The Informer (2019, Andrea Di Stefano) (Patreon)

62/100

Started to call this enjoyably ludicrous thriller the cinematic equivalent of an airport novel, but (a) that's a comparison I've overused, and (b) The Informer was actually adapted from one, I believe (though I've never flown to Sweden and have nary a clue what kind of books are available in Stockholm-Arlanda's version of Hudson News). No better way to grab me than to open in medias res, and here we just skip merrily past the pro forma business of Peter/Piotr being recruited by the Feds; Di Stefano possesses no apparent formal gift save for knowing how to throttle up the tension and then sustain it more or less indefinitely (as seen in the superior second half of his Pablo Escobar movie), which can sometimes be enough. Gotta say I don't even really remember Joel Kinnaman from Suicide Squad (maybe because I've repressed as much memory of that film as possible), but his coiled intensity anchors this offbeat amalgam of the stark and the absurd—even managing to sell Pete's hastily improvised escape plan in the final reel, which involves angles so precise that he has to diagram them on the floor with a marker that's conveniently handy. Clive Owen and Rosamund Pike are both wildly overqualified for their small supporting roles, but it's hard to complain about too much conviction, and there's plenty of space for memorably sharp turns from lesser-known names like Arturo Castro (ideally cast as a drug dealer who's really an undercover cop) and Ruth Bradley (an Irish lass having enormous fun with a broad Queens accent). And I admire Di Stefano's penchant for unexpectedly grim endings—you don't often see a movie engineer a literally explosive wish-fulfillment finale only to then suggest that its hero remains 90% fucked. No need whatsoever to seek this out—my pal Ben Kenigsberg, in his New York Times review, accurately deemed it an "absorbing time killer"—but it's sitting there on Amazon Prime at the moment and I never wanted to turn it off, which is always a Mikey-style* recommendation of sorts all by itself. 

* That commercial was omnipresent throughout my childhood in the '70s and I was consequently called "Mikey" all through elementary school and even beyond, to my severe annoyance. But I must admit that I do kinda fit the character as a film critic.