End of Watch
Writer/director David Ayer returns to his well-worn law enforcement stomping ground with End of Watch, a foul-mouthed, boneheaded and really quite unpleasant addition to an already dubious body of work. Presented as documentary footage filmed by right-wing fantasy action toys Zavala (Peña) and Taylor (Gyllenhaal) as they cruise around their hard-as-nails South Central beat, the picture initially appears to be a satirical swipe at the methods and recruitment policy of the LAPD. This notion soon dissipates. Gung-ho, misogynistic, stupid, these boys in blue are the archetypal itchy trigger-finger fuckheads to give police a bad name… and Ayer bloody loves them.
Swooping through the streets in their ridiculous sunglasses, the pair have little interest in the banality of actual police work, or anything so tawdry as care in the community. They want to fire guns and tussle with gangstas. Taylor is the more sensitive of the two. We know this because he longs for a woman he can talk to as well as sleep with. And because he doesn’t constantly refer to his wife as a ‘bitch,’ or proclaim the ideal life partner as a woman ‘who can cook and won’t fuck your friends,’ like his partner. Presenting these idiots as gallant, inspiring peace keepers is despicable... but Ayer bloody loves them.
Luckily, Taylor finds a chatty companion in the insipid form of Anna Kendrick and her Best Supporting Teeth. The ultimate waste of a talented actor, her Janet has absolutely nothing to do aside from look pretty or concerned for her man. The women in the piece are either wives of little consequence, or afforded more screen time thanks to exhibiting stereotypically male traits, such as being macho, thoughtless arseholes (the cops) or crazed psycho killers (the crazed, lesbian psycho killer). No room for rounded, intelligent, independent femininity in this world… and Ayer bloody loves it.
The documentary device is jettisoned whenever it doesn't suit, or home recording equipment can't laughably be placed in the hands of people plotting or committing crimes; it's an aesthetic as jarring as the constant inane, blokey banter. There's an interesting film to be made on the horror of day-to-day urban police work, but this testosterone-fuelled nonsense with only an artifice of authenticity ain't it. How do people cope with rescuing toddlers who've been duct-taped in a cupboard by their crack addict parents? By doing star jumps on a roof with their top off? Hope not. Some tense set-pieces, Peña and Gyllenhaal's game performances and convincing chemistry just about save End of Watch from being truly awful, but, hey... William Friedkin bloody loves it. [Chris Fyvie]