that the role Channing felt most comfortable in was the supporting role of a stupid himbo in Ron Howard’s comedy The Dilemma. 

For the record, I always felt that Reeves was given a bit of a bad rap as an actor, he is much better than he is given credit for.  Also for the record, I feel like Reeves is probably a better performer than Tatum is – but both of them have that stoic, introverted thing so hard-wired that every line-reading feels a little deadened. 

Tatum’s performance in The Son of No One is as awkward and strained as the film’s title.  I don’t remember the critic who coined the term about “running the emotional gamut from A to B” – but that jibe definitely applies here. 

In fairness to Tatum, part of it is the character.  He is supposed to be secretive and carrying a huge burden of guilt. 

Tatum plays Jonathan White, a Staten Island cop who has been transferred to the Queens neighborhood he grew up in.  His dad was a legendary policeman in the area who was killed in the line of duty when White was just a boy.  White had ended up having to live in ghetto public housing with his grandmother – a living nightmare of junkies and criminals. 

As a kid, White was known as “Milk” in the projects (because he was white… get it?) and regularly terrorized.  One day, he stole the gun of a local junkie, and had to kill the guy when he went into a rage.  His best friend helps him cover the murder up.  His dad’s old partner (Al Pacino) investigates the case and obviously has an idea of what happened, but he covers it up.  Then, when another punk, this guy who is a loan shark, tries to shake down Milk and kills his dog.  Milk “accidentally” throws him down the stairs.  Pacino investigates this very laxly as well.  Milk and his best buddy promise to keep the secret between them forever. 

All of this is shown in flashbacks – the film flashes backwards and forwards in time throughout. 

Years later, White is working in the old neighborhood and the publisher of a local paper (Juliette Binoche) starts getting anonymous letters about the covered-up murders in 1986.  (She actually prints the letters full sized and in the snitch’s hand writing.)  It is just an annoyance to White’s boss (Ray Liotta), who dumps the cold case on the new kid.  Therefore, suddenly, White has to investigate himself. 

At first it seems almost comically heavy-handed to think that a rookie would be handed a cold case in which he was the actual perp, but then the screenwriter somewhat rescues this plot-point by making the rather logical suggestion that his superiors put him on the case specifically because they knew he had so much to lose in this case. 

This does not change the fact that film’s ethics are a little muddied – the picture vilifies the police who contributed to the cover-up while mostly excusing the actual killer.  After all, Jonathan’s scary life and the worthlessness of the victims does not completely exonerate him of his acts. 

And the final twist, involving White’s old best friend who has grown into a shell-shocked adult (played by comedian Tracy Morgan), relies completely on contrivance.  For some reason that is not clear, he absolutely refuses to say the one simple thing that would have diffused the situation, but once it is too late he says it openly and often. 

It seems rather contrived, but then again so does much of the rest of the movie.

Jay S. Jacobs

Copyright ©2012 PopEntertainment.com. All rights reserved. Posted: February 20, 2012.

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Copyright ©2012 PopEntertainment.com. All rights reserved. Posted: February 20, 2012.