THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM isn’t so much a thriller as a race, a breakneck one, with no quarter given for anyone wanting to catch his or her breath, much less anyone keeping track of the internal logic at work here. Secret meetings in Turin, heartfelt confessions in Paris, sudden changes of allegiance in Madrid, and a relentless scamper through the streets, alleyways, rooftops, and windows of Tangier. Who cares why the geographic leaps? The only thing in play that matters is Jason Bourne (Matt Damon), who in this final installment of the trilogy is very, very ticked off.
Which isn’t to say he hasn’t been ticked off since THE BOURNE IDENTITY, but now, thanks to the sound of water dripping into a sink in Moscow (why he’s there isn’t important) he’s started to remember snippets from his past. They are nasty snippets involving waterboarding and other mind-control techniques. A few days later, Bourne reads an article about himself in relation to a black ops scheme named Black Briar, launched by a super secret covert group within the American government. So it’s off to London, and then points hither and yon as he attempts to track down the reporter, the reporter’s source, and the key to the who what and why of Jason Bourne’s true identity. Oh, and his girlfriend has been murdered by the CIA, though whether it was a shot to the head or drowning is never quite made clear and the reasons for it being muddled are similarly unexplored.
Meanwhile, that same super secret covert group wants Bourne dead. Or course. They also want everyone associated with Bourne dead and the definition of the word “associated” gets looser as the story progresses. This causes no end of consternation to Pam Landy, played by Joan Allen in ill-applied lipstick who nonetheless brings real backbone to a part that is basically there to fret. Landry is the one high-ranking CIA agent who doesn’t know about Black Briar and who likes it less and less in direct proportion to how much she learns about it and the effect its mandate has on her peers.
What is so great about watching Bourne is that he, all alone and working with only his own wits, the ones deftly programmed by Project Black Briar, can take on the best surveillance and intelligence teams in the world, and still reduce small armies of highly trained black ops CIA agents to untidy heaps while barely working up a sweat. He is always several steps ahead of his pursuers, a wizened CIA chief (Scott Glenn) and the dour field ops guy (David Strathairn), who watch their best laid plans evaporate with a nice blend of incredulity and ire. Strathairn in particular, who emotionally unravels with just a slight tensing of his lips and a clipping of his voice that carries more menace than a howling fit from a lesser actor. He radiates the essence of all that is wrong with deep cover ops, the paranoia, the grandiose illusions, and the inevitable sense that the end, and that end is usually less than noble, justifies the means. He’s also the only one operating with any level of emotion.
Bourne is suffering some sort of existential breakdown as well as being ticked off, but that is an afterthought here. Director Paul Greengrass, who puts the grit and the tension into what is a foregone conclusion of an outcome, makes the most of the few moments when the script has Bourne musing on how he remembers the face, if not the name, of everyone he has killed, and how they weigh on his conscience. But while the burden of morality on Bourne is noted, assisted with Damon’s Boy Scout face that has hardened into a bitter maturity, Greengrass gets that the point is watching Bourne spring into action in less than a split second and work wonders with the havoc he creates. There is also the sense ingrained into every action sequence that beating someone into a pulp is an ugly business that takes a bit of the soul from the one inflicting the beating, even when inflicted in self-defense. This is Bond stripped of any glamour, but just as dazzling, as Bourne, without any of those nifty Bond gadgets, improvises with what is at hand, at one point, turning even a hardcover book into a lethal weapon.
THE BOURNE IDENTITY may run roughshod over the niceties of plot development. Julia Stiles as the low-ranking CIA operative who tags along with Bourne is strictly the damsel in distress who needs a spectacular save by our hero. The save is a spectacular set piece, but the character is a waste of screen time considering that anything she does to help our guy is something he could, no doubt, do himself. Never mind. This is a great action flick with some smarts, a moral stance, and an understated style that makes the whiz-bang factor pop like one of the bad guys on the wrong end of Bourne’s bad mood.
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