Director: Ben Wheatley
Stars: Bob Odenkirk, Jess McLeod, Ryan Allen
Way back when in 2014, between Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul, Bob Odenkirk did some nifty supporting work in the first season of Noah Hawley’s Fargo TV series, playing a folksy if ineffectual police chief in the show’s unassuming setting of Bemidji, Minnesota. Twelve years later, he’s back in a similar role for Ben Wheatley’s latest (and least offensive) for-hire gig, chowing down the donuts here as mononymous interim sheriff Ulysses in the snowy one-horse town of Normal. Odenkirk acts not just as a producer on Normal, but shares a story credit with Nobody screenwriter Derek Kolstad, and one can well imagine the two spitballing ideas between takes on that movie and it’s Jet2holidays sequel, sharing their appreciation for the Coen Brothers and Hawley, but maybe also for worn DVDs of Hot Fuzz. The setting may be pure Fargo, but it’s the latter that shines through in this amiable yet scrappy action comedy offering.
An Osaka prelude tips us that whatever story’s being narrated by Ulysses will ultimately be upset by the arrival of outsiders, and so it goes. But there’s no hurry, even with the clipped 90 minute running time. Thanks to a shameful past (of course), Ulysses’ brand of law enforcement is to remain neutral and negate decision making wherever possible, something that’s A-OK with Mayor Kibner (Henry Winkler) and many of the residents. It’s not long before one senses a shared community secret hidden behind all that Minnesota Nice. When a pair of chancing bank robbers played by Brendan Fletcher and Reena Jolly get too close to the guarded truth, they become as much of a liability as Ulysses, whose efforts to deescalate the situation leave him literally caught in the crossfire. His assumptions about the town and his backup deputies are quickly upended.
Given Kolstad’s credentials, I had a wearying assumption that Normal would continue his now-tired brand; average joes who’re inexplicably good at killing people. The suggestion’s there in the title from the outset. But what unfolds here is an almost anti-John Wick. There’s breathless violence, sure, but it’s typified by accidents, sloppiness, luck and misfortune. The downside is that a lot of the gratuitous stuff feels arbitrary, callous and fairly meaningless. Still, when Normal pivots into frenetic action mode, Wheatley at least takes hold of the opportunity to show off his abilities with high-energy, creative set-pieces, even if Kolstad’s mandate means it lacks the panache of, say, Free Fire.
Said writing is mostly a little uninspired, setting up a wealth of stock types who could’ve used a little more fleshing out, but the character work by the wide range of actors helps fill in the blanks. Billy MacLellan makes every effort to steal scenes as dopey deputy Mike Nelson (a Twin Peaks reference?) – an ambitious gambit when your scene partner is Odenkirk. As is customary for Kolstad anyone who isn’t a man is broadly underwritten, so it’s a really pleasant surprise that he makes genuine space for the former sheriff’s non-binary kid Alex, who Jess McLeod delivers with maybe the most effective work here. Generally speaking, in fact, it’s the lesser-known actors who take the more interesting, juicier roles, while the likes of the aforementioned Winkler and Lena Headey really don’t have enough to chew on. Ryan Allen is also memorable as ambitious deputy Blaine Anderson, for whom Ulysses is only keeping a seat warm.
What unfurls is amicable enough, but when set beside the creative exuberance of Wheatley’s recent no-budget experiment Bulk, one really gets the sense of an artist on cruise control, enjoying an opportunity to play with a bit of money behind him and hone what’s already there on simpler terms. There are half-hearted attempts to cajole relevancy into the piece – some wishy-washy statement on the abandonment of the flyover states by Washington – but it’s clearly an afterthought to what amounts, in the main, to simply a modestly played out sketch scenario. A semi-novel idea achievable in the mid-budget range. Any sense of progressive or constructive thought is somewhat undone by the rather cartoonish portrayal of the Japanese, but at least Normal broadly exists in that space from start to finish, never once misleading the viewer into giving a damn either way. The third act is predicated on some frankly ludicrous contrivances but, again, little will be accomplished wringing hands over it.
The Lost Highway Hotel 